The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

Michelle said, “See any of them yet?”

“Not yet. But they’re here.”

She nudged him with her arm. “Megan between two goons at five o’clock.”

Sean saw this. “She looks like shit.”

“This is going to be tight. You know that.”

“It’s always tight. Do you see Paul and Bunting?”

She nodded slightly. “Nine o’clock.”

Sean glanced that way. “Do you think she sees Megan?”

“I think the lady doesn’t miss much.”

“Get in Secret Service mode, Michelle. Assess threats from all angles.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing ever since we stepped foot on the Mall.”

Kelly Paul gripped Bunting around the elbow. “Thirty seconds.”

“I know,” he said. “Do you see Riley?”

“Have for the last four minutes. Quantrell’s boys on either side of her.”

“How many more around?”

“At least ten, I would think. I don’t know the exact number.”

Bunting stiffened when he saw the man.

He was gliding along; his movements seemed effortless as he slipped through the crowd. This time he was not wearing a black suit, tie, and white shirt, though. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but Bunting was certain they were registering on everything.

“Harkes! Harkes is here.”

“Of course he is,” said Paul softly. “Where the hell do you think he’d be?”

“He scares the shit out of me.”

“He should. We’ve got ten seconds.”

Bunting started breathing fast. “Tell me this is going to be okay, Kelly.”

She gripped his arm tighter. “Almost there, Peter. Keep it together. Almost there.”

She looked at her watch, picked up her pace.

It was all dead ahead.

This was her world. This was Kelly Paul’s version of the Wall.

Five… four… three… two…

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