And love had never been kind to her before.
Twenty-Two
There it was.
Malcolm drove past The Last Stand twice before turning in. It was only six o’clock in the evening, but dark came early in January, and he wasn’t really worried that he’d be recognized-at least, not at first glance. He’d stopped by a secondhand store on the way and bought a wig, a pair of glasses and some women’s clothing. Although he’d never used a disguise before, the image staring back at him whenever he looked in the rearview mirror seemed pretty damn convincing, certainly convincing enough to let him move around unnoticed, especially after dark. If he’d been a bigger man, it might not have worked so well, but this was one time when being only five foot nine was an advantage.
The reception area appeared to be closed for the night, but there was a light in one of the back offices. Did that mean someone was working late? Jane Burke, perhaps?
The possibility sent a tremor of excitement through him.
A single car sat in the lot, parked behind the building, by the rear exit.
The Chinese restaurant and the liquor store at the far end of the adjacent strip mall had moderate traffic. Malcolm drove around to the front and parked his van there so it wouldn’t stand out. Then he waited for a man who’d just exited the liquor store to drive off-he saw no reason to invite scrutiny of his costume up close-and climbed out.
An obscure-sounding church and a few thousand square feet of empty retail space were sandwiched between the liquor store and The Last Stand. Wearing size ten high heels, which clicked confidently against the pavement as he walked, Malcolm passed them, along with a dry cleaner, as if he had a legitimate reason to be there. Then he ducked into the narrow alley between the end of the mall and the building that housed the charity and took off his shoes. How women maneuvered in such uncomfortable footwear, he had no idea.
Shoving a heel in each pocket of the heavy wool coat he’d bought to go over his dress, he hugged the cinder block wall as he slipped on his tennis shoes and moved around to the back. Once there, he stood in the shadow of the building, waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of the occupant.
Movement in the hallway outside the office with the light on caught his attention. Someone was standing there, using a copier. Malcolm could see the distinctive glow each time the machine lid was lifted. But it wasn’t a woman. This person was far too tall.
Disappointed, Malcolm cursed under his breath. He’d been entertaining visions of leaving Jane Burke bleeding on her desk. If he couldn’t get to Mary, he’d take someone who meant even more to Sebastian. He liked the ruthlessness of giving the bastard an immediate and vicious response to his e-mail.
But he hadn’t really expected it to be that easy. He had to do his homework, make plans. This was more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else. He’d known that from the beginning.
Carrying a stack of copies, the man went back into an office, and Malcolm took out his gun before creeping closer. The door was unlocked. He could tell without even touching it. The guy inside probably saw no reason for heightened security, not this early at night and not if he was only stopping by to make a few copies.
Would he come back into the hall right away?
No, Malcolm didn’t think so. From the muted sounds drifting toward him, he could tell that the man was now on the phone.
With one gloved hand, Malcolm pulled the swinging door open far enough to squeeze inside. Maybe he wouldn’t meet Jane in the next few minutes. But he’d meet her soon. Especially if he could learn a little more about her. Starting with her address…
“So he looks like his picture?” The voice of the man in the office came to him more clearly, since they were both in the building.
“He’s put on some weight, but you can definitely tell it’s him.”
The second voice surprised Malcolm. Maybe this person wasn’t alone, after all.
Leaning slightly to the right so he could see into the room, he found the guy he’d watched in the hall standing behind a desk, collating copies. The second voice was coming from a speakerphone.
“When was he last there?” The punch of a stapler punctuated this question.
“Just after Christmas.”
He plopped the document on a stack of others and stapled the next one. “Did he win anything that night?”
“No. From what I can tell he generally loses.”
Afraid of giving his presence away, Malcolm stepped into the room closest to the office and pressed his back against the wall.
“Stands to reason,” the man said. “A good gambler wouldn’t have to kill his wife.”
Were they talking about him? Was that Jane on the phone-or someone else?
“Sebastian says he isn’t good at anything. That’s why being a cop meant so much to him. He used the uniform to create some self-respect and to cover up his shortcomings.”
Malcolm’s hand tightened on his gun. Sebastian would say that. He’d always felt so damn superior.
“Sebastian told you that, huh?” the man said. “So he’s still staying with you?”
“Jonathan, cut it out. I don’t want to get into that.”
He chuckled. “It’s a simple question, Jane.”
“He doesn’t want to leave me here alone. He’s afraid Malcolm will come back and somehow find out which condo is mine.”
“Then I’m glad he’s staying. Don’t take any chances.” The stapler sounds had stopped. “I’m finished here. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Thanks again for picking up that DVD from Cache Creek. It helps us get a feel for the kind of monster we’re dealing with.”
Monster? She had no idea. But she’d soon learn, Malcolm thought.
“It was nice of that security guard to provide it,” the man said.
“I just hope they call us if he comes back.”
“Did they say they would?”
“Sebastian hired another guy, one who’s working security at night, to keep a lookout.”
“Then let’s hope that particular guard’s there when Malcolm or Wesley or whoever the hell he is shows up.”
“It’s Malcolm Turner. Sebastian’s right. He didn’t die in that burning car.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Talk to you tomorrow,” he said and that was the end of the call.
Anger simmered in Malcolm’s chest as he stood in the empty office next door. He wasn’t good at anything? He’d known Sebastian felt that way all along. Sebastian had always considered himself better than everyone else, had always done what he could to make Malcolm look bad, especially to Emily and Colton.