Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“She’s bluffing, trying to get to you. We’re good as gold. Look, I’ve got to get back before somebody misses me. You just need to relax.”

“Jesus, you try to relax when you’ve got cops on your ass.” Pacing, Cosner wrung his hands. “Maybe I should take off. Head to Europe.”

“We don’t run. Come on, Marsh, take a dose. You’re jonesing.”

“Why’s she looking at us? We barely knew Rufty, TAG was years ago. She shouldn’t have looked at us. You said the cops would never look at us.”

Calmly, Whitt walked to the tacky mirrored bar Loco had demanded, picked up a vial, poured it into a lowball glass, added a good two fingers of unblended scotch.

“She’s got nothing. She’s fishing. Loco’s dead and cold, and that hasn’t come back on us, right? We’ve got the formula now. When we’re done here, we’ll do just what we talked about.”

“Take it overseas, sell it for billions.”

“That’s right.” And all mine, Whitt thought as he handed his oldest friend the glass. “Drink up.”

Cosner knocked it back, sighed.

Just enough, Whitt thought, to make him happy, and a little sloppy.

“Did you get the last egg ready?”

“Yeah. I’m glad we decided it’s the last, Steve. I thought this would be more fun, but it’s been a lot of work. What say when we’re done, you and me, we take a little vacay? Hit the tropics.”

/> “Sounds good. Why don’t you show me the egg, Marsh, just to make sure. Then you can come back with me. We’ll hit the bar, pick up a couple live ones.”

“Now there’s a plan.”

He was already cruising as Whitt steered him out of the living area and up the iron steps to the lab. Across from the white counters, the burners, the refrigeration, the scopes, computers, containers, ranged an organized shipping and packing area.

Three golden eggs remained on shelves, one in a clear, airtight container—and Whitt regretted he wouldn’t be able to have the other two filled and all three delivered. A fourth sat in another clear container waiting to be packed.

“Looks good. You know, why don’t we pack it up, drop it off tonight. A twofer. Then we’d be done.”

“Done.” Glassy-eyed, Cosner smiled. “I’d really like to be done.”

“Yeah, shit, why wait? We’ll take that vacay,” he added, and made Cosner grin.

“Real ready for that.”

“Pack it up, drop it off, hit the tropics. Pack it up, Marsh.”

“Pack it up, get it done. Naked women on the beach. Whoo!”

Whitt stepped back, well back, drew on the air mask.

And when Cosner opened the airtight container, the egg, with its seal already broken, released the agent.

Staggering, Cosner dropped it so it shattered on the floor. He clawed at his throat as he stumbled, fell, stared up at Whitt.

“What?”

“Sorry, bro.” Whitt’s voice rumbled through the mask. “I gotta do what I gotta. I’ll miss the hell out of you.”

As Cosner’s system revolted, as he tried to crawl, Whitt checked the time. “Wow, I have to book.”

He jogged down the stairs, tossed the mask back in a storage room.

Ten minutes back, he thought as he let himself out, as he took some solution out of his pocket to clean the sealant off his hands.