Sharkey smiled now. All that worry for nothing. “Un-fucking-believable,” he said. “Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?”
“We’re this close to solid, O’Donnell. You’ve done a helluva job. It’s almost time for you to come home.”
Yes, indeed, Sharkey thought. Yes, indeed.
Arturo’s nose was broken.
He was standing near the doors to Troy’s suite when Sharkey got off the elevator. The nose looked like a small, bruised eggplant and both of his eyes were black.
“I still want to know how I wound up on that elevator floor,” he said.
“I guess you’ll have to ask Pope.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch,” Sharkey told him. “What possible reason could I have for fucking you up?”
“I don’t know. But I’m watching you, my friend.”
“Oooh, you’re scaring the shit right outta me.” He deposited his shoes, then gestured for Arturo to open the doors, and Arturo did, ushering him inside. Sharkey could feel the guy’s gaze on him the entire time and had to admit that it didn’t feel good. He didn’t know how Troy had hooked up with Arturo, but there was no question he was an asset to the organization. If you needed someone killed, that is. Quickly and unimaginatively.
Then there was The Ghost. Get a threat from that spooky bastard and Sharkey really would be shitting his pants. But The Ghost was nowhere in sight this afternoon, and that was just fine with Sharkey.
“Nice of you to show up,” Troy said when Sharkey walked into the room. “Where’ve you been?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I like to eat sometimes. I was grabbing some lunch.”
“You don’t have time for food. You need to be concentrating on Pope. I’m holding you personally responsible for letting him get away.”
“Me? What about the garden gnome?” Sharkey gestured to Arturo, who was lurking just inside the doorway. “He was there, too.”
“Arturo has some concerns about you.”
Oh, Christ, Sharkey thought. Arturo sharing his suspicions about what happened in the elevator was definitely not something to celebrate. Fortunately, Sharkey had grown accustomed to dealing with Troy’s paranoia.
“Arturo’s embarrassed,” he said. “He let you down. Of course he’s going to try to find excuses for his fuckup.”
“Have a seat,” Troy said.
There was something about Troy’s tone that irritated Sharkey. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d wanted to pull out his piece and just shoot the motherfucker, get this assignment over with. But he’d always managed to restrain himself. And knowing that they were very close to closing the deal made it a helluva lot easier.
So he sat in the most comfortable chair he could find and waited for the lecture.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“A man is only as good as the people around him,” Troy said. It was a sentiment he’d offered many times before, something he’d picked up from some corporate feel-good Web site no doubt, but Sharkey didn’t believe he meant a word of it. “And when I see breakdowns in efficiency like I saw today, it makes me wonder if we need a change.”
That didn’t sound good.
“If a trusted employee comes to me with concerns about someone’s loyalty, I think the best course of action to take is to confront the situation head-on.”
He was really starting to sound like a corporate executive now, but the greasy hair and cut-off sweats countered the effect.
“Confrontation’s always good,” Sharkey said.
“I’m glad you think so. Because it’s come to my attention that you may not be who you pretend to be.”
The Raisin Snail Sharkey had eaten earlier rolled over in his stomach. “Say what?”
“I’ve been told we have a traitor in our organization. Would you know anything about that?”
Sharkey felt panic coming on. This wasn’t part of the script and he hadn’t been expecting it. How could Troy possibly know about him?
All he could do was play along.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Where are you getting your information?”
“Oh, from a very reliable source. A source that tells me that for the past couple of years, you’ve been funneling information about me and this organization straight to the Las Vegas Metro Police Department.”
Holy shit, Sharkey thought. How was this possible?
He tried to keep his cool. “If there’s a traitor in this organization, it sure as hell isn’t me.”
“There’s no point in denying it,” Troy said. “I have living proof.” He gestured. “Isn’t that right, Detective Billingsly?”
“I’m afraid so,” a voice said. Then to Sharkey’s utter surprise, Captain Brad Billingsly stepped out of the doorway to Troy’s game room.
Sharkey was too shocked for words, but Billingsly had no trouble filling in the gap.
“You see, O’Donnell, when I ferreted out our mole and I saw all the money in his bank account, I thought to myself, Why him and not me? I want my own private island, too.” He paused. “So I gave Mr. Troy here a call this morning and offered him an opportunity to clean house.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Troy said. “The Ghost’s already taken care of our man in the LVMPD. Now he’s off to Ludlow to handle the loose ends.”
“As for you,” Billingsly told Sharkey. “It seems your assignment really has come to an end.”
And that was when Arturo came up behind the chair, brought his blade down, and slit Ed “Sharkey” O’Donnell’s throat.
“Vaya con Dios,” he said quietly.
2 9
They took Evan to the emergency room at Ludlow County General.
Though conscious after the collapse, he was dehydrated and only semi-coherent, and they all agreed it would be best to put him under observation. Ronnie, who worked at the hospital as a staff nurse, called in to get the boy bumped to the head of the line.
They drove in silence, suffering from a collective shell shock, unable or unwilling to talk about what they’d witnessed.
Anna relished the quiet.
When they arrived at the hospital, she decided to stay in the Suburban as Pope scooped Evan into his arms, then carried him in through the automatic doors, Worthington and Ronnie moving alongside them.
She had a feeling this probably wasn’t the first time they’d lived this particular scenario.
As they disappeared into the emergency room, Evan made eye contact and gave Anna a small, weak wave, breaking her heart into a thousand different pieces.
She was reminded of a moment shortly before college, when her cat, Zed, was diagnosed with a kidney ailment. She’d taken him to the veterinary clinic to be put to sleep, and the last she saw of him was when he turned to look at her with those big sad eyes as the nurse carried him away.
There was no reason to compare the two, but Anna couldn’t help herself. She had a sudden, vague sense that she might not be seeing Evan again, and she wasn’t sure why. His condition was not life-threatening. Bringing him here was only a precaution.
Yet the feeling persisted. Resonated.
You’re tired, she told herself. That’s all. Tired and weak.
Pope had suggested she see the doctor as well, but she’d refused.
“I’ll be fine,” she’d said, although “fine” was a relative term, wasn’t it?
The real reason she’d wanted to wait in the car was because she needed to be alone. To think. To wrap her head around what had happened.
There was no doubt now that Pope had been right. Jillian Carpenter was very much a part of her past, and the details of that past no longer came to her in fleeting images. The last moments of Jillian’s life were now a vivid part of Anna’s consciousness.
She remembered everything.
The terror. The loss of power. The pain.