He replaced his phone in the holster at his belt. “Oh, we’ll catch him. He couldn’t be far.”

No sooner had he said the words than the front door burst open and Coburn barged in. He was holding the pistol with both hands, and the muzzle was aimed at the back of Fred’s skull. “Don’t you fucking move!” Coburn yelled.

Then, a bright red starburst exploded out the center of Fred Hawkins’s forehead.

Chapter 14

Honor clamped her hands over her mouth to trap her scream and watched in horrified astonishment as Fred’s body fell face first onto the floor.

Coburn stepped over it and strode toward her.

On an adrenaline surge, she spun around and bolted down the hallway. He grabbed her arm from behind. As he brought her around, she swung her other fist at his head.

Cursing liberally, he caught her in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides, and lifted her off the floor. He backed her into the wall with enough impetus to knock the breath out of her and positioned himself between her legs to make her vicious kicking ineffectual.

“Listen! Listen to me!” he said, his breath striking her face in hot pants.

She fought like a wildcat to get free, but when her limbs proved useless, she tried to bang her forehead against his. He jerked his head back in the nick of time.

“I’m a federal agent!”

She went perfectly still and gaped at him.

“Hawkins—that’s his name?”

Her head wobbled.

“He was the shooter at the warehouse. Him and his twin. Got it? He was the bad guy, not me.”

Honor stared at him with stark incredulity as she gulped in air. “Fred is a police officer.”

“Not anymore.”

“He was—”

“A murderer. I watched him shoot Marset in the head.”

“I watched you shoot Fred!”

“I had no choice. He already had his gun in his hand to—”

“He didn’t even know you were here!”

“—to kill you.”

She sucked in a breath and, after holding it for several seconds, exhaled it in a gust. Her swallow was dry. “That’s impossible.”

“I saw him headed this way in a boat. I doubled back. If I hadn’t, you’d be dead now, and so would your kid. I’d have been accused of two more murders.”

“Why would… why would…?”

“Later. I’ll tell you all of it. But for right now, just believe me when I tell you he would have killed you if I hadn’t killed him first. Okay?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You can’t be a cop.”

“Not a cop.”

“Federal agent?”

“FBI.”

“Even more unlikely.”

“J. Edgar rolls over in his grave every day, but that’s the way it is.”

“Show me your ID.”

“Undercover. Deep cover. No ID. You have to take my word for it.”

She gazed into his hard, cold eyes for several moments, then stammered tearfully, “You spent the last twenty-four hours terrifying me.”

“Part of the shakedown. I had to be convincing.”

“Well, I’m convinced. You’re a criminal.”

“Think about it,” he said angrily. “If I was a killer on the run, you’d have been dead this time yesterday. Fred would have found your body this morning. Your little girl’s, too. Maybe floating in the creek out there, a fish buffet, if she hadn’t been eaten by gators first.”

She hiccupped a sob and looked away from him with revulsion. “You’re worse than a criminal.”

“That’s been said. But for the immediate future, I’m your only chance of staying alive.”

Tears of confusion and fear blurred her vision. “I don’t understand what I have to do with any of this.”

“Not you. Your late husband.” He let go of her with one hand and dug into the front pocket of his jeans, producing the folded sheet of paper she had noticed the day before.

“What is that?”

“Your husband was somehow linked to that killing in the warehouse.”

“Impossible.”

“This might help convince you.” He shook out the folds of the paper, then turned it around so she could read what was written. “Your husband’s name, circled and underlined and with a question mark beside it.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Marset’s office. I sneaked in there one night. Found this entry in an old day planner.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Check the date.”

“Two days before Eddie died,” she murmured. She looked at Coburn with bewilderment, then tried to snatch the paper from him.

“Un-huh.” He yanked it out of her reach and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I might need that for evidence. Along with anything you can testify to.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we gotta get you the hell out of here.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said with a hard shake of his head for emphasis. “You’re getting the kid and going with me now before Hawkins number two shows up.”

“Doral?”

“Whatever the hell his name is. You can bet he’s speeding his way here.”

“The police are on their way. Fred notified them that you’d been here. I heard him.”

He released her so suddenly, she nearly slid down the wall. In seconds he was back, a cell phone in each hand. “His official phone,” he said, holding it up for her to see. “Last call, an hour ago.” He tossed that phone to the floor. “This phone. His burner.” His thumb busily worked the keypad. “Last number called three minutes ago. Not the police.”

He depressed the icon to redial, and she recognized Doral’s voice when he answered. “Everything okay?”

Coburn disconnected immediately. “So now he knows everything’s not okay.” The phone began ringing almost instantly. Coburn turned it off, crammed it into his jeans pocket, and nodded toward Emily’s bedroom. “Get the kid.”

“I can’t just—”

“You wanna die?”

“No.”

“You want your little girl to get snuffed? Wouldn’t take too long for him to cut off her air with a pillow over her face.”

She recoiled from the horrible image. “You would protect us. If what you say is true, why don’t you arrest Doral?”

“I can’t blow my cover yet. And I can’t turn you over to the police because the whole frigging department is dirty. I couldn’t protect you.”

“I’ve known the Hawkins twins for years. They were my husband’s best friends. Stan practically raised them. They have no reason to kill me.”

He placed his hands on his hips. His chest was rapidly rising and falling with agitation. “Did you tell Fred I came here looking for something?”

She hesitated before giving one bob of her head.

“That’s why Fred would have killed you. The Bookkeeper would have ordered it.”

“You mentioned this bookkeeper last night. Who is it?”

“I wish I knew. But there’s no time to explain that now. You just gotta believe that since Fred can no longer kill you, Doral will.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

He stated it as fact, without mitigation. Two words. It is.

Still she hesitated.

“Look,” he said, “you want to stay here and wring your hands over divided loyalties? Fine. But I’m leaving. I’ve got a job to finish. You’d be helpful to me, but not necessary. All I’m trying to do is save your skin. If you stay, you’ll be at Doral’s mercy. Good luck with that.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“The hell he wouldn’t. If he thinks you’ve got information, he’d hurt you plenty, you or your kid. Make no mistake about that. And then, whether you’d told him anything useful or not, he’d kill you. So stay and die, or come with me. You’ve got to the count of five to make up your mind. One.”

“Maybe you’re not lying, but you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong. Two.”