Chapter 5

12:35 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022 – Somewhere between Houston and Hard Rock, Texas

“Speak!” Jean-Pierre commanded when he answered the call coming in through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Are you on your way to Hard Rock?” a man at the other end asked. Jean-Pierre and Thierry knew this was the private investigator Jean-Pierre hired to keep track of Azalea and the goings-on in Hard Rock.

“Oui,” he said automatically, forgetting the man at the other end did not speak his language. “Yes, I am on my way now. I should be there in about an hour. Why?”

“You may want to avoid the downtown area. It looks like a law enforcement convention at the Sheriff’s Department. I’d say probably every LEO in the area is there. Sheriff’s deputies, DPS, you name it. Hell, there’s even some military vehicles there,” the man said. “I also spotted a deputy director of the FBI.”

“FBI?” Thierry asked, shocked.

“Yes. And if I had to make a guess, I’d say it was about the two of you. I don’t think you should stay at your usual place. You may want to hang out at my safe house for a day or two until this all blows over,” the man said. “You know where it is, right?

“Yes, I know,” Jean-Pierre replied. It wasn’t much of a “house,” really. It was a small 60-foot-long trailer with two tiny bedrooms. But it had electricity, running water, a well-stocked refrigerator, a small bar, and a decent air conditioner. It wasn’t Jean-Pierre’s first choice, but it would have to do. And he already had a key to the place, just in case.

“I’ve already re-stocked the fridge, and there is a bottle of cognac, so you should be good to go,” the man said.

“What about the target?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“Mrs. Dupont and her two guests are staying at the sheriff’s place, along with the FBI deputy director. I will send you the address. There’s a map at the safe house.”

“Dammit, I told you before. NO NAMES!” Jean-Pierre yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s happening here, but it’s pretty hot right now. You might want to sit back and cool your heels until things settle down,” the man said. Jean-Pierre knew the investigator did not know his plans or business and wasn’t paid to know that much. His job was to watch Dupont and what was happening in the town.

“Send the information, then watch them,” Jean-Pierre ordered. “Goodbye.” He ended the call, his frustration level rising with each passing moment. He heard the buzz that informed him an email had arrived. Just then, he heard Thierry’s phone buzz. He looked at the man sitting beside him, staring at his phone.

“They know,” Thierry croaked, his face turning several shades of pale.

“Who knows? What do they know?” Jean-Pierre barked.

“It is a notification that my status has been revoked. I am to report to the security services within 24 hours of receiving this message for possible expulsion,” Thierry replied, his voice shaking. “What will I do?” he asked, looking at Jean-Pierre with fear. “I cannot go to jail. I will not survive.”

Jean-Pierre knew at that moment that Thierry was no longer useful to him. He would be too concerned about his fate at the hands of the security services and the police to concentrate on the job before them. He saw a sign that read, “Rest Area 2 miles,” and instantly knew what to do. He hated to do it but knew it was necessary. And he knew no one would likely be at this rest stop at this time of night.

“Don’t worry, Thierry. I will personally see to it that you do not go to jail. Either here or in France,” Jean-Pierre said.

“Thank you,” Thierry said.

Jean-Pierre turned his signal on and prepared to exit the highway.

“What are you doing?” Thierry asked. “Where are you going?”

“I need to piss,” Jean-Pierre answered in a cold tone. “I think you do, too.”

“I could use a break. We have been driving a long time,” Thierry said in sudden relief.

“Yes, we have. Turn your phone off,” Jean-Pierre said ordered. “We do not want the security services tracking it.”

“That is a good idea,” Thierry replied. He followed Jean-Pierre’s directions, returning the phone to his pocket when he finished. By then, Jean-Pierre had pulled off the highway and parked in front of the empty men’s restroom. As he surmised, no one else was parked in the rest area.

He exited the car and motioned for Thierry to join him, ensuring he walked inside the small rock structure behind Thierry. He looked around quickly; no obvious security cameras. Good. Thierry stepped to a urinal without looking back, unzipped his trousers, and began urinating with a sigh. Jean-Pierre calmly pulled out his pistol and fired one round into the back of Thierry’s head, spraying bone and brain matter on the filthy tiled wall.

