In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [86]
The clerk handed him the parcel, which he signed for, then took to his room.
Turning on the TV, he caught the local weather forecast. The rain that had plagued the area all day had been upgraded to a tropical storm, with the further possibility of being upgraded to Hurricane Julio. He glanced anxiously at his watch. He’d better get going.
Opening the parcel, he carefully unwrapped the Smith & Wesson Sigma .40 semiautomatic and fitted the suppressor. He strapped a Bianchi Ranger pocketed elastic belly band around his waist, then placed the pistol in the pocket in a front cross-draw position, just to the side of his navel. He patted it approvingly before buttoning his shirt over it. It was his favorite weapon for a small job like this one, and the body-belt position gave him a rapid draw.
Leaving the TV on, he hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside doorknob.
Windshield wipers slashing, he drove the Taurus carefully through the heavy rain. It would make him late and he cursed himself for not checking the weather earlier. It was almost nine-thirty when he crossed the narrow bridge linking the spit of land to the mainland.
Through the drumming of the rain on the car roof, he could hear the roar of the surf. He thought wistfully of his boys and the canceled trip to Sea World. Taking a black plastic rain poncho from the briefcase, he slipped it on, then pulled on a pair of black latex gloves.
Cursing the downpour, he climbed from the car and ran clumsily to the house. In the shelter of the front porch he took stock of his position, wondering if Ed Vincent was home yet. He knew the type of security system in the house. He doubted it was on, even though there was an emergency generator. He was a professional and it took him less than a minute to pick the simple lock.
Inside, the house was in darkness. He stood for a moment, getting his bearings. A big room overlooked the ocean. He had been told that the kitchen quarters were to the front left. That meant the library was on the far right.
His sneakered feet made no sound as he crossed the polished hardwood floor. He had eyes like a cat, could see in the dark, sense an object in front of him by some kind of personal radar. At the library door he stopped to listen. A faint clicking sound came from within. Gus smiled. He knew that sound: a lock’s tumblers.
Under his gentle push the door opened without so much as a squeak. A man was standing in front of an open wall safe. Gus doubted he even heard the five shots he pumped into his back; his legs just crumpled and he concertinaed to the floor. Like a puppet with the strings cut, Gus thought, amused.
He walked over and took a good look at him. The top of his head was blown away and his brains congealed messily on his face. Even so, Gus could see that his wide-open, blankly staring eyes were brown, that his skin was olive, and that he had a mustache and black hair. The man was Latino, probably Cuban.
Fat beads of sweat broke out suddenly along Gus’s receding hairline and dripped slowly down into his eyes.
He had killed the wrong man.
47
Gus thought it was just his rotten luck that this guy had chosen tonight to rob the house. Now he would have to wait for Ed Vincent to return. He had to complete the job he had been assigned. Scooping up the stacks of hundred-dollar bills lying on the rug, some of them spattered with blood, he stuffed them in his jacket pockets. Why waste an opportunity to make a little extra—after all, now he was going to have to do extra work. No chance of getting back to Lila and the kids tomorrow as he had promised, he thought regretfully.
And then the doorbell rang.
Gus slid deeper into the space under the stairwell, the Sigma .40 cocked and ready. He hoped this wasn’t the sheriff, or a rescue squad come to check on the house.
“Hello?”
It was a woman.
“Is anyone here?”
He could hear her movements by the door, caught her outline, a black silhouette against the blacker night. Then the light went on, blinding him.
He flattened himelf against