“Why?”
“To see what happens. If nothing does, then the coast is clear.”
An occasional car drove past, but none slowed down as though surveilling the area. He watched surrounding buildings for movement behind windows, watched alleyways for signs that someone was lurking in them, but in half an hour, he didn’t see anything to arouse suspicion.
“Okay.”
They got out of the car. He hustled Kerra across the street, bypassed the lighted entrance, and went to one on the side of the building. He punched in the code on the keypad to unlock the heavy metal door. They slipped through. He made certain that it locked behind them.
He chose the fire stairs over the elevator. The stairwell was illuminated only by red exit signs, but they had no difficulty climbing to the third floor. The moment they stepped out into the hallway, he saw the broken glass that had been the upper half of his office door.
He motioned for Kerra to freeze and slipped his pistol from the holster at the small of his back. For a full two minutes they stood motionless, his ears straining to hear the smallest sound.
Eventually he reached for Kerra’s hand, afraid to leave her out of his sight, and pulled her behind him as he approached his office. The door was ajar. Pistol extended, he eased it open with the toe of his boot.
Enough light was coming through the partially open window blinds that he could see that the place had been ransacked. His file drawers had been pulled from the cabinet and emptied, their contents strewn everywhere. The cushions on the couch had been slashed and disemboweled. Chairs and lamps had been overturned.
Only his desk remained as he’d left it. Seated in the chair behind it, holding a nickel-plated revolver, was Thomas Wilcox.
Chapter 19
Trapper recognized Wilcox, although he’d never met him face-to-face. With a casualness that belied the life-threatening situation, he said, “Hey, Wilcox. I think you know Kerra Bailey.”
Wilcox smiled. “You would be John Trapper.”
“I would.”
“Set your gun on the floor and come up slowly.”
“Better idea,” Trapper said. “You drop yours before I kill you.”
Beside him, Kerra whispered, “Please, Trapper.”
Wilcox shifted his gaze from Trapper to her, then back to Trapper. “We’re making the lady nervous. Why don’t we end this ludicrous standoff, conduct ourselves in a civilized manner, and set our weapons down simultaneously?”
“Because I’m barely civilized. Ask anybody. And on behalf of everyone who was injured or died in the Pegasus bombing, I would enjoy nothing better than to blow you straight to hell.”
Wilcox took his measure and must have determined that he’d meant every word. He lowered his revolver to the desk and raised his hands.
Trapper kicked aside the files and paperwork in his path as he walked to the desk. He grabbed Wilcox’s pistol, released the cylinder, and emptied the chambers. One by one the six bullets pinged onto the hardwood floor.
Wilcox looked beyond him and addressed Kerra by name. “Sunday night was a fiasco. Are you well?”
“I’m all right, but I’ve been better.”
During their exchange Trapper had halfway been expecting an attack to come from behind them. He kept his senses attuned to any sound or motion that would have signaled it. But no one sneaked up on them. It appeared that Wilcox was acting alone. Wilcox indicated the mess that had been made of the office and said, “I didn’t do this. It was this way when I got here.”
“Why’d you come?”
“It was imperative that I see you, because I fear you’ll soon be assassinated. It’s assumed by some that I will take the honor upon myself.”
Trapper chuffed. “You’re mulling it over?”
“I believe I have a better idea, yes. Better for both of us. Why don’t you sit? We’ll talk about it.”
Trapper considered telling him to kiss his ass and then shooting the bastard. But Kerra came forward and gave him a cautionary look.
He righted one of the straight chairs that faced his desk and motioned her into it. He remained standing and hefted Wilcox’s pistol in his palm as he studied the pearl-inlaid grip and elaborate scrolling on the barrel.