After turning himself into Billy Barnett, he ventured outside, where he met with the head of the Strategic Services overnight security team. She reported no incidents.
He was about to head back inside when headlights lit up the gate to his property.
The supervisor cocked her head, listening to her earpiece, then said, “Mr. Barnett, Stacy Lange is here.”
“Great, let her in.”
The gate rolled open and Billy’s personal assistant drove up to the house. She climbed out of her car holding a tray with two cups of coffee. She held one out to Billy. “For you.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking his cup. “You ready to whip everything into shape?”
“You won’t even recognize this place in a few hours. Trust me, this is going to be your best party yet.”
“You know your way around the house. Help yourself to anything you need.”
“Are you leaving? The sun’s not even up yet.”
“Busy day.”
“Don’t tell me Ben’s making you go to the board meeting.”
“No, I’ve been able to avoid that particular circle of hell.”
She grimaced. “Then what could you be doing that I don’t know about?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. There’re a lot of things I do you don’t know about.”
“My life would be a lot easier if that wasn’t true.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The deep rumble of a motor drew their attention to the gate, where a delivery truck had stopped.
“That’ll be the tents,” Stacy said.
“I leave everything in your capable hands.”
He went inside, grabbed a pair of duffel bags he’d prepped the night before, and took them to his garage.
Today was not the day to be driving around in his easily identifiable Porsche Roadster. The same was true for his new Audi A6. Anonymity was the theme of the day, which was why he’d borrowed one of the studio’s production sedans — a five-year-old silver Ford Taurus.
He gave the guard at the gate a wave as he drove by and headed down the hill into the city.
Simon was packed and driving away from the Hilton by seven a.m., his gaze flitting to his rearview mirror every few seconds to check for tails.
He had switched hotels yesterday, booking his room under the assumed identity he would use to leave the country, to avoid Petry showing up and demanding the original Matilda Stones.
He had hoped that would allow him to get a sound night of sleep, but instead he had tossed and turned, barely getting more rest than he had the previous night.
He had only two things left to do before he could put this whole mess behind him. The first, pick up the originals from Rudy, and the second, hand them off to Barrington. Neither of which would occur until that evening, which meant he needed to lie low until then.
He cursed himself for not insisting the lawyer meet him earlier, but he’d shot himself in the foot by giving an “end of Saturday” deadline. Hindsight, and all that.
He called Rudy.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Simon. I’ll pick up the paintings from you at nine-thirty tonight.”
“Give me a second.”
The line was muted for nearly a minute.
When he came back on, Rudy said, “Nine-thirty’s not going to work for me.”
“Excuse me? I’m paying you good money.”
“I delivered what you paid me for. What you didn’t pay me for was to be a storage facility.”
“That’s not—” Simon stopped himself. Getting into an argument wouldn’t solve anything; he also didn’t want the paintings in his possession any longer than necessary. “What is the latest time I can come by?”
“Hold on.”
The line was muted again.
What the hell was Rudy doing? Consulting a paper calendar or something?
Rudy returned and said, “Seven.”
“Seven? You can’t do any later?” Simon didn’t bother hiding his annoyance.
“You know, you’re kind of a son of a bitch. I’m starting to think I’m busy all day.”
Simon took a deep breath. “My apologies. I have a lot going on, so I’m a bit stressed.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
In as contrite a tone as he could manage, Simon said, “Seven p.m. will be fine.”
A new call lit up his phone. His eyes widened when he saw the caller ID. It was Phillip.
“I need to go. See you tonight.” Simon punched the button to switch calls. “Phillip? Where the hell have you been?”
Chapter 47
Twenty-five minutes earlier in a house still under construction, sixty miles north, the rope securing Phillip’s left hand finally gave way. He caught it before it flopped onto the floor, then glanced at the guy sleeping in a chair next to the room’s only door. The man didn’t stir.
While it had taken most of the night to cut through the one rope, it only took a minute to remove the ones around his other hand and his ankles.
He stretched to get the blood flowing and rose to his feet. He hurt everywhere, but he could deal with that later.
He silently moved to the sleeping man and snapped the guy’s neck so quickly, the guard hadn’t had time to wake.
A search of the body turned up a seven-inch knife and a Smith & Wesson .45-caliber pistol.
He listened at the door but heard nothing, so he eased it open and slipped through.
Seven minutes later, he stood in front of the door to the master bedroom. Scattered throughout the house behind him were the lifeless bodies of the assholes who’d kidnapped him. The only one missing was their boss. And Nico and Petry, of course. But he didn’t expect them to be here.
Phillip shoved the door open, startling the naked couple lying on a mattress in the middle of the room.
“What the fuck?” the boss said. Then he realized who it was and dove toward a pistol on the floor.
Phillip pulled the Smith & Wesson’s trigger and the concrete just in front of the boss’s fingers shattered into dozens of shards.
The man jerked back.
Phillip gestured to the pistol on the floor. “Ma’am, kick that over to me, will you.”
The woman looked at the boss.
“Don’t you dare,” he said.
“I wouldn’t worry about what he says if I were you,” Phillip said.
The woman hesitated for only a moment before getting up.
The boss tried to lunge for her, so Phillip shot him in the shoulder, knocking him back.
The woman circled around the boss and scooted the gun to Phillip.
“Thanks. You might want to use the bathroom.”
“I–It’s not hooked up yet.”
“Please.”
“Oh. Um, sure.”
She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door.
Face roiling in pain, the boss yelled, “Jared! Mick! Get your asses in here!”
“Sorry, but they won’t be coming,” Phillip said.
The man’s eyes widened. “Wait. You can just go. I’ll—”
Phillip put a bullet through the center of the man’s forehead. “Damn right I can just go.”
He opened the bathroom door.
The woman shrieked.
“Relax, lady. I’m not going to hurt you. I just have a couple questions.”
“Questions?”
“First, do you know where they put my phone?”
“Uh, I think there were a couple in the kitchen.”
“Cool. Last question, where are we?”
“What?”
“Our location. I wasn’t exactly conscious when they brought me here.”
“Right. Uh, this is Palmdale.”
“Is that part of L.A.?”
She shook her head. “It’s in the desert, about an hour north.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a big help. Probably best if you stay in here for a while. Can you do that for me?”