Page 113 of The Body in the Backyard
“I’ll get Brian digging into this Pete guy and the business card,” Nick said, increasing his own pace to match Weber’s. “Gabe is keeping an eye on Gentry at our place for the day. And Thorn and I are going to pay Bella another visit. She’s been pretty quiet for someone whose fiancé almost got shot yesterday.”
“I get the feeling those two don’t have a traditional relationship,” Weber said while his long legs effortlessly ate up the speed.
“If you call getting married for the adultery clause payout in the prenup nontraditional,” Nick said.
“How’d you dig that up?” Weber asked.
Nick hooked his thumb in Riley’s direction. “Hot psychic girlfriend.”
“Speaking of things we’re doing after I die on this treadmill. Don’t forget we’re babysitting tonight,” Riley reminded him on a wheeze. She was already out of breath, and her feet were hitting the belt like they were encased in Gene Simmons’s platform stage boots.
Weber snorted. “Someone’s trusting Nick with their child?”
“Three childs, dickhead. I’m Uncle Nick. I’m the favorite.”
“He’s in a competition with Gabe for my nieces’ affection,” Riley explained on a wheeze.
“Of course he is. Who else do you have eyes on?” Weber asked.
She couldn’t believe the guys were carrying on a normal conversationwhile running.
“Nice try. I gave you the tit. Where’s my tat?” Nick said.
Weber grimaced. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I told you, as far as the PD is concerned, the case is closed. I can’t exactly pull in witnesses for questioning. The shooters were extradited back to Colombia. Their lawyer went with them.”
“Come on, Weber. Even your rule book isn’t shoved that far up your ass. I’m sure there are other threads you can pull on,” Nick said.
Riley tried to ignore the cramp in her left side, but it was sharp enough that she wondered if her appendix had migrated and was about to burst.
“Fine. Maybe I stopped by the FBO at the airport on my way home last night,” Weber admitted.
“That’s more like it. An FBO is a fixed base operator for private flights,” Nick explained to Riley.
“Uh-huh,” she rasped.
“What did you find?” Nick asked.
“That the private plane the lawyer flew in on is still sitting on the tarmac, and that when he arrived yesterday, he was in the middle of a heated phone call with someone who sounded like a very unhappy boss. Unfortunately, without the department behind me on this, I can’t get a warrant for flight records.”
Riley was doing her best to listen and keep her feet moving, but her migrating appendix and newly asthmatic breathing were demanding more and more of her attention.
“I’ll put Brian on it. So we’ve got a bad guy—or girl—with private-plane-and-hit-man money out there who wants Griffin Gentry dead, and all we know now is the plane their lawyer flew in on is still here,” Nick recapped. “Maybe it’s the lawyer.”
“Could be, but then why did he fly back commercial and leave a perfectly good airplane behind?” Weber reminded Nick.
Nick shrugged. “Maybe he likes those shitty bags of pretzels? Or maybe he wanted to make sure his guys kept their mouths shut?”
Riley liked this scenario where all the bad guys had left the country.
“Might be time to consider taking Gentry underground at least for a few days,” Weber warned. “You already thwarted one murder attempt. If this boss gets word that you’re also sheltering Gentry, he might decide to retaliate.”
Riley’s heart rate—which was already dangerously high thanks to the jogging—kicked up another notch. “We have…a lot of…kind of innocent…people in that house.”
Nick shook his head. “My gut tells me those clown car idiots from yesterday were probably the only henchmen on the ground. Until we know we’re being watched, I don’t think we need to pack up our village of idiots and move them.”
