Damaged Goods

“Have a seat,” Dell said. “Terry will be here in just a minute. He was asleep. Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” I said, eyeing the sofa stains before I perched on the edge of a cushion. “With a little milk, if you have it.” I usually take my coffee black. And fresh. But based on my first impression, I figured the coffee would not be top quality.

Terry emerged from a hallway on the left that no doubt led to the bedrooms. To my relief and amazement, he looked unharmed.

I leapt from the sofa and practically tripped over the coffee table running toward him. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Ever since I got this.” I gave him the photo. “Even before that. Since I found your cell phone under your bed at home, dead.”

Terry’s eyes telegraphed regret. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you, but those computer geeks I told you about. They were getting seriously annoying. I needed to hide out.”

“Did you consider calling the police?”

He shook his head. “That wouldn’t have been in anyone’s interest. Get my drift?”

Loud and clear, I thought. “And you didn’t take your phone, because you didn’t want . . . ”

“I didn’t want them to track me.”

I thought about that for a few seconds. “How the hell did it end up under your bed?”

Terry shrugged. “It was kind of my joke on them. I figured if they tried to track my phone it would simply lead to my place. And if they searched my place, all they’d find is my phone.”

“Looks like the joke was on me,” I said, snatching the photo back from him. “Would your angry geek clients know anything about this?” I added, waving the picture around.

He frowned. “Doubtful. More likely someone else took advantage of my absence to play head games with you.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

My relief at seeing Terry alive gave way to annoyance. “I’m not your minder. But you might’ve at least let me know you had to go underground.” I gave him a push, and he stumbled back.

“I would’ve if I’d had time,” he countered.

I took a deep breath and nodded. The smell of fresh coffee infused the room. Dell tottered in with two steaming mugs in hand.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting an offered mug. Surprise, surprise—the coffee did not disappoint.

A million questions raced around in my head. Were the people who followed me the same ones who were after Terry? Would they be the sort who would take a rifle shot at me?

“You just going to stand there or what?” Terry sounded amused.

“Just trying to figure a few things out,” I said.

I returned to my perch on the couch and sipped my coffee. Definitely fresh. I could’ve skipped the milk.

Terry joined me on the sofa and waited for more of my story. Dell stretched out on the recliner.

“Would these geeks coming after you have reason to sic a sniper on me?”

“What?” Terry looked appalled.

“Yes, really,” I said. “I guess it’s open season on ex-Marine drug addicts.”

“Not funny,” he said.

“Couldn’t agree more. So uh . . . why would your business associates want to kill me?”

His brow furrowed with concern, and he shook his head. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Are you sure it’s the geeks who are after you?” I asked.