CHAPTER
19
D an Phillips of South Jersey was nearly
asleep when he felt that weight pressing down on his chest, that
blade against his throat.
His eyes shot open and in the
blackness of the night, he could see nothing but those shiny eyes.
The eyes of an animal.
He opened his mouth to scream but a
soft “Hush, now,” stopped the words in his throat.
Beside him lay his wife, sleeping
peacefully, blissfully unaware that something was on top of him
with a knife to his throat.
It leaned in close and whispered
against Dan’s ear. “The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is
because you don’t really know what you’re helping to fund. So I’m
going to give you one chance to save your life and keep what seems
to be a happy family from mourning the loss of their daddy.
Understand?”
He nodded.
“The name of the client that provides
money to the Connecticut Animal Rescue Foundation?”
That’s what it wanted to know? About the goddamn animal
rescue that a bunch of rich do-gooders invested money
in?
He gave the name and he felt whatever
was on top of him stiffen in surprise. Then it said, “Thank you
kindly” and was gone.
It didn’t need to tell him not to say
anything to anyone or not to call the police. It didn’t have to. He
knew if he ever said a word to anyone, it would be back—and he’d be
dead.
Cella was stretched out on the hood of
the SUV, staring up at the stars. “Are you sure you heard him
correctly?”
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with my
hearing, Malone. I know what I heard.”
Fuck, this was bad. Very bad. And the
two females resting against the SUV knew that already.
“Well?” Smith demanded. “Anyone have
any bright ideas?”
MacDermot walked a few steps away from
the SUV and suddenly yelled out, “Fuck! Fuck!”
Cella sat up. “Let’s all calm the hell
down.”
“How do you expect me to calm down?”
MacDermot asked. “I mean, seriously? This is bad.”
“For all of us,” Cella reminded her.
“With what I found out and Smith . . . this is bad for all of us.
But we knew some serious money had to be behind this.”
“Yeah,” Smith said, “but
this? Did you
know?”
Cella scowled at the wolf. “What are
you accusing me
for?”
“Stop,” MacDermot ordered them. “We’re
not going to turn on each other now.”
“So what do we do?”
Smith pushed away from the SUV. “I’ll
handle it.”
“No—” But Smith was already moving
toward the back of the SUV.
Cella and MacDermot went after her.
“You can’t do this without authorization,” MacDermot reminded
her.
“Fuck authorization.”
She unlocked the trunk, but Cella
slammed her hand over it. “You’re not doing this, Dee-Ann. Not
without authorization.”
“And you really think we’re going to
get that?”
Cella nodded. “Yeah. I think we’ll get
it. But only if we handle this right.”
“And what’s the right way to handle
this?”
“To let our bosses do it. Not
us.”
“Why not us?”
She decided to be honest. “You”—she
pointed at Dee-Ann—“kill at the slightest provocation. I hit for no
other reason than I feel like it. And MacDermot is rude and
abrasive.” Cella put her arms around each woman’s shoulders and
hugged them in tight. “Oh, my God! I just realized. I love you
guys!”
“You’re touchin’ me,” Dee-Ann
complained.
“Yeah, but at least this time it’s not
’cause I’m hitting you.”
“Only ’cause my back’s not
turned.”
MacDermot laughed. “She’s got a point,
Malone.”