The Final Twist Jeffery Deaver (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📖

“He’s married.”

“Pig.” But spoken as if identifying a species, not offering an insult.

Shaw opened the paper bag that Mack’s delivery man had given him. He took out a plastic bag holding what looked like a credit card, slightly thicker than normal. On the front was printed the name of an airline and below that Prestige Club and a meaningless account number. He handed it to her. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You go up to the room with him. When you’re inside, take his jacket off and kiss him.”

“Do I have to?”

Shaw said, “Yes. Then tell him to go brush his teeth.”

“Oh, that’s why.”

He’d told her to bring paste and a brush.

“When he’s in the bathroom slip this into his wallet. He keeps it in his jacket pocket.”

“And?

“You leave. You got cold feet.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Once I know you’ve done that, I’ll dump the tape and drugs.”

“How do I know you’ll do it?”

Shaw shook his head, offering a tight-lipped smile.

A glance at the Prestige Club card. “It’s not a bomb or poison or anything?”

“No.”

She looked up at the hotel. “What did this guy do to you? I mean, to deserve this?”

Shaw kept to himself that his father, Todd Zaleski, other colleagues and Amos Gahl were dead because of Jonathan Stuart Devereux’s quest for the Holy Proposition. He settled for: “A story for another day.”

Then the three-G girl stepped toward the entrance of the building and fired a faintly impatient glance at the doorman, who had fallen in love in the past five minutes, and he adoringly pushed open the heavy door for her.

80

Devereux’s still a problem.”

Shaw had just walked into the safe house on Alvarez.

He continued speaking to Russell. “Mary Dove and Dorie . . . They’re still at risk. We are too.”

“Didn’t figure him for the revenge sort. Thought he’d put his energies elsewhere.”

“Yeah, well, we blew up his Grail.”

Sitting at the coffee table, Shaw opened his laptop. He typed. “I’m tracing him.”

“You got a device on him?”

“Correct.”

Russell seemed impressed.

Shaw continued, “He can’t operate the Urban Improvement Plan without another group like BlackBridge. I’m hoping he’ll find some other dirty-tricks outfit. I’ll let our Bureau contacts here know. Let’s hope he stumbles.”

“Hmm.” On the screen Russell was watching the glowing dot representing the Rolls-Royce, which had left Nob Hill and was making its way south. “How long will it last?”

“Four days, five.”

“You know it’s a long shot, finding a meeting, identifying principals.”

“It is. But I’m hoping to find another UIP drop-off point, and the Bureau can get eyes and ears there in time.”

“What system are you using?”

“MicroTrace.”

“It’s a good one. We use it. Send me the number of that unit. I’ll have Karin keep eyes on him too.”

Shaw sent the text to Russell’s phone.

Both men watched the dot.

Then Shaw noted his brother’s duffel bag and backpack sitting near the stairs.

Why the hell the Oakland A’s? . . .

“Come back to the Compound. Victoria and I are driving down there. Until I can get some evidence on Devereux, I want to keep an eye on Mary Dove. Maybe have Dorie come too.”

“Can’t. There’s that problem in Alaska. I told you about it.”

Shaw said, “You can’t be the only one with a beard and a SIG Sauer.”

He thought this might, at last, raise a smile. No. His brother shook his head.

“Mary Dove’d love it.” He hesitated then added, “Been forever.”

Another pause. “Just can’t.”

“Sure.”

You make a good team . . .

Well, after a rocky start, they had. He was thinking of Russell’s enthusiastic embrace of his brother’s plan to finally nail the BlackBridge crew at San Bruno park.

Which made his brother’s abrupt departure now all the more painful.

Shaw was looking down at the floor. There was a black scuff mark in the shape of a crescent moon. Had it been left by Shaw or Russell? Maybe Droon or one of the ops when they’d assaulted the safe house in search of the tally. Maybe by Ashton Shaw himself, if the mark was indelible enough to survive polishings over the years.

“Better go.”

When it came to his brother there was no true north, there was not even a constellation to help Colter Shaw navigate through the words he wanted to say. He and Russell had never had serious conversations. They talked about how to cure pike for longest storage or which caliber and load were best for charging mountain lions. And for human intruders, armed and with intent. But never words about themselves.

That wasn’t acceptable to Colter Shaw, not after all that had happened over the past few days. “Wait.”

His brother turned back.

“Why . . . Why’d you disappear? All these years. We’re blood. I’ve got a right to know.”

A long moment passed. “What Ash taught us: survival.”

Shaw could only shake his head.

“Survival for you, for everyone in the family. You have an idea of my job. I do bad things. I was afraid I’d put everybody at risk. There’re prices on my head—sort of like a reward, if you think about it.”

Just last week, in the cult in Washington State, one of the self-help gurus had told Shaw much the same.

I think he didn’t want to leave. He felt he had no choice. If you pursue him now, and find him, he’s just going to keep running . . . A protector sometimes protects best by leaving those in his care. The way a bird leads predators away from their young.

“Russell, we all know how to handle risks. It’s what Ashton taught us. From day one in the Compound.”

“All right.” His brother inhaled twice before continuing: “It was survival for me too.” The white noise roared like a deadly wave. “You really believed I’d hurt Ash?”

So we get to it. At last.

“I looked at the facts—the fight you two had about Dorie, the knife. Then you lied, you said you were in L.A. when he died. You were near the Compound.”

“It was one of my first assignments. An op near Fresno. They gave it to me because I knew the territory. Nobody could