Replacing his pistol, Jean-Pierre donned his gloves, then pulled Thierry’s pistol. He placed it in Thierry’s dead hand, then fired another round into what was left of his head, using Thierry’s trigger finger. He then took Thierry’s phone and replied to the email using the speech-to-text app to save time, pretending to be his former comrade.

“I confess to the murder of Phillipe Dupont of Worldwide Imports and Exports and his assistant, Carmelita Holder. I also confess to murdering Mrs. Holder’s husband. I admit I have been in love with Azalea Dupont for some time, and I could no longer bear to see her with Phillipe.

“In addition, I have passed on confidential government information to outside parties and falsified official documents facilitating the arrival of paid assassins into the United States.

“I cannot live with the guilt of what I have done. Please accept my apologies, and tell my family that I love them and am sorry,” Jean-Pierre concluded, signing the email with Thierry’s signature. He hit “send” and smiled when he received confirmation the email had arrived at its destination. He left the phone on and placed it back in Thierry’s pocket. Let the security services track that, he thought.

“I am truly sorry, mon ami,” Jean-Pierre said, looking down at the dead man on the floor. Thierry’s trousers were unzipped, his flaccid cock hanging halfway out with urine soaking the front of his trousers. “But it seems you are now more useful to me dead than alive.

“You have served me well in the past, which is why I gave you a quick death. You see, I do not have the time to deal with a man at the end of his career carrying emotional baggage, and I did promise to keep you out of prison. I imagine we may see each other again sometime in the future, perhaps in a place nearly as hot as this Texas, so I will bid you a la prochaine rather than adieu.”

With that, Jean-Pierre calmly walked to another urinal, did his business, washed his hands and face, and left Thierry’s dead body on the floor and carefully avoiding any spatters of bodily fluids. He returned to his car and drove away. Arriving in Hard Rock unmolested, he went straight to the safe house.

Using the private investigator’s key, he opened the door and carried what luggage he had inside. After putting everything away, he drank a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then went to bed.

...

05:30 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022 – The Caldwell residence

Beverly woke up early in the morning as she always did and looked at the sleeping form of her husband in bed. After everything that had happened, he deserved a break, so she let him sleep. Besides, she reasoned, Azalea had already offered to accompany her to the chicken coops. The two women had a few things to discuss anyway, and Beverly felt it would be best if her husband weren’t around.

She dressed in work clothes and went downstairs, shaking her head at two men snoring loud enough to wake the dead. She wondered if Azalea was still outside and was shocked to see the woman sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. After making some coffee, she went out.

“Good morning,” Beverly said. “I brought you some coffee.”

“Good morning. Thank you,” Azalea replied mechanically, taking the cup of hot coffee.

“Were you out here all night?” Beverly asked.

“Yes,” Azalea answered tersely. Where else did Beverly think she would be? In a house full of near strangers?

“Well then, are you ready to head over to the chicken farm?”

“Is it very far?”

“No, just right over there,” Beverly replied, pointing at the white buildings in the distance. “C’mon, hop in my truck, and well drive over.” The two women got into Beverly’s truck, a Ford F150 similar to Ryan’s civilian truck, and headed to Beverly’s chicken farm.

“Do you do this every day?” Azalea asked.

“Sure do. Gotta take care of my babies,” Beverly replied with pride. “I’ve been taking care of critters my whole life.”

The ride was made in silence – slightly tense on Beverly’s part, oblivious on Azalea’s part, as she had nothing to say, so she said nothing.

After a few minutes, they arrived at the main barn, got out, and made their way across the cool, hard-packed ground to the door. Beverly unlocked and opened it and turned up the lights. A sleepy murmur of clucking rolled across the floor around them.

“My lord, how many chickens do you have?” Azalea gasped, astonished when she walked into the large building.

“Hundreds,” Beverly said. “I have a couple that helps take care of them, but I like to come over and look after them myself in the mornings. I think they like it when I come by. C’mon, grab that bag of feed.” Azalea looked where Beverly pointed and tried to lift the heavy bag but couldn’t.

“I ... I can’t,” she protested.

“Use your legs, not your back. Like this,” Beverly said. Azalea watched as Beverly easily hefted a bag onto one shoulder. She was amazed that such a petite woman could lift such a heavy bag so easily. She emulated what she saw Beverly do and was surprised she could raise the thing. It had to weigh at least 50 pounds. “That’s it. Let’s go.”

