Double Jeopardy

66

6:53 P.M.

KRAMER HAD BEEN SUSPICIOUS from the start. After all, less than twenty-four hours ago, Mario had fired him and said he was to have no further association with the family. Now Mario wanted him to come to his home immediately. Was this some kind of setup? In fifteen years of working for Mario, Kramer had never been invited to his home. He hadn’t even known where it was, and he suspected that his lack of knowledge was no accident. What the hell was going on?

To compound his suspicion, Kramer had seen a Jeep parked on the side of the private road leading to Mario’s home, about five hundred feet from the front gates. Odd parking place, and not a car he would expect Mario to be driving. As if that wasn’t enough, he found a green Hyundai parked not far from the Jeep. A quick call from his car phone told him the Hyundai was stolen.

Something unusual was happening at Mario’s house.

As he approached the front door Kramer heard voices. Two voices, maybe three. None of them was Mario’s. They were coming closer, approaching the front door.

Best to play it safe, Kramer decided. He’d fucked up too many times already; he wasn’t taking any more risks. He ducked behind some tall hedges lining the driveway and waited to see who came out the door.

“I’m familiar with that area,” Curran said as he, Travis, and Cavanaugh exited Mario’s house. “I’ll drive.”

“Wait a second,” Travis said. “I said you could come. I didn’t say you could take over.”

“I just thought it made sense, since I know my way around.”

“I’ve lived in Texas all my life.” Travis walked down the front steps and started across the large driveway fronting Mario’s home. “I also know what some of the people on my tail look like. I’ll drive.”

“Suit yourself. I was just—”

Curran’s voice suddenly faded away. Travis turned and saw that Curran had disappeared. One moment he was talking to Travis, and the next—

Cavanaugh pointed behind him. Travis whirled around just in time to see Curran dive over the hedge lining the driveway. What the hell did he think he was doing? Had he gone totally off the deep end?

A few seconds later Travis understood. Curran was rolling on the ground, wrestling with someone. Someone who must’ve been watching them.

Travis ran around the hedge. To his surprise, the man on the ground beneath Curran was not Moroconi. It was an older man, a tall man with a long, prominent scar on the side of his face. Travis had never seen him before.

Curran already had the upper hand. He was by far the stronger of the two, and he had pinned the man’s shoulders down on the well-trimmed lawn.

The man reached inside his jacket for a gun. Curran knocked it away with a quick, decisive slap of his hand. The man’s other hand dipped inside his pants pocket and returned with a cigarette lighter. The man flicked the lighter, then pressed it up against Curran’s face. Curran yelled, startled by the sudden burning sensation, but his hold did not diminish.

Travis ran forward and kicked the lighter out of the man’s hand; it flew off into the hedge. Curran leaned forward and braced his arm just under the man’s chin.

“I could kill you in three seconds,” Curran said in a guttural voice. “And if you try anything like that again, I will.”

The man relaxed. He stopped fighting.

“Who the hell are you?” Curran demanded. “Why were you watching us? And why are you carrying a gun?”

The man looked at Curran, then stared at Travis for a long moment. Then he glanced at Cavanaugh, who had just stepped behind the hedge. He didn’t answer.

Curran brought his fists down on the man’s chest. “I asked you a question! Who are you?”

The man gasped for air. He hesitated, then slowly formed the words. “I’m Inspector Henderson. With the FBI.”