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"Anything we can help with?"
"Maybe later. For now, I've got it covered. I'm going to shut off my phone, though, just in case. You guys can go your separate ways, get some di
"Oh, speaking of calls, you got one – on the cell number you gave that agency. Jack took it. A guy there wants to speak to you two as soon as possible. It sounded like they took the bait."
Great. If only they'd done that a few hours ago…
"Dee? Still there?"
"Um, yes. Sorry. So what did Jack do?"
"He took the name and number. He said it wasn't the guy you two talked to, but it's one of the employees. Alex… Andrew… Anyway, we're going to check out his employee record again when we get back."
"Go do that then. I'm not sure how well this will play out. We may still need to make that appointment."
"All right. We'll wait for your call. Take care of yourself. If you need anything…?"
"I'll let you know."
There was no logical reason to turn off my phone if I was being tailed, and I only hoped they'd presume I thought it best and not question that. If I left it on, Jack would call the minute he got the message, and I'd never fool him as easily as I had Qui
Chapter Forty-five
I was reasonably sure I wasn't going to find evidence that my mark was an unpunished criminal I could justify killing. My client wanted him dead ASAP and all files in the house destroyed. That almost certainly meant the mark's only crime was having information the client didn't want getting out.
I kept telling myself there had to be a solution to this dilemma and, given time, I'd find it. But I suspected there were no easy answers – just tough decisions.
Where did I draw the line? What crimes did someone need to commit before I could justify taking a life? Where was the point where I could pull the trigger, and walk away with a clean conscience?
If I discovered my mark had an unrelated history of pedophilia but had apparently "reformed," could I kill him and tell myself he deserved it for the lives he'd ruined? What if he was a white-collar con man, bilking people of their life savings with shady investment schemes?
Where did I draw the line?
Would I know when I was about to cross it? Or was that something I wouldn't realize until I had?
These thoughts consumed me as I found Internet access and conducted a search on the address, my mind only partly aware of what I was doing, the rest snaking down these dark tu
I'd never had to consider where that line lay. The Tomassinis only gave me contracts I could fulfill with a clear conscience. That was purely good business. They knew my limits, and to offer me an unsuitable job once would soil our working relationship.
So if I'd never had to question where the line was, I hadn't been about to hunt for it as a purely intellectual exercise. What I did – killing thugs for money – was best left as unexamined as possible, those vigilante impulses undefined, the very word making my skin creep, gut-level denial rising.
Qui
Would it make any difference, hearing Qui
Finally, with great effort, I put those thoughts aside. Whatever decision I made, I wouldn't be able to make it until I had some answers.
Getting a name from an address wasn't as tough as it should be. In about fifteen minutes, I had it. Andrew Payne. As I stared at it, I cursed myself for ten kinds of idiot, and thanked the heavens I'd insisted on having solid facts before taking action. Otherwise, I'd have made a first-class fool of myself, damaged my credibility with Qui
Andrew Payne. Thirty-nine. An unfinished bachelor's degree in sociology, followed by a college diploma in social work. Divorced three years. Owned his current residence. Made fifty-five thousand a year. And no, I didn't get all this with his address. It came from his employment file… the one I'd read last night.
Payne worked for the Byrony Agency. He was the one employee we hadn't seen Monday. My client – while he fit that "middle-aged pencil pusher" profile of two of the Byrony employees – was neither of them. So who was he? Why did he want Payne dead?
I could come up with a logical scenario. My client was Fe
Qui
While it was tempting to jump to the conclusion that Payne was in on the scheme and about to offer us a baby through it, that wasn't the only explanation. He could have found out about it and was calling to warn us. If so, that would be a good reason why my contact wanted him dead.
I needed to know more. And the only way to get answers was to follow through on the job.
I called Qui
He confirmed that the man who called was Andrew Payne. He'd only said he wanted to meet us, giving no hint about the reason, so both my theories were still in play.
They'd spent the evening investigating Payne and the other agency employees and clients, with Jack doing the legwork while Qui
I claimed exhaustion from two nights with little sleep. I said I'd rented a motel room to convince my tail I was hunkering down, and I really was going to take that nap, crashing for a few hours, then coming back before morning.
At 11:20, after watching the news, Andrew Payne went upstairs, used the bathroom, and crawled into bed. At 12:10 he awoke to a noise, blinking at what looked like a person sitting in the corner chair where he'd laid his pants. At 12:12 his eyes adjusted enough to see the gun pointing at him, and he let out a yelp, skittering backward across the mattress.
"Stop," I said.
He did.
A moment's silence, then he asked, "What do you want?"
"Well, I'd probably ask you to stop reaching under the other side of the mattress, except, if you look closely, you might notice this gun – " I waggled it. " – looks familiar. You don't mind if I borrow it, do you?"
The whites of his eyes glowed in the dark as he retracted his roving hand. His gaze flipped to the night-stand.
"I took the Swiss Army knife out of there, too, though I doubt it'd do more damage than a thumbtack. You really have to keep those things sharpened, you know. Oh, and as you can see, I've removed the phone from the night table. So, having established that you can't reach any weapon or method of communication, how about moving back over here, where I can see you better?"