Lethal (Lee Coburn)

“She’s giving them hell,” Stan said dryly.

“She is,” Honor said, laughing. “She’s going to be fine, which is a miracle. For once in his life, Doral didn’t hit his target with precision.”

“I’m glad to know that both have recovered,” Hamilton said. “And I commend you for the numerous times you showed incredible courage and fortitude, Mrs. Gillette.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself and your little girl.”

“I will.”

“Thank you for coming today.”

“We appreciate the invitation,” Stan said. He turned and started for the door.

Honor hung back, her eyes holding Hamilton’s. “I’ll be right there, Stan. Give us a minute please.”

He left the office and when she heard the door close behind him, she said, “Where is he?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t play dumb, Mr. Hamilton. Where is Coburn?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Like hell you don’t.”

“Do you want to know where he’s buried? He isn’t. His body was cremated.”

r /> “You’re lying. He didn’t die.”

He sighed. “Mrs. Gillette, I know how distressing—”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m no older than Emily. Even she would see through your crap. Where is he?” she repeated, stressing each word.

He vacillated for several moments, then motioned her back into her chair and sat down behind his desk. “He told me that if you should ever ask—”

“He knew I would ask.”

“He ordered me not to tell you that he’d survived. In fact, he threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t tell you that he was dead. But he also made me swear that if you ever questioned it, I was to give you this.”

Opening his lap drawer, he withdrew a plain white envelope. He hesitated for what seemed to Honor like an eternity before sliding it across the desk toward her. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she could barely breathe. Her hands had turned icy and damp, so she had butterfingers as she worked her thumb beneath the flap and opened the envelope. Inside was a single folded sheet of paper with one line handwritten on it in a bold scrawl.

It meant something.

A puff of air escaped her lips. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed the sheet of paper against her chest. When she opened her eyes, they were damp with tears. “Where is he?”

“Mrs. Gillette, heed this warning, and understand that I extend it out of genuine concern for you and your daughter. Coburn—”

“Tell me where he is.”

“You went through a terrible ordeal together. It’s only natural that you formed an emotional attachment to him, but you and he could never work.”

“Where is he?”

“You’ll only be letting yourself in for heartbreak.”

She stood up, planted her palms flat on his desk, and leaned to within inches of him. “Where. Is. He?”