Page 140 of The Grave Artist
He stepped closer, thumbing the razor-sharp blade.
“No ...” Kane’s eyes grew wide.
“Thumb, index, middle finger,” Heron whispered. “Oh, and I have some trivia for you. Guess what part of the human body has the mostpain-sensing receptor cells.” He paused to allow time for Kane to process the implications. “You guessed it. Fingers.”
Saying these words, Jake supposed, placed him firmly in banter territory. But as he gripped Tristan Kane’s right wrist with his left hand and stroked his right index finger with the blade, Jake decided he didn’t give a righteous shit.
Chapter 67
The three of them sped along the highway, Carmen at the wheel of her bulky but powerful Suburban.
Two passengers: one in person, one present virtually.
“You didn’t really ...” The voice coming through the FaceTime app was Frank Tandy’s.
Heron, in the shotgun seat, said, “No. I just threatened. Tickled him a little with the tip of the knife. He didn’t laugh.”
She glanced his way and noticed his jaw tightened slightly, and she guessed he was feeling some regret that Tristan Kane had spilled Garr’s location before the first phalange was snipped off. He’d misjudged her. Maybe he could have told her what he was up to.
She, of course, would never have sanctioned actual bloodletting.
But scaring the asshole?
Fair game.
Then Carmen lost interest, and she concentrated on driving. A natural behind the wheel, she liked rough roads. Trails and mountain paths.
And, as always, speed.
She hit 110 miles per hour and swerved into the left lane, slipped past a slow-moving camper and segued fast into the right once more, as the driver of the oncoming tractor-trailer yanked the air horn.
“Jesus,” Tandy muttered from the device in Heron’s hand. Then asked, “Where is she? Selina?”
Heron said, “Damon Garr had a governess. He didn’t tell Kane much about her and I didn’t have time to get the whole sordid story of their relationship. Garr uses her place as a safe house, Kane said. That’s where he’s got her.”
It was now Carmen’s turn to blare her vehicle’s horn. This time the oncoming pickups pulled to the shoulder. Only two gave her the finger as she streaked past.
“Sanchez,” Heron said through gritted teeth.
She grimaced and eased off the gas, remembering the motto her driver-training instructors had drilled into her when she was a new agent. “Arrive alive.”
“Odds that he warned Damon?” Tandy asked.
Heron replied, “Claimed he didn’t and there was noSiginton his phone or computer telling me he had. Might have been lying, but ...” He shrugged.
In any event, they had done all they could—notifying local police about the Spalding house the instant Heron scored the address.
This was so very hard. Her sister’s life was in jeopardy. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep the speedometer below a hundred.
If anything happened to her little sister, Carmen would never forgive herself. She’d berated Ryan Hall for assuming Selina would stay home and wait for him, but hadn’t she made the same mistake? If anything, her fault was far greater because they’d grown up together. Selina was smart, tough, fierce and determined. Never the type to wring her hands and let others handle problems.
In truth, it was one of many things she admired about her only sibling—and only remaining immediate family member. The thought brought another wave of dread.
She veered down a private road and announced, “We’re here.”
Heron said goodbye to Tandy and pocketed his phone.
Carmen skidded to a stop behind two local squad cars in front of the house that had been owned by Ms. Hattie Spalding, a former teacher and governess who had died a few years ago in a freak accident involving a defective electrical circuit. Damon Garr’s Mercedes was here too, parked beside the house on the driveway.
