Sure enough. “Kit said you would come.”
Which meant Kit was here. He spoke to Shiloh. Maybe to Archie. They were Bishop’s route to getting Kit back where he belonged—safe in the house, maybe handcuffed to Bishop, so he couldn’t escape again.
“Where is he now?” Bishop stepped closer to Archie. “I’ll warn you, partner, I’m not as patient as you might remember.”
Archie took a wheezing breath. His jacket was too large. He’d lost weight. “You’re still a good man, Bishop. Better than me.”
“No shit,” Bishop snapped. “Where is Kit?”
“I’ll tell you,” Archie said. “In exchange for a calm and orderly return to prison. I’m not asking you to let me go. You’ve got your principles. You’d never do it.” A rough laugh broke his voice. “Truth be told, I’m not suited to life on the run.”
“So, why’d you do all this?” Bishop asked.
“Laird’s a hard man to say no to.” Archie grimaced. “He’s a mean fucker. I got in over my head, and I want out. Get me safely back into custody, and I’ll tell you where he’s taking your little friend.”
Bishop believed him. Archie always liked being in control. He kept himself safe, only taking advantage of people he had powerover. He was neither a criminal mastermind nor a lackey willing to put his neck on the line for someone else.
“How’d you get tangled up with Laird?” Bishop asked.
“He found me.” Archie shifted his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “He’d lost track of his kid for a while. When he found him again, he found you.”
Anyone looking into Bishop’s background would find Archie. A bad penny and a useful tool, who knew Bishop better than Bishop would like. Enough to offer this exchange. They both knew Bishop would win a shootout. But Archie also knew Bishop was too principled to hurt a prisoner.
The clock was ticking. With every second, Kit got farther away. The odds rose that some sleepless neighbor would see this standoff. Bishop frankly didn’t care, except that a 911 call could delay his route to Kit. Or some unknown accomplice could track from the hedges, or a parked car.
“You’ll have to offer something else,” Bishop said, his gun steady. “I already know where Kit is.”
“You don’t,” Shiloh said, his small voice startling. “He took Kit’s phone and gun.”
Fuck. The tracking devices.
Archie’s hands twitched, but he stopped himself from moving before Bishop shot. “They’re in my jacket.”
Worst-case scenarios flashed through Bishop’s imagination. Far too visceral. He’d seen enough case files to fabricate details.
Bishop’s phone buzzed again. Gritting his teeth, Bishop took one hand off his gun. “Stay put now,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he fumbled for an earbud. “I need to take a call.”
James’s snarl burned through the earbud. “You motherfucker—”
“I’ve got company,” Bishop interrupted. “My old partner’s here with the new kid. They have Kit’s phone and gun.”
James might be pissed off, but he was good at understanding the key details. “Leave them. Kit’s in a car. We’re almost back.”
That sounded more promising than Bishop had dared hope. “Can you track Kit without his phone?”
“Yes,” James said, with utter confidence.
“Great,” Bishop answered, and shot Archie in the forehead.
Bishop’s principles had shifted since Archie knew him.
Shiloh’s shriek echoed the gunshot, then muffled to a whimper as the body crumpled. The thud was oddly, pathetically quiet.
James gave a shocked laugh over the phone. “Did you shoot him?”
Ignoring James, Bishop lowered his gun and turned to Shiloh. “Sorry if I startled you. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
All Bishop wanted to do was chase after Kit. But Kit would never forgive him for not taking care of Shiloh. The kid was probably the reason Kit had run out tonight.
