ground was absorbing the rain.
“Are you ready?” Hunching into his coat, Sean stole a glance at Natalie, who remained ominously quiet.
With a brisk nod, she surged forward, obviously wanting to walk ahead of him.
“Together,” he cautioned, relieved when she slowed and waited for him to reach her side.
“You’re right.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I’m worried about my father.”
“I hope this guy will have some useful information.” He kept his tone calm and professional.
“He’s supposed to have a clue on the code. If I can break that, we’ll really have a worthwhile bargaining chip.”
“If he’s not lying.” He sighed, patting the battered briefcase he carried that held the required money. “Informants do that occasionally, you know.”
“Of course I know. Especially since this guy knows we’re willing to pay his price. His info had better be good.” Trudging into the rain, Natalie seemed not to notice the chill, or how leaving her head uncovered made her wet hair plaster to her scalp. She looked like a determined, drowning swimmer struggling to stay afloat.
He could only hope the analogy wasn’t really accurate.
They slipped through the iron gate and into the deserted park. In the summer, the area would be brimming with tourists, but on a blustery autumn day, not even the locals ventured out.
If the bad weather was an omen …
“Not promising,” she muttered. “Open spaces, with lots of trees to hide behind. If there’s a sniper, we’re obvious targets.”
“This guy’s an informant. He should be used to being careful.”
“Maybe. But this is too much like the abbey.”
Damn it, she was right. They could only hope this meeting didn’t mirror the other.
“There,” she whispered. “Straight ahead.”
Near the gazebo, a man waited, collar turned up against the rain. He wore a dark slicker and stood, head down, hands crammed into his pockets, pretending not to notice their arrival.
Not a good strategy for staying alive. Still, Sean cautiously approached, cursing his rapidly increasing sense of apprehension.
“Are there ducks in the pond?” Sean asked, using the prearranged phrase.
The man looked up. His eyes were such a bright blue they had to be colored contacts. “Ducks in the pond, ducks in the sky. They even fly in the rain.”
The right answer. Still, Sean knew better than to relax. The informant, with his bright, darting eyes and facial tic appeared strung-out. His rumpled clothing and mussed hair indicated he hadn’t slept in days. The musty odor emanating from him confirmed it. Meth addict.
Natalie moved closer to Sean. A reflex action, made without thinking, no doubt, but such a small thing pleased him.
The informant noticed. “I’ve been down for a while,” he said, scowling. “This job ain’t easy, you know.”
Being a snitch was a difficult—and messy—way to earn cash. Only desperate men attempted to take on such a job. If word got out, death awaited. If you were lucky, they’d put a bullet in your head and you’d die swiftly. Not so lucky, and who knew what limbs they’d remove? Sean had heard of one informant who’d become an organ donor—while still alive.
No, being a snitch wasn’t for the faint of heart. Most had a drug habit or some other overwhelming compulsion that needed feeding. From the looks of this guy, it was the same old story.
“What do you have for us?” Sean didn’t bother to conceal the impatience in his tone. Sometimes junkies looking for their next fix tried to exchange false information or, worse, no information, for cash, then run.
No way in hell was he letting that happen. The stakes were far too high.
Perspiring profusely, even though the damp air carried a chill, the man held out his grungy hand. “Money first.”
Right. “I’m not paying you until I see what you’ve got.”
“Oh, all right.” Instead of handing over information, the informant took off running.
Damn it. His gut instincts had been right.
“Setup!” Sean pushed Natalie to the ground, tensing as he waited for the sound of gunfire or an explosion.
Instead, there was only the gentle sound of the rain and the distant murmur of traffic.
“He didn’t have anything.” Sean didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “If he was going to go to all this trouble, I would have thought he’d have had more of a backup plan. Either way, he’s long gone now.”
Ignoring his outstretched hand, Natalie struggled to her feet on her own. “Look.” She pointed.
What he saw didn’t really surprise him.
Their informant stood at the edge of the path, maybe fifty feet away, watching them. When he saw them looking, he crooked his hand, telling them to follow, and proceeded walking, back toward the business area where they’d parked.
“This guy’s an amateur. He wants us to follow him. To where a trap awaits, no doubt. How much more obvious can he be?”
“But Sean, if they were going to spring a trap, this would be the perfect place for it.” She waved her hand at the deserted park. “No witnesses, no innocent bystanders to get in the way. Maybe he’s legit.”
“And pigs can fly. Come on, Nat. You know better.”
“Look, they have my dad.” She set her chin in that stubborn way of hers that he knew so well. “I’m going to take any chance I can to find him. I’m following the guy.”
“Fine.” Grudgingly, he conceded. “But we keep a good distance between us and him and bail at the first sight of anything dangerous, agreed?”
“Agreed.” She moved forward.
Keeping back fifty feet, they followed.
When they reached the sidewalk, they saw the man enter a small coffee shop.
They exchanged a look.
“What do you think?” Sean asked. “Do we follow him?”
“We have so far. We should be safe in there. And maybe he does have something useful to tell us.”
“Somehow I rather doubt it.”
“Me, too, but you never know.”
“Let’s go then.” He took her arm and they crossed the street.
Once inside, they saw he was already seated, sipping from a paper cup of coffee.
