walked into the bedroom.
Gary’s potentially hair-mussing headphones could only mean one thing. Well, two, actually. One, the bug Luke had installed in Christy Petrino’s phone actually worked. Two, she had a call.
A glance at the clock told him that it was twenty-two minutes past three A.M. Unless it was a telemarketer with a death wish, this call almost had to have something to do with her recent jaunt to the Crosswinds Hotel. Yee-ha. They were in business.
Sitting on the corner of the bed, he took the headphones Gary passed him and put them on.
“… the hell did you do?” A voice squawked in his ear. The speaker was a man. Adult, blue-collar Jersey accent. Angry tone.
“Who is this?” There was a kind of wobble in Christy’s voice. Was she scared? Yes, of course she was scared, Luke answered himself, deliberately clamping down on the quick spurt of concern he felt for her. Shewas many things, but she hadn’t struck him as a fool, and she’d have to be a fool not to be scared now that she was swimming with the sharks.
The man continued in the same belligerent tone: “You don’t worry about that. You worry about this. You go gettin’ the cops involved, and we’re not gonna be friends no more, understand?”
“I couldn’t help it! A woman was killed. Tonight on the beach. That’s why the cops were there. It didn’t have anything to do with—the briefcase.” She practically whispered the last two words, then paused, breathing so hard that Luke could hear it through the phone. Then her voice altered, grew stronger, indignant even. “Are you watching me?”
“Fuckin’-A, baby. Every move you make. Maybe you should want to remember that.”
“I did what I was told.”
A grunt. “Maybe. Except for you got the damned cops involved. That ain’t the way we like it to go down, just so you know.”
A beat passed.
“Is Uncle—is Vince there? Can I speak to him?”
A bark of unpleasant laughter. “Nah, Vince ain’t here. Now you pay attention. Tomorrow you’re gonna go visit the lighthouse. Around two. Make like a tourist. Somebody will get in touch. Understand?”
“No! No, I don’t understand. I was only supposed to deliver the briefcase, and—”
“Be there.” There was an unmistakable undertone of threat to that. Then the connection was broken as the man hung up.
Luke heard a sound that made him think Christy had sucked in her breath. Then she, too, hung up. He listened to the line go dead, then looked at Gary.
“We get a fix on that?”
Gary glanced at the computer screen in front of him. “Got a number.” He hit a few keys, made a face. “One of those damned disposable cell phones. Not enough time to get a location fix. Sorry.”
“Shit. Whoever it is, he’s got to be fairly close by. How else would he know about what went down on the beach?”
Gary shrugged.
Luke pulled off the earphones, stood up, and moved past Gary to punch a button on the monitor, which, like the laptop Gary had been using, was set up on the small vanity. The vanity was cheap white wicker and flimsy, part of a matching suite that, like the rest of the furniture, had come with the rented house. The monitor flickered to life. Christy’s kitchen and part of her living room appeared on the screen. The two cottages were nearly identical, fully furnished rentals with a combination kitchen/dining/living area, three minuscule bedrooms, two baths. She wasn’t visible. He punched another button, and the tiny camera he’d installed at the same time as he’d bugged the phone panned the area. Ah, there she was. He hit the button and the camera stopped.
“She doesn’t look too happy,” Gary observed and then straightened the bedspread that Luke had mussed by sitting on it.
“She’s got reason.” Luke eyed the high-resolutionimage almost grimly. He’d concealed the camera in the clock above the refrigerator. She was standing in profile to it, head bent, facing the counter where the phone she’d just
Gary’s potentially hair-mussing headphones could only mean one thing. Well, two, actually. One, the bug Luke had installed in Christy Petrino’s phone actually worked. Two, she had a call.
A glance at the clock told him that it was twenty-two minutes past three A.M. Unless it was a telemarketer with a death wish, this call almost had to have something to do with her recent jaunt to the Crosswinds Hotel. Yee-ha. They were in business.
Sitting on the corner of the bed, he took the headphones Gary passed him and put them on.
“… the hell did you do?” A voice squawked in his ear. The speaker was a man. Adult, blue-collar Jersey accent. Angry tone.
“Who is this?” There was a kind of wobble in Christy’s voice. Was she scared? Yes, of course she was scared, Luke answered himself, deliberately clamping down on the quick spurt of concern he felt for her. Shewas many things, but she hadn’t struck him as a fool, and she’d have to be a fool not to be scared now that she was swimming with the sharks.
The man continued in the same belligerent tone: “You don’t worry about that. You worry about this. You go gettin’ the cops involved, and we’re not gonna be friends no more, understand?”
“I couldn’t help it! A woman was killed. Tonight on the beach. That’s why the cops were there. It didn’t have anything to do with—the briefcase.” She practically whispered the last two words, then paused, breathing so hard that Luke could hear it through the phone. Then her voice altered, grew stronger, indignant even. “Are you watching me?”
“Fuckin’-A, baby. Every move you make. Maybe you should want to remember that.”
“I did what I was told.”
A grunt. “Maybe. Except for you got the damned cops involved. That ain’t the way we like it to go down, just so you know.”
A beat passed.
“Is Uncle—is Vince there? Can I speak to him?”
A bark of unpleasant laughter. “Nah, Vince ain’t here. Now you pay attention. Tomorrow you’re gonna go visit the lighthouse. Around two. Make like a tourist. Somebody will get in touch. Understand?”
“No! No, I don’t understand. I was only supposed to deliver the briefcase, and—”
“Be there.” There was an unmistakable undertone of threat to that. Then the connection was broken as the man hung up.
Luke heard a sound that made him think Christy had sucked in her breath. Then she, too, hung up. He listened to the line go dead, then looked at Gary.
“We get a fix on that?”
Gary glanced at the computer screen in front of him. “Got a number.” He hit a few keys, made a face. “One of those damned disposable cell phones. Not enough time to get a location fix. Sorry.”
“Shit. Whoever it is, he’s got to be fairly close by. How else would he know about what went down on the beach?”
Gary shrugged.
Luke pulled off the earphones, stood up, and moved past Gary to punch a button on the monitor, which, like the laptop Gary had been using, was set up on the small vanity. The vanity was cheap white wicker and flimsy, part of a matching suite that, like the rest of the furniture, had come with the rented house. The monitor flickered to life. Christy’s kitchen and part of her living room appeared on the screen. The two cottages were nearly identical, fully furnished rentals with a combination kitchen/dining/living area, three minuscule bedrooms, two baths. She wasn’t visible. He punched another button, and the tiny camera he’d installed at the same time as he’d bugged the phone panned the area. Ah, there she was. He hit the button and the camera stopped.
“She doesn’t look too happy,” Gary observed and then straightened the bedspread that Luke had mussed by sitting on it.
“She’s got reason.” Luke eyed the high-resolutionimage almost grimly. He’d concealed the camera in the clock above the refrigerator. She was standing in profile to it, head bent, facing the counter where the phone she’d just
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