Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

Holly dropped to the ground, holding out her hand, signaling Daisy to stay.

“Hey, give me a hand with this trunk, will you?” the man called again.

“Just a minute,” came the reply.

“What’s the holdup?”

“I thought I had another piece here, but I can’t find it.”

“What do you mean, you can’t find it?” The first man’s voice was louder now; he was coming out of the building.

“It was right here at the rear of the van, a briefcase. I know it was here.”

Holly inched her way toward Daisy, who waited four or five yards from her. Then she heard a very unwelcome noise—an electronic chime. Her cellphone was letting her know that its battery was low. She dug into her pocket and got it free just in time for it to chime again before she could hit the off switch.

“What was that?” one of the men said.

“What?”

“I heard something, like a little bell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shut up and listen.” Both men were quiet for a minute.

Holly had stopped moving, afraid of making even a tiny noise. Her left hand had fallen across a trail of ants, and now they began to bite. She rubbed her arm as much as she dared to get them off.

“I swear to God I heard a little bell-like thing,” the first man said.

“Do you hear it now?” his companion asked.

“No.”

“Do you hear angels singing?”

“What?”

“If you do, it’s because I’m about to kill you if you don’t start unloading again.”

“Oh, all right, here—take this one.” The normal noises of moving the luggage resumed.

Holly began to crawl toward Daisy again, rubbing her arm against her clothes to kill the ants, who were stinging like crazy now. “Stay, Daisy,” she whispered as she crawled past the dog, putting yardage between herself and the van, moving the heavy briefcase before her.

She moved another five yards before she chanced a look over her shoulder. The van was no longer visible. She got to her knees and signaled Daisy to come. The dog trotted to her, dragging her leash, which made noise.

Holly hugged the dog, catching her breath, then took her leash in one hand, the briefcase in the other, and, in a crouch, put some more distance between herself and the van.

Finally, when she reckoned she was sixty or seventy yards away, in deep woods, she stopped. She lay the briefcase on its side and reached into her pocket for a miniature Swiss army knife she always carried.

She opened the large blade and slit the duct tape, then holding a hand over each, opened the latches. She raised the lid and looked inside.

“Good God,” she said.

59

Holly stared at the money. There were rows of it, bound with rubber bands, twelve across and eight down—she lifted several stacks and counted—stacked six deep, all hundred-dollar bills. She quickly counted one stack. One hundred hundred-dollar bills—ten thousand dollars. She did the math: the case held five million, seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars.

Holly sat down and took a deep breath. She had never had her hands on so much money. For a moment she entertained the thought that she was a thief, stealing from bad people who deserved it, but she shook that off. She got up and, lugging the case, began to make her way back toward the golf course, following a slightly different route, so as not to beat down a trail that might be noticed later.