Lethal (Lee Coburn)

Stan ignored that, gave Doral a pointed look, and, without another word, marched out.

Chapter 16

This isn’t my car.”

Coburn took his eyes off the rearview mirror to glance over at Honor. “I ditched yours.”

“Where?”

“A few miles from your house where I picked up this one.”

“It’s stolen?”

“No, I knocked on the door and asked if I could borrow it.”

She ignored the sarcasm. “The owners will report it.”

“I switched the plates with another car.”

“You did all this between leaving my house and coming back to head off Fred?”

“I work fast.”

She absorbed all that information, then remarked, “You said you saw Fred in a boat.”

“The road follows the bayou. I was driving without headlights. I saw the light on his boat, pulled off the road to check it out. Saw him and recognized him instantly. Figured what he would do if you repeated to him anything of what I’d told you. Went back. Lucky for you I did.”

She still didn’t look convinced of that, and he couldn’t say he blamed her for doubting him. Yesterday when he’d barged into her life, she’d been icing cupcakes for a birthday party. Since then he’d threatened her and her kid at gunpoint. He’d manhandled and wrestled with her. He’d wrecked her house and tied her to her bed.

Now he was supposed to be the good guy who’d talked her into fleeing her home because men she’d known and trusted for years were in fact mass murderers with designs on killing her. Naturally, she’d be more than a little skeptical.

She was nervously running her hands up and down her thighs, now clothed in jeans instead of yesterday’s denim shorts. Occasionally she would glance over her shoulder at the little girl, who was in the backseat playing with that red thing. It and the ratty quilt that she called her bankie, along with Honor’s handbag, were all that he’d allowed them to bring with them. He’d hustled them away literally with nothing except the clothes on their backs.

At least their clothes belonged to them. He was wearing those of a dead man.

Not for the first time.

In a whisper, Honor asked, “Do you think she saw?”

“No.”

On their race through the house, Honor had created a game requiring Emily to keep her eyes shut until they were outside. For expediency, Coburn had carried her from her pink bedroom to the car. He’d kept his hand on the back of her head, her face pressed into his neck, just in case she cheated at the game and opened her eyes, in which case she would have seen Fred Hawkins’s body on the living room floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that you were an FBI agent? Why run roughshod over me?”

“I didn’t trust you.”

She looked at him with a bewilderment that seemed genuine.

“You’re Gillette’s widow,” he explained. “Reason enough for me to harbor some doubts about you. Then when I saw that photo, saw him and his dad being chummy with the two guys I’d seen kill those seven in the warehouse, heard you extol them as dearest friends, what was I supposed to think? In any case, I was and am convinced that whatever Eddie had, you have now.”

“But I don’t.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you do have it and just don’t know that you do. Anyway, I no longer think you’re holding out on me.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Even if you’d been crooked, I think you’d have given me anything I wanted if I didn’t hurt your little girl.”