The 6:20 Man

CHAPTER

42

ON THE TRAIN HOME DEVINE looked out the window as they passed Cowl’s place. He knew Montgomery wouldn’t be there tonight, but he still found himself staring. Muscle memory, perhaps? Or something else? Part of him had wanted to sleep with her. He was a young, single guy after all, and she was beautiful and sexy and willing, and some things were just that simple. And it wasn’t like he had sworn off sex while he was searching for Sara Ewes’s killer.

I hopped right into bed with Helen Speers, didn’t I?

But that one had been a long time building and she had walked up to him on the front porch and shared his beer and words were also exchanged and things came to a head when she made her feelings clear.

But still, he felt guilty for enjoying himself with Speers while Ewes lay dead.

By the time he had left Montgomery’s place, the passion of the moment had passed and been replaced with something far more somber and intricate. They both had been lost in thought about their lives, past and future, as he took his leave.

Whoever said life wasn’t complicated had never really lived.

Later, he walked home from the station and there was Valentine on the couch.

Devine sat down next to him and said, “I want you to see what you can dig up on the Locust Group. There are a lot of them out there, but the one I’m interested in is tied to some specific properties.” He took out his phone and texted him the information.

“What is big deal about this Locust thing?” asked the Russian.

“I don’t know, but their name keeps showing up. I’d like to know if Brad Cowl has ties to them.”

“Okay. I get on it, dude. But at some point, you need to pay for this shit. I am not freebie, I am America capitalist.”

“What’s your rate?”

“Five hundred an hour. But for you, two-fifty.”

Devine gaped. “Shit, if you make five hundred an hour, why are you living in this dump?”

“Is much better than my flat in Vladivostok. That had no door and no windows. Just blanket hung in doorway.”

Devine walked upstairs, slipping off his tie and jacket as he did so. As he passed Speers’s door it opened and there she was. She was not dressed in an alluring transparent nighty but in an NYU Law T-shirt and sweatpants. Over the woman’s shoulder he saw a stack of legal tomes and bar study guides piled on her desk.

“What’s up, Helen?”

“You haven’t asked about a lawyer yet. Don’t wait too long.”

“Actually, can we talk about that?”

She held the door open wider and stepped back. “But just talk. I’m studying.”

He held up his hands. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you have your way with me again.”

She shut the door and sat in her chair while he perched on the bed. He recalled the sexual gymnastics that had taken place right here, the heat, the intensity, her soft skin . . .

“Travis!” she barked.

He looked up to see she had clearly just read his sorry-ass-guy mind. “Right. The cops have been by to see me again. They really think I’m guilty, but they have no evidence. They can’t show I was there at the time in question.”

“What about cameras, security card logs?”

“Apparently there was a hiccup, or so they said. There’s nothing there.”

“Damn, that’s incredible.”

“I know. But are there other ways for them to come after me?”