Part 31 (2/2)
”We want you to lure them into a trap.”
”'We'? I was under the impression you were working alone. How many of you are there?”
”Two,” said Stuart.
”Two?”
”If we do this right, that's all it will take.”
”What if you get it wrong?”
”We won't,” said Stuart.
”And how does this make everything go away?”
”Because we're going to burn their operation here to the ground. It's the only way to stop a group like this. You have to make their continued presence here too costly to pursue, and I plan to charge them a f.u.c.king premium if they try to stick around. I just need to use you as . . . uh . . .”
”Bait?” said the man.
”I was looking for a more appealing term.”
”Like what?”
”Bait pretty much sums it up.”
”When do you want to do this?”
”Within the next few hours,” said Stuart. ”We should meet to discuss the plan. You pick the place. Bring the Jeep, or they might suspect something is off.”
”I don't want them tracking the Jeep back here.”
”You need to ditch the Jeep, sooner than later,” said Stuart. ”I hate to break this to you, but every vehicle in your community needs to be replaced. Repainted, at the very least.”
”d.a.m.n,” he said. ”I'm really up s.h.i.+t creek here.”
”Well, if it's any consolation, you did the right thing for Jon and Leah, which means you've made a new best friend.”
”I'm gonna need one. I'm about to lose the friends I have here.”
”Don't count them out yet.”
After they'd finalized arrangements to meet and ended the call, Blake turned to him.
”So. What's the plan?”
”I don't know yet,” replied Stuart.
”Oh boy.”
”Oh boy is right.”
CHAPTER 51.
Riggs straightened in his seat. A tan Jeep Wrangler had just appeared on Oxford Street, approaching the western parking lot entrance. From his vehicle's position in the diner parking lot, directly across the street from the post office, he had an un.o.bstructed view of all customer approaches to the building.
”Wake the f.u.c.k up!” he hissed, shaking Tex's arm.
”Chill out!” said Tex. ”And keep your hands off. I'm getting sick of your s.h.i.+t.”
He'd completely lost the team's respect. Tex never would have back-talked him like that before last night's debacle.
”You want to spend the rest of your life staking out this parking lot? Look,” said Riggs, nodding toward the entrance.
The Jeep turned into the lot, proceeding slowly toward a spot near the entrance.
”License plate matches,” said Ross, pa.s.sing a pair of binoculars between the front seats.
Riggs took the binoculars and focused on the man driving the Jeep as he eased the vehicle into a s.p.a.ce to the left of the entrance doors and got out. It was Scott Gleason.
”It's him,” said Riggs, opening his door. ”Man, we got lucky. This might work out better than the original plan.”
”Sure. If you consider never working in the industry again a better plan.”
”You'll be fine. There's always work for the sheep.”
”What the h.e.l.l does that mean?” barked Tex.
Riggs shook his head in disgust and slammed the door shut. Screw that guy. Ross, too. Neither of them had ever put together a team and run an operation. They just did what they were told and collect their split. A glorified getaway driver and a trigger puller. That's all either of those two worthless a.s.sholes could put on his resume.
He reached into his coat pocket and removed the thumb-size tracking device he'd tested an hour earlier. The tracker utilized both the city Wi-Fi and cellular networks, in conjunction with GPS satellite signals, to find and transmit its location.
Riggs walked across the diner parking lot, timing his approach so he arrived at Kent Street, directly in front of the post office entrance, at the exact moment Gleason disappeared inside. His casual walk turned into the lazy jog of someone crossing a street with light traffic. He had timed the trip between the post office door and Gleason's box when the place first opened.
He fast-walked across the post office lot, slipped between the tan Jeep and the car next to it, and knelt next to the rear tire well. He reached his hand high under the cha.s.sis, just behind the well, moving the tracker until he felt the magnet stick. He pulled on the device and tried to wiggle it side to side, but it was firmly attached. Rising to his feet, he glanced through the Jeep's back windows at the post office door. All clear.
Riggs had just crossed Kent Street when Gleason emerged from the building, carrying a small package and a few envelopes. Riggs had really hoped that the box had been empty. The only foreseeable wrinkle in their plan occurred if Gleason decided to take the envelopes to his town house. Discovering an active homicide investigation into the murder of his good friend would undoubtedly delay Gleason's day, and theirs. In the end, though, it wouldn't matter. With the tracker in place, he'd eventually lead them to Mrs. Fisher.
When Riggs got back to the SUV, Tex wouldn't look at him. He glanced over his shoulder at Ross, disturbed that he had to prompt him for information.
”The signal's looking good,” said Ross, looking uninterested for someone whose life depended on tracking that signal.
s.h.i.+t. They'd had a little confidential discussion while he was gone. His problem had just gone from insubordination to mutiny. The only questions were how and when.
”All we can do now is wait and see where he takes us,” said Riggs.
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