Page 93 of The Grave Artist
Like a prospective buyer in a used car lot, he knew the best tactic in a negotiation was to show no interest. And to turn and walk away, which was what he did now.
“Wait.”
He made sure to stifle a grin before turning to face her again. Just then the man lying nearby let out a groan.
She flicked a glance at him and chewed her lower lip. “Let me get my purse.”
He watched her hurry over to snatch up her bag as his thoughts raced ahead to the next few hours he would spend with her. It was a good thing he’d received the German razor blades yesterday.
Because he had big plans for Maddie Willis.
Chapter 45
“Is he back from wherever he went?” Jake asked Sanchez, as they stood in front of his workstation in the Garage.
He meant their boss, of course.
“Don’t have a clue. Never heard back from him.”
They had just set Declan to work, tracking down cars that might be traced to Ms. POI.
“Not like him to go silent,” Sanchez noted. “You know, let’s go talk to Destiny. Maybe he’s sick or one of the kids is.”
Jake nodded.
Together they walked out of the Garage and up the short, gray-carpeted corridor to HSI proper.
“Notice anything?” he asked.
Sanchez looked around. “Quiet.”
“It is.”
As they approached Williamson’s office, he glanced ahead and saw Mouse at the far end of the main hall. When she saw them, she began jogging their way.
Odd, Jake thought. She was excitable but not given to this kind of behavior.
Or panic, as her expression suggested.
They stepped into Williamson’s ante office, where Destiny Baker was on the phone. She was surrounded by dozens of slips of paper covered with handwritten scrawls. Many Post-it Notes too.
Her look of dismay mirrored Mouse’s.
Jake and Sanchez glanced at each other.
Which was when they heard a voice from inside their boss’s office.
“Ah, Agent Sanchez and Mr. Stealthy Intrusionist. Pray enter.”
“The fuck,” she whispered.
Deputy Director Stanley Reynolds was pouring bottled water into a potted plant in the window. Williamson did not decorate his office with greenery. Which meant Reynolds had brought his own. And that implied he planned to stay awhile and was making himself at home.
This was why Mouse was doing her sprint—racing to warn them of the disaster.
Reynolds put the water down and motioned to the small round conference table in the corner. They sat and he joined them. The office seemed naked without Williamson’s massive presence.
“Where is he?” Sanchez asked.