“Can we talk for a minute?” Azalea asked when they reached their destination. Beverly put her bag of feed down and saw Azalea had already placed hers on the floor of the large coop.

“Sure,” Beverly said in a neutral tone of voice. “You wanna talk about why you tried to seduce my husband?”

“I did not try to seduce him. I only offered to have sex with him. It is a normal biological function,” Azalea replied. Beverly snorted at that, confusing Azalea.

“I don’t where you’re from, sweetheart, but in these parts, offering to have sex with someone is seducing them,” Beverly shot back.

“I am from Quebec,” Azalea stated, puzzled. “Does that matter?”

“No. It doesn’t,” Beverly said pointedly. “It’s the same in Quebec as it is in Hard Rock, Texas. Seduction is seduction. And sex is not JUST a biological function. It’s the most intimate expression of love between two people. You were married, right?”

“Yes, of course, I was.,” her puzzlement increasing.

“Then you should understand,” Beverly said.

“We had an ... understanding,” Azalea answered, perplexed. “Do not you and Ryan have an understanding?”

“Yes. We understand that as long as we’re married to each other, everyone else is off-limits. That’s why there’s that whole ‘forsaking all others’ in the marriage vows. You remember those, don’t you?”

“No. Phillipe and I never said those words,” Azalea replied, slightly bewildered. “Were we supposed to?”

“It’s been said in every wedding I’ve ever been to,” Beverly replied, confused. Then it dawned on her. “Were you in one of those open marriages?”

“Open?” Azalea asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, where the partners agree they can have sex with other people. I’ve read about those. Is that what you had with your husband?”

“I never thought about it in that way, but yes, I suppose we did,” Azalea replied.

“Well, Ryan and I do not have that kind of arrangement. So I would appreciate it if you could respect our marriage enough to not offer yourself to my husband,” Beverly hissed, her anger barely contained.

“I ... apologize,” Azalea said quietly, feeling thoroughly chastised. “I meant no disrespect.”

“I accept your apology. This time,” Beverly replied. The threat was evident in her statement. “Now, let’s get these chickens fed, shall we?”

...

7:14 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022

Jean-Pierre woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the small screen and saw the call was from his PI in Hard Rock. He sat up and answered the phone.

“Have you seen the news?” the PI asked.

“No, you idiot, I was asleep,” Jean-Pierre growled.

“You should probably turn on the television,” the PI told him. “Turn it to channel 7.” Jean-Pierre grabbed the remote and turned the television on. He gasped out loud when he saw his face on the screen, and he couldn’t think of an adequate profanity.

“Residents of Hard Rock woke up Sunday morning to see this plastered everywhere around town,” the news anchor said, showing one of the hundreds of flyers posted around town earlier that morning. The anchor continued his report.

“According to this flyer, the Sheriff’s Department is looking for what they say is a suspect in at least three murders. The flyer identifies the suspect as Jean-Pierre Gagnon, and the flyer adds that he is considered armed and extremely dangerous. The Sheriff’s Department asks anyone who sees this man to contact their office with details immediately. For more, we turn to KHRK’s Allison Channing.”

“Thank you, Brent,” Allison replied with a slight smile. This is why she went into broadcasting. “In a statement released early this morning, Sheriff Ryan Caldwell said Gagnon is wanted in connection with three murders earlier this week.

“Because of the gruesome nature of the murders, Gagnon’s prior military training, and the possibility that Gagnon may have recruited others with prior military experience to embark on a mission of violence against the town, the entire Sheriff’s Department has been activated, and the local National Guard unit has been called into service.

“In his statement, Sheriff Caldwell said, ‘This department will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of this community and those who call it home. I will not rest until Gagnon is taken into custody.’ He also advised residents to exercise extreme caution should they encounter Gagnon, who is said to be a trained assassin. Back to you, Brent,” Allison concluded.

“Thank you, Allison,” Brent replied. “In what may be a related story, the body of a man was found in a rest stop approximately one hour east of Hard Rock by a family on their way home from Houston. Officials say the man appears to have been shot in the head. No other information is available at this time, but officers with the Department of Public Safety are investigating.”

“What do you want me to do?” the PI asked Jean-Pierre.

“Do what I paid you to do,” Jean-Pierre growled. “Watch the Caldwell residence. Let me know what you see.”

