Page 102 of Hours to Kill
Noble picked up the top page. “I don’t see any dots.”
“That’s because they’re microdots.”
Noble eyed Cam. “Then how did you see them?”
“I scanned the documents into my computer, then used a photo-editing program to enlarge the files.” Cam turned his laptop to face the senator. “Here’s an enlarged image of the document you’re holding. You can see the small yellow squares and the pattern they form. This pattern is unique to your printerand provides the information needed to identify you as the person behind the documents.”
Noble dropped the paper and crossed his arms. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Be that as it may,” Mack said, “you’re busted, Noble. Time to come clean. Where are the guns, and where are you holding Agent Leigh?”
Noble looked down his nose at Mack. “I don’t know anything about guns, and I’m notholdinganyone.”
“Don’t waste our time. Tell us what we need to know and we’ll tell the DA you cooperated. Maybe he’ll be lenient with you.”
Noble scoffed. “I’m a former DA, remember? The current DA won’t be offering me any deals. He’ll milk this for all it’s worth and use it to show how tough he is on crime.”
“Either way, this is over.” Mack crossed his arms. “No point in not disclosing her location.”
He laughed. “You haven’t a clue what you’re dealing with. This isn’t over. Maybe my tiny little part of it will end, but it will never be over. Not as long as Razo is breathing.”
Mack shot around the desk and got in Noble’s face. “I want to know where Agent Leigh is located. Since you put the wanted poster out on her, you’re going to tell me, and you’re going to tell me now.”
Addy took in the scenery as Holt continued to climb a snow-covered road. Tree branches scraped along the vehicle’s sides and snapped, the sound echoing into the quiet night as heavy snow plummeted from the branches. If she weren’t a prisoner, likely heading to her own death, she might take the time to enjoy the picturesque scene in front of her.
They came to a clearing illuminated by three streetlights, the headlights shining bright on some brick buildings with tallantennas. The building directly in front of them held a sign for a local television station.
“Why are we here?” She continued to look around, truly baffled by their choice of locations, other than it was totally secluded.
“Meeting someone.” Holt clicked off the headlights, casting the building in shadows. “Get her out,” he said as he shifted into park.
LeRoy grabbed her arm and dragged her outside. She stumbled, and he jerked her upright.
“Not so rough,” she said.
“You want rough?” He eyed her and pulled back his arm. “I can show you rough.”
“Leave it alone.” As Holt joined them, putting on his jacket, she caught sight of a gun at his hip. “He’s not here yet. I saw a fallen log near that stand of trees when we scoped this place out.” He gestured to the trees. “Let’s go sit down and get comfortable.”
LeRoy grabbed her arm again and headed toward the fallen log, pulling her along behind him through knee-high snow. She wanted to delay for as long as possible, so she tumbled over a snowbank to waste time.
LeRoy growled, dragged her to her feet, and shoved her onto the snowy log, a sharp branch stabbing into her thigh.
She bit down on her lip. She wouldn’t cry out and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her. She shifted to get as comfortable as she could in the cold without her gloves or scarf and peered through the snow falling all around them. The small clearing consisted of a large parking lot with several buildings, each with signs displaying the call letters for either a TV or radio station, their tall antennas reaching into the sky. The companies were obviously broadcasting from this location. Maybe she could get to one of the buildings. Make a call.
She estimated the distance. At least a football field away. Noway she could get that far before the goons either tackled her or shot her in the back.
The wind whistled between the buildings, blasting snow into her face. She shivered. The temperature hovered in the fifties down on the flatlands, but it was likely in the low thirties up on the mountain. She was wishing now that she hadn’t taken her gloves from her jacket pocket, but at least she was wearing a jacket and boots, although they weren’t snow boots.
Holt grabbed a small stick and took out a pocketknife, then crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned back to start whittling on it. His cowboy boots reminded her of Mack, and tears wetted her eyes. Was he coming for her?
Did you hear my three words, Mack? Did you?
As much as she wanted him to roll up, guns blazing, she couldn’t count on it and had to get more information on Holt’s plan.
She looked at him. “What are you making?”
“Just passing time.”
