Page 34 of Final Approach
“You think he’s got something major on the hijacking? Something he doesn’t want to pass along through a phone call or a text?”
“It’s possible. I wish I knew.”
They fell silent. “One other possibility is that his cover’s been blown and he’s running.”
“I thought of that.” Andrew stepped out of the car to watch the road.
Still dark. No headlights. No text. No Hank. He climbed back into the car. Kristine had leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She didn’t open them when he slid into the driver’s seat. He checked on Jacob and so far no one had seen the kid. He passed the news on to Kristine.
Fifteen minutes later, he sighed.
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said, her voice soft. “Maybe he’ll text you to reschedule.”
“Yeah, maybe—”
Headlights cut across his car and Kristine jerked into a sitting position, her hand going to her weapon.
The lights shut off and a man stepped out of the vehicle. A man he recognized. His adrenaline slowed. “That’s him,” Andrew said. “Stay here, okay?”
“Sure.”
He got out and shut the door, wondering what was going on with his friend. “Hank.”
Hank wrapped him in a hug and held on. “Andrew,” Hank finally said, “boy, am I glad to see you.”
Andrew returned the man hug and stepped back. Hank had aged in the last eighteen months. His beard needed a trim and his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. Blue eyes met his and Andrew’s heart clenched at the weariness in them. “Talk to me.”
“I walked away.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I walked away. I didn’t think I could do it, but I had to if I want to live. I asked one too many questions about who killed my dad and Glenn, and things were getting itchy. This morning when I walked out of my apartment, two SN members were in a car across the street watching me. I didn’t let on that I knew they were there, but they followed me all the way to the restaurant I always stop at in the morning to grab my biscuit and coffee. Then back in my car to ride my route.” Riding his route, getting information, looking like a drug dealer, and more. “They were still following me,” he said. “I’ve been under long enough to know they were just waiting for the moment they could strike, so I did some zigging and zagging, lost them, ditched my phone, scanned my car for any tracking devices, and came here.”
Well, the tossed phone explained the lack of communication. “I know that was hard, man, but you did the right thing. We all have to know when it’s time to call it quits.” His underlying meaning wasn’t lost on his friend, who gave him a sad smile.
“Yeah,” Hank said. “I know. I’m still not sure I wasn’t followed. I just need to lay low for a while.” He ran a hand over his scruffy beard and head. “Once I shave and clean up, no one will recognize me. Ending up dead is not on my to-do list this week.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Two more things.”
“Yeah?”
“One, Showbiz is still after you.”
“That’s not news.”
“No, I mean he’s got people all over the country looking for you. He’s widened the search. He’s even put a bounty on your head.”
Andrew sighed. “I’m sorry for his son’s death. I even feel guilty about it, to be honest.” Not like Isaac Mason’s death. That was different. So very different.
“Wasn’t your fault.”
“Indirectly it was. But he won’t find me. I look completely different, he doesn’t know my name, and while he might have people looking for me, I’m not too worried about them finding me. What’s the second thing?”
The man scrubbed a hand over his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t learn who killed my dad and Glenn, but I did find out that their deaths may have been partly my fault, and I need your help to figure out how to deal with that.”
EIGHT