“Will do,” the PI said before ending the call. Jean-Pierre threw the phone and watched it bounce off the bed before resting on the floor. This Sheriff Caldwell would pay dearly for this, he thought. He did his morning business, showered, and made a pot of what these Americans called “coffee.” After eating a microwave breakfast, he grabbed the map of Hard Rock and began to plan.

...

8:27 am, Sunday, September 25, 2022

Ryan woke to the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen below. He looked at the clock and remembered that he had promised to help Beverly with her chickens. Mentally kicking himself in the ass, he climbed out of bed, did his morning routine, dressed, and went downstairs to face the music.

“About time you got your ass outta bed,” Smith quipped as he sipped his coffee at the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, well, someone didn’t wake me up when she left to feed the chickens,” Ryan replied, looking at Beverly, who smiled at him as she cooked the bacon.

“Azalea went with me,” she said airily. “Besides, I figured you could use your sleep. Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Ryan said, accepting the cup Azalea offered him with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression, obviously wrestling with deep thoughts. “So, is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Azalea replied, vaguely annoyed. “Why would it not be okay?”

“Just wondering,” Ryan said, looking between Beverly and Azalea. He thought there might be a problem between the two women, but they seemed to have dealt with their issues. He knew Beverly was still steamed at Azalea for coming on to him, so maybe they talked things out. He hoped so...

“Any word on our guy?” Ryan asked Smith.

“Not yet, but there was another body found in a rest stop east of town this morning,” Smith said.

“Oh?” Ryan asked.

“Yes. It made the news this morning, but I heard from the Houston field office that the victim was identified as Thierry Toussaint, one of the French consulate workers who was recalled. Reports from the scene have him shot in the BACK of the head, and with his dick hanging out.

“He apparently sent an email taking responsibility for the three murders. Hell of a weird suicide, or a really sloppy, rushed murder. I’m betting on the murder.” He glanced at Azalea. “The email said he had a thing for Mrs. Dupont,” Smith said, getting Azalea’s attention.

“Did you know him?” Ryan asked.

“No,” she told him definitely. “I have never met anyone by that name.”

“Do you know when that email was sent?” Ryan asked Smith.

“I was told it was sent at 12:47 am this morning,” Smith said.

“12:47 am. That rest stop is only an hour out of town. Assuming Gagnon came straight here, that would have put him in town about 1:47 – 45 minutes before we finished our meeting. It seems your gut instinct was right after all, Azalea,” Ryan said.

“It usually is,” she shot back.

“I thought I smelled bacon,” Roland called out as he and Bill came bounding down the stairs. “Damn, that smells good.”

“Have a seat,” Beverly said. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Do you need some Tabasco?” Ryan asked Azalea before he sat, remembering how she practically drowned her pork chop in the hot sauce the previous night.

“Yes,” Azalea replied in her trademark monotone. Ryan shrugged his shoulders and handed her the bottle. He exchanged a worried glance with Beverly as Azalea covered her eggs with the stuff.

Sitting at the table, everyone quickly ate their breakfast. As before, Azalea said nothing as she practically inhaled her food, washing it down with hot black coffee and then sitting quietly.

“This is wonderful, sweetheart,” Ryan said with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Yes, this is excellent, Mrs. Caldwell. Thank you,” Bill added.

“Well thank you so much,” Beverly said.

“You eat like this every morning?” Roland asked Ryan.

“Sure do,” Ryan said. “You know what they say – breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” They finished their breakfast, and Ryan helped Beverly collect the dishes.

“Is everything all right?” he quietly asked his wife when they were in the kitchen.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart,” Beverly told him. “Azalea and I had a little ... discussion this morning. We’ve come to an ... understanding.”

“I see,” Ryan said. Just then, his phone buzzed. “Excuse me, I need to take this,” he said, seeing the call was from his office. It was Rhonda, one of the weekend desk sergeants.

“Sheriff, Fred Tibbets is here, says he’s seen the suspect. And there’s a Ranger Wilson asking for you.” Ryan knew Fred ran the Sunset Motel on the edge of town. He was a good man who had run the place for years. Perhaps, he thought, Gagnon was either staying there or had been there in the past.

“Thank you, Rhonda, I’ll be there in a bit. Just finished breakfast.”

“I’ll let them know, Sheriff,” Rhonda said before ending the call.

