“Banbury.” The chief’s cool gaze bored into him. “Can we speak in private?”
“Certainly.” His smile dimmed a little. “I hope nothing is wrong?”
Walcott’s expression darkened, and Banbury found himself swallowing uncomfortably. He’d never seen the chief look so intense.
“Why don’t we go to my office?” he suggested hesitantly. When Walcott didn’t reply, Mr. Banbury turned and led him to the back. “Well, what can I do for you, Chief?” Mr. Banbury clicked the door shut and turned around.
Walcott didn’t take the offered seat, in fact, he didn’t move at all, but instead kept the manager trapped between him and the door.
“Olivia West was just here. What did she want?”
“Chief, I’m really not comfortable discussing a customer’s?—”
“What did she want?” He cut off the nervous man’s protestations.
“She wanted to access her aunt’s safety deposit box,” he stammered.
“And you let her?” Chief Walcott replied almost accusingly.
“She has the key, and is listed as a signatory, and as Evelyn’s sole heir, it’s her right.”
“She removed something, what was it?” he demanded.
“I… I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked like a whip.
“I’m not, I?—”
With a growl of frustration, he grasped the manager by the throat and pinned him to the wall. “What did she take?”
“I swear I don’t know,” he croaked as the chief applied pressure to his throat.
“Tell me the truth.” He slammed him against the wall again.
“I am.” His face was beginning to turn purple. “Please…” Chief Walcott’s fist gripped tighter, his eyes glazing over as the manager scratched and clawed at his hand, trying to get him to release his grip.
Suddenly he let go. Banbury slumped to the floor, coughing and trying desperately to drag air into his starving lungs. Chief Walcott stared at his hands, noticing the welts forming and the thin lines of blood. A buzzing began in his ears, getting louder and louder as his vision began to gray slightly at the edges, and his heartbeat picked up. The tiny, airless room felt like it was shrinking, and he needed to get out.
He yanked open the door so hard, one of the hinges splintered away from the frame. Rushing out into the corridor he almost collided with someone. Not even bothering to apologize, or even look up, he staggered out into the main floor, shoving past people, his eyes fixed on the entrance. The noise was almost a roar in his ears now as he burst out into the soft cool drizzle of rain. He rounded the corner and disappeared into the alley.
Pressing his forehead against the damp bricks, while the slow, steady rain filled the back of his collar, he sucked in great big lungsful of air. Slowly, the spots in front of his eyes eased, and his frantic heartbeat slowed. His body was still racked with shudders, but he could once again hear the faint sounds of traffic and smell the rotting garbage of the nearby dumpster.
He couldn’t believe what he had almost done to the bank manager. It was like he’d stepped outside his body and watched someone else take over, someone he didn’t recognize. All he knew was that in that one moment, he’d wanted to hurt that man, he’d wanted to squeeze and squeeze until there was no life left in him.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Suddenly he found himself slammed face first against the wall. Turning his head a fraction to the right, he tried to look using his peripheral vision, but there was nothing there. He felt another sharp jerk, and he was spun around and slammed back into the wall, once again immobilized. Now he could see the alley. His eyes widened in surprise as his gaze locked on familiar hazel-colored eyes that he’d not seen in over twenty years.
Charles Connell lowered his hand, but the chief remained trapped by an invisible force.
“Hello, Tommy.” His voice was low as it carried over the constant patter of the rain.
“Charlie,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “Release me.”
“I don’t think so,” Charles replied coolly. “Not just yet.”
“You think I’m impressed by your cheap parlor tricks?” Walcott scoffed. “You forget, I’ve known you a long time.”
