So… they’re planning to kill me. He had to hand it to Albert. Hadn’t given the big boy props for that many brains. His plan would never work, of course, but it was better than what Eric had proposed. Run to France. Idiot.

But they were obeying him on the Tomlinson warehouse, so at least they were smarter than Tomlinson.

Between customers, he quickly typed in a command and brought up Eric’s bank account on his computer screen. Eric had withdrawn a thousand at the bank branch near the university. At least he was smart enough to withdraw from his normal bank and in an amount that wouldn’t raise the brows of the teller. Eric routinely withdrew a thousand, and at first he’d been curious as to what the rich boy did with all that money.

Then he’d picked up on Albert and it made sense. Albert talked a good talk about walking away from his affair with Eric, but there was no way a poor kid like Albert was walking away from money like that.

He checked the cell phone he’d activated for Barney Tomlinson. His text to Tomlinson had been simple-pay or else.

Tomlinson had been one of the few marks he’d initially misread. He’d thought Barney a smart man, but after his demands had gone ignored, had changed his mind. Obviously Barney hadn’t believed he’d follow through on his threats to expose the man’s affairs to his wife. Barney Tomlinson had amassed a modest fortune in the last few years, and according to his sources, Mrs. Tomlinson had not signed a prenup.

Tomlinson responded to his text this time. My wife found out. She’s divorcing me. What more can you do?

He smiled. Oh, a lot, he thought. I can do a helluva lot. He’d been invisible for so many years that he was used to being ignored in person. He used it to his full advantage, in fact. But to have been ignored in direct communication… Well, that was simply rude.

If Tomlinson had simply paid when he’d first asked, the man would have kept the bulk of his fortune, at least initially. Now, not only would Mrs. Tomlinson get her share in the divorce, she’d get it all. Insurance would cover the loss of the warehouse. Plus the ten million Tomlinson had in life insurance would set his wife up for life.

I personally won’t get a dime. And he was cool with that. What he would get was (a) the satisfaction of knowing Tomlinson would die, very scared indeed; (b) the satisfaction that Mrs. Tomlinson would get the last laugh; (c) a visual aid for future marks who thought they could ignore him; and (d) more really great leverage on Eric, Albert, and, last but far from least, sweet Mary. And he was very cool with that.

Monday, September 20, 2:10 p.m.

Phoebe Hunter leaned in David’s kitchen doorway, watching her son finish the tile medallion his neighbor had started. Finally admitting his fatigue, Glenn had gone back downstairs, leaving her alone with David, the child she worried about more than all of her other children put together. “Not bad,” she said.

David looked up with a smile. “Glenn did most of it.”

“He does good work,” she commented.

“That he does. I’m always trying to get him to rest, but he likes to keep busy.”

“I noticed that,” she said dryly. “He sat at the table with me for about a minute before he got up, grumbling about the big bare spot you’d left on your kitchen floor.”

“A whole minute? That’s pretty good for him. I kept telling him I hadn’t decided what I wanted for the medallion, and he kept going on about those ‘damn fancy tiles.’ He just wanted to do the design himself. Blowhard.” He said it affectionately.

“I noticed that, too. But he likes you.”

“I like him, too.” He refilled their coffee cups and they went to sit at the table. “I met him at the firehouse my first day. He’s one of the retired guys who can’t stay away.”

“He told me. He talked more about that firehouse than anything else. But he also talked about you. He told me about all the tenants and how you take care of them. How you rock those babies in 2A to sleep in the night so that Mrs. Edwards and the girls can rest. How you rescue the Gorski sisters’ cat every time it climbs up a tree. How you make sure that he’s taken care of every time he goes to chemo.”

David fidgeted in his chair. “It’s nothing, Ma. Just what anyone would do. So, what’s going on at home?”

David always changed the subject when she wanted to talk about his charity work. Well, that’s why she’d come to see him, so she wouldn’t let him squirm away this time.

“Same old, same old adventures.” But she told him anyway, all the news of his siblings and nieces and nephews, no matter how mundane. As she talked, he studied her, much like he’d studied the floor. He was her hands-on son. Always loved his gadgets, taking things apart. Putting them back together, better than new. How often had she wished he’d do that with his own life? “What are you looking at?” she asked. “Do I have a new wrinkle?”

He smiled and she saw a glimmer of his father in his eyes. Her husband had been a handsome devil, and their sons were, too. David, most of all. “You look exactly the same,” he said. “I was just thinking about you driving yourself all this way. That was pretty adventurous yourself, Ma.”

“You act like I’m old,” she sniffed.

“No, ma’am, just directionally challenged.”

That was a true fact, so she let it pass. “Your place is coming together nicely. I’d hoped for a little more furniture, but I can see you’ve been busy.”

“Thanks. I put in windows, wood trim, and plumbing. I’ve got to do the floors on one and two, but you can start on color swatches and carpet styles now if you want.”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. “Speaking of floors, I hear you had an adventure yourself this morning.” She said it calmly, even though her heart still hadn’t returned to normal. “But you appear to be all right.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was worry there. “Who told Glenn about it?”

“Somebody named Raz, who heard it from somebody named Gabe, who heard it from somebody named Zell.”

“I’m sure the story was nowhere near the truth by the time it got to Glenn,” he said.

“Probably,” she agreed mildly. He was hiding something. She’d always been able to tell. Of all her children, David seemed the most straightforward, but he was the most complicated. And the most unhappy.

“So,” he said casually. “What did Glenn tell you?”

“That you were searching for victims in that condo that’s been on the news all morning, and the floor collapsed under your feet. You nearly plunged four stories.” She was still shaken. “And you caught some kind of ball before it slid into the big dark hole.”

He frowned. “I was hoping it would be a lot further from the truth.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The ball is supposed to be a secret. You can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I can keep a secret. It’s your friends I’d be worried about.”

“Yeah, I got that. I need to call the detective.” On his cell phone, he dialed a number from memory, holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

She heard a woman answer before he pressed the phone to his ear. “Sutherland.”

Dropping her eyes to her coffee, she eavesdropped shamelessly. Sutherland was a name she knew. She’d met Olivia at Mia’s wedding. Mia’s half sister seemed like a nice young woman. A little sad, but polite. And pretty. And apparently more involved with her youngest son than any of them had suspected. Paige’s voice had carried.

“Hi. It’s David Hunter. I just wanted to let you know that the news about the ball got out.” From beneath her lashes, Phoebe saw him wince. Mia’s little sister wasn’t happy.

He made a face. “Even my mother knows,” he said wryly. “She’s visiting and heard it from a retired firefighter friend of mine who got it through the grapevine. What do you want me to do?” He listened a moment, then shot a concerned look across the table and turned away. “You have an ETA?” he murmured.