just as he’d been doing. But he couldn’t believe either Lee or Matt was involved.
He looked down for a moment, then stared at Mike again. “We might have screwed this up. We can still change the procedure. Just do the whole thing up big, warn people, keep anybody else from getting hurt.”
“Oh, great. Call the papers. What then?” Mike demanded. “Just forget everyone who’s already died?”
“Doesn’t look like we’re managing to stop the flow of blood the way it is,” Keith said.
“We’re close, dammit,” Mike insisted.
Close?
Close enough to prevent any more loss of life?
“You’ve got your orders,” Mike said flatly.
“Right.”
He left, and just as he exited the building, his phone began to ring. He answered, expecting Lee or Matt.
Certainly not the slightly accented voice that spoke to him.
“Mr. Henson?”
“Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“We can all do a little sleuthing, Mr. Henson. I’m talking to you because of a mutual friend.”
“All right. Who are you?”
“Manny Ortega. You remember me, yes?”
“Yes. Why are you calling?”
“I need to speak with you. In person. I believe that I can help you. And you can help me. I believe that you will believe me.”
He glanced at his watch, uneasy with the time but equally curious. “It’s got to be quick, and I suggest you tell me first who gave you my phone number.”
He was surprised by the answer, and more curious than ever. “When? And where?”
“There’s a boating store on Twenty-seventh. Huge place. Open late. Can you meet me now?”
“Give me an hour.”
“I don’t need much of your time.”
“There’s an errand I have to run first,” Keith told him. “Then I’ll be there.”
BETH DIDN’T ATTEMPT TO turn around.
There was a knife at her throat. She didn’t doubt for a moment that it was real.
Nor did she doubt that her attacker would use it.
Her pepper spray was in her purse. Worthless. The only thing she could do was stand there and pray. Even if she could somehow overpower the person with the blade, there was the other one to deal with after. If there was an after.
Because the “shadow” was armed, as well. And she was sure the gun pointed at her could stop her escape cold.
Her blood was racing through her veins; her limbs were rubber. She could make out nothing of the shadow’s face, because he—or she—remained at a distance. She didn’t even know if the shadow was male or female.
Just as she didn’t know if she was being held by a man or a woman.
A man, she decided. The grip was powerful. She didn’t think many women—no matter how deadly or well muscled—had that kind of painful strength. She also tried to tell herself that when someone went to the trouble of hiding their identity, it was because they didn’t intend to kill. If she could see faces, then she would be in danger.
There was no way she could identify either person.
The whisper that slithered into her ear was no more helpful.
“This is a warning. Drop it. Forget Calliope Key. Forget you ever heard the names Ted and Molly Monoco. Next time, you’ll die. Don’t go to the police. Don’t tell the police anything. If you even think about going to the police, remember this—you have a niece. That pretty little girl can die right in front of you, just so you’ll know you killed her before you die yourself. Got it?”
Got it? She wasn’t sure she had anything. She was frozen. She had been terrified enough—and then they had mentioned Amber.
Suddenly there were lights in the street. Lights from a car, coming to a halt in front of her house.
She was suddenly shoved hard. She went down on her knees, then fell flat. As she fell, she heard the sound of running footsteps.
Her attacker was gone.
So was the shadow.
“Beth!” It was Keith. He was by her side in seconds. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Then he was gone, running in the darkness.
Still stunned, she lay still for several seconds. Her heartbeat slowed. She inhaled, and the air was ridiculously sweet. Her first realization was that she was alive.
Her second was that her knees hurt.
She managed to stumble to her feet and get the door open. She nearly screamed again when she heard running footsteps, and turned, ready to fight off any attacker.
But it was Keith.
“Call the police,” he ordered.
“No!” She shoved him away and headed inside. He followed, and she locked the door, then headed straight for the kitchen. She poured a shot of brandy, ignoring him. She stood at the counter, aware of the pain in her knees, just staring.
He took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Beth, you have to call the police.”
“No!”
“You were just attacked, and the bastards have disappeared. I can’t search the neighborhood by myself.”
“No,” she repeated.
“Then I’ll call them.”
He reached for the phone. She grabbed his arm.
“No, I’m begging you—don’t call the police.”
“If they threatened you—”
“They didn’t just threaten me. They threatened Amber.”
He hesitated. “Beth, no matter who they threatened, you need to call the police.”
“I will not put her life in danger. If you call the police, I swear, I’ll call you a liar. I’ll say you’re harassing me.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“The hell I wouldn’t. I mean it, Keith.”
He
