The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [155]
He wished again he had been home Wednesday night. He wished he had kept his family safe.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll do this together. Walk out together, hand in hand. I’m already the menacing husband. You can be the ditzy wife. Tomorrow they’ll crucify us; by end of week, we’ll have our own reality TV show and be sharing a couch with Oprah.”
“Can we do it in the morning?” Sandy asked. “I want to wake up with Ree. I want her to know I’m all right. Everything’s good again.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
They stood together. They had just taken the first step, when they heard a sudden dull roar from outside. Curious, Jason crossed to the bedroom window, cracking the blind and peering out.
One by one, all the news vans with their enormous klieg lights, camera crews, and news reporters were suddenly packing up and pulling away. He watched the first one do a U-turn, then another, then another.
“What the hell?” he murmured. Sandra had come up behind him.
“Something bigger must’ve happened.”
“Bigger than your return from the dead?”
“They don’t know about that yet.”
“True,” he said. But the sudden darkness outside discomfited him after two nights of blazing lights. Then, suddenly, he was aware of something else. A high-pitched scrape, like tree branches against a bare window, except their property didn’t have any trees that close to the house. From the back yard, he realized, and it was already moving away from the window, toward the hall.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
But he was too late. They both heard it at the same time: the tinkling of shattering glass, someone breaking through a back window.
| CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX |
“Shot twice,” D.D. was reporting to Miller, who’d just arrived at the Brewster scene after being called out of bed. D.D. had been at the house for nearly twenty minutes already, so she was bringing him up to speed. “First time in the stomach, second time in the back, between the shoulder blades, apparently as he tried to crawl away.”
“Messy,” Miller observed.
“Certainly not professional. This was personal business, through and through.”
Miller straightened, wiping at the Vicks he’d smeared on his mustache. Gut shots weren’t just messy, they were smelly. Feces and blood and bile, all churned up and soaked into the carpet.
“But Wayne Reynolds was taken out with a car bomb,” Miller countered. “That’s a professional-grade hit.”
D.D. shrugged. “Guy can’t be in two places at once. So he rigs a bomb for bachelor number one, and pays a visit to bachelor number two. Either way, in one night, his competition is eliminated.”
“You think Jason Jones did it.”
“Who else had links to both men?”
“So Jones kills his wife first, in a fit of jealousy, then sets out to get revenge against the men he believes were her lovers.”
“Hey, crazier things have happened.”
Miller arched his brows, just to show his doubt. “Ethan Hastings?”
“Bolted. Maybe he heard what happened to his uncle and is scared it might be him next. Hell, maybe it could be him next.”
Miller sighed. “Crap, I hate this case. Okay, so where’s Jason Jones?”
“Sitting in his house, contained by two of Boston’s finest and most of the major news outlets.”
“Not the news outlets,” Miller corrected. “This made the airwaves. By the time I pulled up, they were already lining the street. Might want to fix your hair before you exit, because we’re tomorrow’s news lead.”
“Ah shit. Can’t anything stay quiet anymore?” D.D. selfconsciously touched her hair. It’d been nearly twenty hours since she’d last showered or tended to personal hygiene. Not the look any woman wanted to present to the world. She shook her head. “One last thing,” she informed Miller. “Out here.”
He obediently followed her to the glass sliders leading outside. The back yard was dark compared to the lights blazing around front. But Southie had small yards, mostly fenced in, which kept the media at bay.
D.D. led Miller over to the tree she had