“Who should we follow?” Morrison asked.
“Both.” Steven checked the clip on his SIG Sauer P230, the same make and model he had used while with the SAS. “You and Ramón will follow those in the truck. I will follow Chelsea and her hairy companion.”
“Not bloody likely,” Morrison growled.
“Pardon?”
“Itoldyou. Chelsea Duvall wormed her way intomylife andmyhome. She planted some insidious virus ontomycomputer to try to bringmedown. I want to be there when that cunt is brought in.”
“Sir—”
“Don’t sir me.” Morrison’s usually pale face was livid. “Give me your spare weapon. I know you carry one.”
Steven wanted to argue, but Morrison’s mulish expression told him he wouldn’t win. To save time, he took his Ruger LCR from the holster on his ankle. But before he handed it to Morrison, he narrowed his eyes. “Youdoknow how to handle this, yeah?”
“Oh, piss off.” Morrison snatched the gun from Steven’s hand. “I was taking shooting lessons while you were still wetting your nappies. Don’t let the luxury condos and sports cars fool you. A man doesn’t get to where I am without knowing how to protect himself.”
Steven clenched his jaw. “Remember there are only six rounds in the cylinder.”
“If it comes to that,” the old man sniffed, “six rounds are more than I will need.”
Nowthatmade Steven decidedly uncomfortable. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he was now decidedlymoreuncomfortable, because he was always uncomfortable around Morrison, given the man’s…predilections.
“Itshouldn’tcome to that,” Steven stressed. “Remember, we need Chelsea alive. She might not have the drive on her person, which means we need to be able to interrogate her to find out where it is.”
The roar of the engine on Rusty’s ridiculous vehicle had Steven glancing at Ramón. “Follow them,” he instructed. “Then text us their whereabouts.”
Ramón glanced at Morrison in the rearview mirror, waiting for permission to follow Steven’s order. When Morrison nodded regally, Steven hoped neither man could hear his back molars creak.
As they waited for Rusty and the others to drive by, Steven kept an eye on Chelsea’s progress. She and her companion turned southwest on a road that led to only one place. Back to the beach.
“I’ll trail behind them,” he told Morrison. “You circle the block and stay to the west of them. Once we have them boxed in, we can both advance with our weapons drawn. Butnoshooting to kill,” he felt compelled to stress. “Not unless absolutely necessary.”
Morrison just glared at him.
“Here.” He took the borrowed cellular phone from his trouser pocket and dialed Morrison’s mobile number. “We’ll leave the line open and communicate that way.”
Morrison’s phone buzzed. The old man thumbed it on before depositing it into the pocket of his leather jacket. When Ramón cleared his throat—did the man never speak?—Steven realized the pickup truck was pulling out of sight.
“Right.” He nodded to Morrison. “Ready?”
“Please.” Morrison snorted. Steven knew what the evil old twonker was going to say before he said it. “I was born ready.”
It took some effort, but Steven managed to keep the disgust from his face as he pushed from the vehicle into the chilly night. Morrison followed him out and, without a backward glance, started up the block. Steven watched him go, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.Or is that doom?Then he turned and headed after his quarry, desperately missing the backup he had been promised.
Chapter 37
The stolen dinghy…er…rather, theappropriateddinghy was right where Angel had said it would be.
Chelsea wasn’t sure what she had expected. Okay, shewassure. She had expected a modern-day inflatable equipped with one of those little outboard engines. But what shegotwas a rough wooden boat with peeling paint and two large oars.
Old school.As in she feared the last time this boat had seen the water was around the time her mother had given birth to her. Was it even seaworthy?
I guess we’re about to find out, she thought, breathing deeply.
The smell beneath the pier, that moldy concrete and old decay smell, was stronger at night. She wondered absently just where the dead, bloated fish had gone. Glancing around, she didn’t hold out much hope that she would be able to see it. If she’d thought it was dark beneath the pier in the afternoon, then at night it was downright stygian.
As if the smell and the darkness weren’t enough, the echoingshush-sushhhhhhof the surf over the beach pebbles created a truly eerie effect. A crow called from somewhere overhead. It sounded like a scornful laugh.
