And in his hand, he held a gun.
“We’ve got a little more info,” Alvarez told her partner as Pescoli hit the gas and sped around a dawdling minivan that thankfully pulled to the side of the road. With the Jeep’s light bar lit menacingly and the siren screaming a warning for the slow-moving traffic to get out of her way, she was able to push the speed limit despite the storm.
As she drove into the hills, she slid around a flatbed truck that was inching up an incline, her red and blue lights reflecting off the snow.
Alvarez was staring at the small screen of her phone.
“What?” Pescoli asked.
“It’s on Ryder’s phone. Apparently, he didn’t think he was doing anything worrisome, because his last call, the one before the hospital, was to an unlisted number in Louisiana. Private cell. Zoller called Montoya, who’s in the loop, and he was able to come up with the owner of the phone.”
“Let me guess. Bruce Calderone.”
“Not even close.” Alvarez slid a glance at her partner. “The phone is listed to Favier Industries. Specifically Talbert Favier.”
“Anne-Marie’s father?” Pescoli asked. “He’s in cahoots with the illegal second husband?”
“Seems so.”
“I wonder what the hell that’s all about.”
“We should find out soon,” Alvarez said, checking her GPS. “We’ll be there within ten. Deputies and an ambulance are probably arriving.”
“If anyone’s still there. By now, Ryder was supposed to be taking her to the hospital, isn’t that what you said?”
“Yeah.” Alvarez was still staring at the screen. “We’ve got officers waiting at Northern General?”
“And the other hospitals in the area in case that was a ruse to throw us off.”
“Good.”
Pescoli smiled as she took a corner a little too fast and the Jeep slid a second before the wheels caught. “This is all going down. Finally.”
Anne-Marie stepped onto the porch.
Ryder witnessed the assassin raise his gun and aim. “No!”
Shit! With a supreme effort, Ryder reached for the keys again, his fingers touching the end of his dangling house key. No longer did he care about the handcuffs. No, he had another plan in mind . . . if the bastard would just stay
put.
And he had enough time.
God, help him. He felt the cold metal brush against his fingers.
Once.
Twice.
And then he grabbed the truck key, still engaged. All he had to do was throw his weight into it and then . . .
Anne-Marie stopped dead in her tracks.
Her heart hit the ground as she recognized her husband, her first and only legal husband standing behind her SUV, a huge pistol aimed straight at her heart.
“Bruce,” she said, going cold inside, her worst fears crystalizing.
“Going somewhere?” he asked in that voice she found so hateful.