“I need to change and get down to the office,” Ryan announced. “You wanna come along?” he asked Smith.

“Sure,” Smith said. Ryan went upstairs and changed into his uniform. On his way out of the master bedroom, he caught a flash of light through a window facing north in one of the bedrooms. He looked through the window and thought he saw a small truck in the creekbed about 100 yards north of his property, across the main road.

“Bill, Roland, how are you at cover and concealment?” he asked after he returned downstairs.

“The best. You know that Ryan,” Roland said suspiciously. “Why?”

“We’re being watched,” Ryan said. Smith and Azalea overheard and stepped into the conversation.

“You think it’s Gagnon?” Smith asked.

“No. Gagnon wouldn’t be so blatant. Besides, with his face plastered all over town, I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to come here in broad daylight. Probably someone working for him,” Ryan said.

“What do you want us to do?” Roland asked.

“Go out the back door. Work your way around Beverly’s farm and cross the road there. Then go about 100 yards across the road. You’ll get to a dry creek bed. Come at the guy from two sides. Bring him back here. I’ll wait until you have him. Any questions?”

“I got it,” Roland said as Bill nodded his head.

“What do you want me to do?” Azalea asked.

“Stay here with us,” Ryan said.

“Very well,” she said without complaint, but Ryan could tell she was itching to get into the action.

“You two get going,” Ryan told Roland and Bill. They nodded and silently went out the back door as Ryan went upstairs.

Grabbing a pair of binoculars from the master bedroom, Ryan stood back from the window and surveyed the area across the street. He saw the man hunker down behind some brush and then saw Roland and Bill work towards him. A few minutes later, the man found himself staring down the business end of Roland’s Thompson gun.

When Ryan, Smith, and Azalea got outside, Roland and Bill escorted their visitor across the road. Ryan recognized the man right off – Sam Grayson, Hard Rock’s only private investigator. When they reached Ryan, they stopped, and Sam looked at them nervously.

“Well, if it isn’t Sam Grayson,” Ryan said lightly. “Why are you out here watching my house, Sam? You working for Jean-Pierre Gagnon?” At the mention of Jean-Pierre, Sam’s face turned pale.

“I’m not saying anything,” Sam hissed.

“Give me five minutes with him, Sheriff. He’ll tell you everything,” Azalea hissed back. Ryan had images of Azalea forcing bamboo shoots under Sam’s fingernails and shook the thought from his mind.

“Oh, he’ll tell us what we need to know. Won’t you, Sam?” Ryan asked with a sly smile and an unnerving wink. “Turn around, hands behind your back.” Ryan cuffed Sam as he recited his Miranda rights. Then he patted Sam down. Finding no weapons or contraband, Ryan pushed him into the back of his official truck. “We’re off now. I don’t know when we’ll be back. You need me to pick up some more Tabasco sauce?” he asked Azalea.

“If you would,” she replied, then added awkwardly, “Please.”

“You need anything, sweetheart?” Ryan asked Beverly.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“All right. I’ll call when we’re on our way back.” Ryan and Smith got into the truck and headed for town. When they got to the Sheriff’s Department, Ryan pulled Sam out of the back of his truck and led him inside, handing him off to Deputy Jones.

“Take Mr. Grayson to Interview Room One, if you would, please,” Ryan said.

“Right away, Sheriff,” Jones said, taking Sam down the hall. Ryan and Smith continued to the front of the department. He saw Fred and a tall man in a dark suit and Stetson – the Ranger. Ryan nodded to the Ranger, then addressed Fred.

“What can I do for you, Fred?” Ryan asked.

“That guy, Gagnon. The one on television. He’s been at my motel,” Fred said. “More than once. I recognized his face from the news report this morning.”

“Is he there now?” Ryan asked.

“No, Sheriff, he isn’t. But I checked my records just to make sure it was the same guy. I made a copy of them for ya,” Fred said, handing Ryan a folder. Ryan looked at Fred’s registration records and saw Gagnon and one other person were there on March 11, the last day Phillipe Dupont and Carmelita Holder were seen alive.

“This shows one other person with Gagnon back in March,” Ryan said.

“Yeah. He always came with that Gagnon guy. For a while, I thought they were, you know ... together...” Ryan had to think about that briefly before it hit him.

“I ... see,” Ryan said. “Did you get the other man’s name?”

