Page 130 of Intent to Kill
“It will have to—not like you can kill them again,” Dan said, placing the blood-stained photos into an envelope.
Cupping his hands, Adam splashed water up onto his face and scrubbed, lifting the bottom of his white shirt to wipe away the lingering drips. He made his way back to Dan, casually resting a hand on the top rail of a dining chair. “So, that’s it, right?”
Dan studied the photos and files, obviously feigning his concentration.
Adam narrowed his eyes. “Dan?”
“What? Hmm? The last one? Well...”
“For fuck’s sake, you’re kidding.” Adam tipped his head back. He’d been hunting for these slackers for weeks. He was done. Done.
“It’s just a tiny little last one, this one will get us the D.A.,” Dan stood to face him. “That’s a big ally. Worth it.”
Adam folded his arms. “What do I have to do?”
“It’s easy,” Dan said. “Take photos of this target, the D.A. wants to catch him cheating on his wife.”
“Why does he want to—never mind, not our business,” Adam said, rubbing at his temples.
While walking to the dresser near his bed, he removed his shirt and discarded it, sorting through the drawers for a replacement. He buttoned a clean one as Dan loaded up the equipment.
“Paul, you in?” Adam asked.
Paul paused mid-sip of his water. He finished the mouthful in a gulp and hurried to Adam near the dresser, turning him farther to the back of the room. “Really? You want me on this job?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you take M? She loves this shit,” Paul said.
“Not a good idea right now,” Adam said, attempting to push past, but Paul blocked him.
“Come on, she hasn’t been by here in a week,” Paul said, his tone was light and gentle.
“Exactly, she needs space.”
Paul loosened a deep, rumbling laugh. “Wow, you’re still so clueless.”
Adam scowled at his friend.
“She’s had five years of space, man. Trust me, she doesn’t want space,” Paul said.
Sliding the drawer shut gently, Adam removed his gun from his pocket to count the bullets and load more ammunition if he needed to. “She’s so angry with me.”
“That’s not anger that you’re sensing,” Paul said.
“It sounded pretty fucking angry when she was screaming in my face, blaming me for literally everything that’s went to shit the past five years,” Adam said, batting his hands.
“Come on, you know her better than that,” Paul said. “What is she really afraid of?”
Adam ran his hand through his hair. He’d never been the best at sensing others’ emotions. Hell, he barely knew what he was feeling.
Paul shuffled on his feet, smiled, and then said, “Just ask her.”
* * *
DECEMBER 1986
Mercedes stood behind the bar of the Neptune Club. At the cash register she counted the bills and balanced the till, writing out the last bits of profit in a notebook.
