The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

He slipped on his jacket and headed downstairs. He passed the maid, who nodded respectfully to him. He passed the cook, who did the same. He attempted a smile, while his heart was slamming against his breastbone. When one of his security personnel stationed at the front door looked at him inquiringly, Bunting said, “Just going out for a quick walk. You can stay here.”

“But, sir—”

“Just stay here, Kramer, I’ll be fine. Just a walk.”

The man stepped back and opened the door for his boss.

Bunting gripped hold of his nerves, squared his shoulders, and headed out, all alone.

Sean waited until the man crossed the street before coming over to him.

“Mr. Bunting, I appreciate your meeting with me.”

“I’m not quite sure how you know who I am,” Bunting said coldly.

Sean glanced around at the few people walking along the street. “Maybe someplace a little more private.”

“I’d like to know what you want first.”

Sean’s features hardened. “We can waste time if you want. We waste too much time and then things get out of control. Everyone’s control.”

Instead of answering, Bunting turned and walked off. Sean followed. Minutes later they were at the back of an empty café staring at each other as a waitress poured them cups of coffee.

“What do you want?” asked Bunting after the woman had left them.

“Edgar Roy?”

Bunting said nothing.

“You know him.”

“That didn’t sound like a question.”

“It’s a fact.”

“Again, what do you want?”

“Roy is being charged with murder. He’s currently sitting in a cell at Cutter’s Rock. You know all this. You’ve been to visit him.”

“You have inside sources?”

Sean sat back, drank some of his coffee. It was fresh and hot and warmed bones that had grown chilly waiting outside of the fabulous brownstone. “A lot of people have died. My friend Ted Bergin. His secretary. Your person, Carla Dukes. An FBI agent. Not to mention the six bodies in Edgar Roy’s barn.”

Bunting spooned some sugar into his coffee. “Do you have any idea what you’re involved in?”

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Mr. Bunting. You could lose it all.”

“Thank you for your assessment of my future. I think I’ve listened to enough.” He started to rise, but Sean clamped a hand on his wrist.

“By all accounts you are a very smart man. Your work makes America safer. If I thought you were a bad guy I wouldn’t be here. I’d let you sink in your own slime.”

Bunting sat back down. “You can’t know I’m not a ‘bad guy.’ ” He peered closely at Sean. “So is this a test? And if so how am I doing?”

“You are meeting with me. And ask yourself why.” Sean paused to let this sink in. “Because you know things are out of control. You know that your personal freedom is at risk. You know that if they can kill an FBI agent, who’s to say they won’t kill the CEO of an intelligence contractor and make it look like an accident.” He paused again. “You have three kids.”

“Leave my kids out of it,” snapped Bunting.

“I would never do anything to your family. I’m one of the good guys. But do you think the people you’re working with believe them to be off-limits?”