“Yeah, it was a Terry something. I don’t remember now. I do remember that Gagnon feller calling him that, though,” Fred said.

“Thank you, Fred,” Ryan said. “I appreciate this a bunch.”

“Any time, Sheriff,” Fred said.

“How’s Bea doing these days?” Ryan asked, referring to Fred’s wife.

“Her arthritis has been acting up something awful lately, Sheriff. But other than that, she’s doing okay,” Fred replied.

“Listen, why don’t you take that lovely bride of yours out for a steak dinner with all the trimmings? On me,” Ryan said, peeling a $50 bill off a money clip he kept in his pocket.

“Why ... thank ya, Sheriff,” Fred exclaimed with a wide grin. “I appreciate that a bunch. And I know Bea will love that.”

“You have a good day, Fred. And be careful out there,” Ryan said.

“I will. And thank you again,” Fred said as the two men shook hands. After Fred left the office, Ryan turned to Ranger Wilson.

“What can I do for you, Ranger?” Ryan asked.

“I must say, Sheriff, you have a rather ... unique ... way of doing things,” Wilson said skeptically.

“It’s called ‘community outreach.’ Read about it in one of those online courses,” Ryan said drily. “I consider these people my friends. Part of my extended family, if you will.”

“Uh huh,” Wilson said. “Place looks like an armed camp, Sheriff. You sure this is the right thing to do?”

“You didn’t see what was done to the victims, Ranger. I did,” Ryan practically spit. “I also know the type of man who did it. And I’ll be damned if I let him do that to anyone else in my town.”

“Captain tells me you got the Canadians involved,” Wilson said, his eyes narrowing.

“Canadians were involved long before those bodies were discovered,” Smith broke in. Wilson turned his attention to Smith.

“Smith, isn’t it? I’ve seen you on television,” Wilson said.

“Yes. Actually, it’s FBI Deputy Director Smith, Ranger Wilson. And there’s a lot more going on here than you know. Maybe if you keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut, you just might learn a thing or two without looking too silly,” Smith said with a slight smile. Wilson nodded his head, saying nothing.

“I’m getting ready to conduct an interview,” Ryan said. “If you’re nice and quiet, I’ll let you sit in.”

“I appreciate that, Sheriff,” Wilson said. Ryan caught the smile on Rhonda’s face as he turned to leave the front desk.

“This way,” Ryan commanded. Smith and Ranger Wilson followed him to his office, where he grabbed a folder, then to Interview Room 1, where Sam sat waiting. Ryan and Smith sat opposite Sam while Ryan motioned for Wilson to occupy a chair along one wall. Ryan began the audio recording of the interview, making the necessary introductions.

“I know you’ve been Mirandized, Mr. Grayson. Do you understand those rights as I have explained them?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, I understand them,” Sam growled.

“You don’t seem too happy to visit my little slice of heaven, Mr. Grayson,” Ryan smirked. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were guilty of something.”

“No comment,” Sam replied.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet. Tell me, Mr. Grayson. How long have you worked for Jean-Pierre Gagnon?” Ryan asked, placing photos of the dead bodies on the table so Sam could see them. As they watched, Sam fought back the urge to vomit.

“No comment,” Sam answered, turning his face away from the photos. Ryan adjusted the images, so Sam had to look at them again.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Grayson? Didn’t you know what kind of work your client did? I’m told that he’s an expert at this sort of thing,” Ryan stated quietly. “Given half a chance, he’ll do it again. And again. Maybe one of these days, he’ll do it to you. It won’t take long for him to learn that you were brought in for questioning. I’m sure he’s smart enough to put two and two together. Wouldn’t you agree, Ranger?”

“I certainly would,” Wilson replied with a smirk.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sam exclaimed, his face white, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.

“Wouldn’t I? After what your client has already done? And may do yet again? We’ve got three bodies we know are connected to him, and possibly a fourth. You really want to take a chance?” Ryan asked. “Now, tell me, Grayson. Where is your client, and what did he hire you to do? Work with me, Mr. Grayson, and I’ll help you out as much as I can.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Sam asked.

“Because I just gave it to you. Your client, on the other hand, has a bad habit of killing anyone who crosses him or gets in his way. Are you gonna work with me, or do you wanna take your chances with a trained assassin?” Sam’s face went gray momentarily as he took in Ryan’s words.