The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

She offered him cash.

“Later,” he said. “I trust you.”

“Don’t trust anybody, Kenny. Not in this business.”

She slowly made her way back to her hotel. The rain was coming down harder, but Paul was lost in thought and didn’t seem to notice. She had walked through many such rains in many different parts of the world. It seemed to help her think, her mind clearing even as the clouds above thickened. Light from darkness. Somehow.

Bunting. King. Her brother. The next move. It was all building. And when the pressure spiked it would burst out like a freed rocket. And that precise moment would decide the winners and the losers. It always did.

She hoped she was up to it, one more time.

CHAPTER

43

THE TRAIN PULLED OUT of Union Station in D.C. and accelerated on its way to New York. Sean sat back in his comfortable business class seat. At the rate they were racking up travel costs on this case, he might have to declare personal bankruptcy at the end of the month when his credit card bill came due.

A hundred and sixty minutes later the train pulled into New York’s Penn Station. Before leaving Virginia, Sean had gone to his apartment and packed a bag to bring back with him. He rolled it out of the station, grabbed a cab, and drove off. The weather was wet and chilly, and he was glad of his long trench coat and umbrella. With evening traffic the cab pulled to the curb on Eighty-Fifth Street at one minute past seven. He paid the cabbie and rolled his bag into the restaurant, which turned out to be small, quaint, and full of French-speaking waitresses and patrons.

In the back corner, behind a load-bearing wall that jutted out into the seating space like a wedge, he found Kelly Paul, her back to the mirrored wall. He took off his coat, rolled his bag into a sliver of corner next to the table, and sat down. Neither said anything for a few seconds. Finally, Paul spoke.

“Bad weather.”

“That time of year.”

“I wasn’t speaking of the rain.”

He settled back in his chair, stretched his long legs a bit. There wasn’t much room under the table for two tall people.

“Okay. Yeah, the weather sucks too.”

“How is Michelle?”

“Hanging tough, like always.”

“And Megan?”

“Frustrated. Can’t say I blame her.”

Paul glanced at her menu and said, “The scallops are very nice.”

Sean put down his menu. “Works for me.”

“Do you have a gun?”

He expressed surprise at the question. “No. I flew back into D.C. Didn’t want any problems at the airport.”

“You’ll have far worse problems if you need a weapon and don’t have one.” She patted her bag. “I have one here for you. Glock. I prefer the Twenty-One model.”

“The big bore .45? As American as apple pie or as close as an Austrian gun manufacturer can come to it.”

“I’ve always liked the thirteen-round mag. For me thirteen is a lucky number.”

“You needed thirteen shots?”

“Only if the other side had twelve. Do you want it?”

They exchanged a long stare.