Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [119]
She turned into her bedroom and went to the closet. She pulled out the shoebox with her most current notes and handed it to him.
“Is this all?”
“No, just the last two months.”
She opened her closet and pointed to all her pretty shoeboxes. “I labeled them in code, so no one would figure it out. Did I do good?”
Jeffrey Riordan, aka Agent Jones, stared at the shelves of shoeboxes in the retard’s closet. Fuck. They couldn’t haul all this crap out of here! But they couldn’t leave it, either.
“Jones!” Harper called from downstairs. “It’s getting late.”
“We need it all, Ms. Lane.”
“Oh. I see.” She bit her lip and looked at the boxes. “I guess twenty-six boxes is a lot, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been very diligent.” Too fucking diligent. “Would you please pull them down for me? I’ll ask my partner to help transport them to the car.”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” She began pulling them off the shelves. Slowly.
“We have another appointment, we need to rush a bit.”
“I’m sorry. Of course.” She was flustered, but she pulled them down faster.
Jeffrey went downstairs. “There’s twenty-six boxes of crap,” he whispered to Harper.
“We need to get out of here.”
“You get the boxes to the car, I’ll take care of her.”
Ten minutes later, the boxes detailing every night Lora Lane had spent at the Rabbit Hole were stored in Riordan’s trunk. Including, Jeffrey was certain, her “orders” to poison Oliver Maddox, who’d been far too close to figuring out what had happened to Rose Van Alden’s estate. And that would have led to even more secrets that Jeffrey couldn’t have come out—ever—especially in an election year.
“Thank you, Ms. Lane,” he said.
“Will you be by again?”
“Very likely. I like you a lot.” He leaned forward as if to kiss her.
She blushed, but her eyes were bright and excited and focused on his eyes. Better his eyes than his hand that now held a knife.
He placed one hand on her shoulder, dipped his head, then shoved his fist forward, the knife cutting through her. He’d never stabbed anyone before, and it felt strange and exhilarating. Her eyes were innocent and surprised. She hadn’t registered what happened. She gasped.
He pulled the knife up until it hit bone, then pulled it out and she dropped to the floor, mouth open, eyes wide and fading.
He stared at her. The incision was deep and long. There was a lot of blood. Shit, all over his hands and his favorite jacket.
“Let’s go before anyone comes,” Harper said. “We’ll burn your clothes with the shoeboxes.”
He turned and followed Harper out.
“Our guy had better take care of Lowe before he opens his mouth,” Riordan told Harper. “Why the fuck didn’t we know Lowe changed his identity?”
“Hamilton was the only one who ever saw Lowe in person, and he never came down here.”
“We should have followed up.”
“We had the girl watching Barney as soon as he returned from L.A.”
“You mean Lowe,” Jeffrey snapped.
“After all these years, he didn’t say anything—and I don’t think he ever would have. He didn’t say anything to Maddox, and Lora said he didn’t say anything to Claire O’Brien. It was the Feds who learned—”
“Exactly! The Feds learned, and now we’re screwed.”
“Lowe’s too scared to talk. He’ll be dead first.”
“He’d better be. I’m sick and tired of this crap. I have an election to win, I can’t go clean up after everyone. Where the fuck is Collier? I don’t like that he’s running around. I never trusted him.”
“We’re looking for him, but he’s gone to ground. He has everything to lose. He won’t talk.”
“That’s bullshit. He’ll sing like a canary if they cut him a deal. We need to find him before the Feds. If he hadn’t panicked and left town, the Feds wouldn’t be so damn suspicious.”
Everything would work out, Jeffrey told himself. Problems like Lora Lane and Frank Lowe and Claire O’Brien were bumps in the road. They happened every once in a while. He would control this situation, win the primary, and everything would be just fine.
THIRTY-THREE
Mitch rushed through