Angel of the Dark

“Camera three, sir!” Ajay Jassal’s voice brought Danny back to reality. “Daley’s leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Now Danny was even more confused than before. Wasn’t the hit on Ishag supposed to be tonight? If so, why the hell would Matt Daley be leaving, and at breakneck speed too? That van must be doing sixty miles an hour.

He looked at his watch. Five to eight. Dinner would take at least an hour. David wasn’t scheduled to go up to bed until well after nine.

“Where’s Ishag right now?”

“Still in the drawing room, sir. Audio’s picking him up clearly. He’s fine.”

Danny McGuire made a split-second decision.

“Okay. Follow Daley. Follow the van.”

Ajay Jassal hesitated. “Are you sure, sir? If something unexpected happens up at the house and we don’t get back in time…”

“We’ll get back in time. I wanna know where that bastard’s headed in such a hurry.” Danny picked up the walkie-talkie so he could speak to the men sitting in the second surveillance vehicle, parked on the front side of the mansion. “Jassal and I are in pursuit of a possible suspect. You guys stay in contact, let us know if you need to go in earlier, or if anything happens.”

“Yes, sir.”

Danny turned back to Ajay Jassal. “What are you waiting for, man?” he shouted. “Drive.”

COILED LIKE A RATTLESNAKE IN DAVID Ishag’s master-bedroom closet, the man pressed the barrel of his pistol against his cheek, closing his eyes as if embracing a lover. At his feet the blade of a six-inch hunting knife glinted in the darkness.

It was uncomfortable, crouched in his hiding place, but the dull ache in his thighs was a small

price to pay for vengeance.

In one short hour it would all be over.

“HOW’S THE SOUP?”

“Very good. Thank you.”

“I made it myself.”

Really? We’re making small talk? David scraped the last of his matzo ball from the bottom of the bowl. He’d worried all day that he’d be too nervous to eat tonight. Danny McGuire had stressed the importance of behaving naturally around Sarah Jane, but what if David couldn’t? What if he threw up, or passed out, or accidentally blurted out Why are you trying to kill me? over dessert? But as it turned out, he found that he was surprisingly hungry for the condemned man’s last meal. And the soup was good.

“What’s so funny?” Sarah Jane asked. David realized belatedly that he’d been grinning like an idiot, lost in his own thoughts.

“Nothing.” He tried to reset his features to neutral. “What’s for dessert?” Death by chocolate?

“Ice cream. Are you sure you’re all right, David?”

It was no good. He was visibly laughing now, powerless to stop the tears of mirth from rolling down his face. He hadn’t felt like this since his brief stint as a pot head back in his Oxford days. I must be getting hysterical.

“Do you want to go upstairs and lie down?”

Upstairs. The word sobered him up instantly, like a glass of ice-cold water in the face.

So she wants to do it now, does she? Get it over and done with? Why not?

The original plan had been to wait until after dinner to make his move upstairs, somewhere around nine fifteen. But if Sarah Jane was ready now, then so was he. He thought about the SWAT team surrounding the property and remembered Danny McGuire’s words from this morning. “You’re completely safe. If she tries anything, we’ll be there in an instant.”

He turned back to Sarah Jane.

“I think I will, if it’s all the same to you. I don’t feel too great all of a sudden.”