Sending Larry Bolan’s truck through the front of the restaurant had been a little pointless. I’d been expecting Huffman inside, bodyguards too, and the stunt with the truck had been intended as a distraction while I made my way inside by the other route. Huffman had arranged it so that all I had to do was walk inside and take the phone from Judge Wallace. I’d killed the man on the stairs for nothing. But I didn’t let that concern me; I had more important things on my mind. Primarily, who were these associates of Huffman and why had he warned me they were coming?
My first thought was that I couldn’t deliver Imogen Ballard to him if I was dead. But it was like he said: my death was inconsequential to his plans. He had Kate, and ultimately that was what would bring Imogen to him. My value was no higher than that of any other of the men he had at his beck and call.
It didn’t take much figuring out.
Huffman simply couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed pitting man against man. He enjoyed the thought of blood and violence. By promising to return Kate to me, he knew that I would fight tooth and nail. His own men would be coming with the same intention. He’d warned me about them because he wanted us to fight and he was not the least bit concerned by how many of us would die.
He had no intention of returning Kate to me. If I delivered Imogen Ballard to him, both women would die. Likely he’d make sure I died too. He wasn’t going to leave any loose ends.
Smashing the phone was a mistake.
I should have demanded proof of life first.
Now I had to accept his word that Kate was alive and that he’d keep her as bait for her sister. Still, to do that, he had to make contact with Imogen. That gave me the luxury of some time, none of it to be wasted here fighting contract killers for Huffman’s amusement.
When we’d first arrived in Kentucky, we had booked rooms at a hotel at the airport. I had left my spare clothes and supplies in my room. That would be my first port of call. With the supplies I had fake documents that I could use to book a flight out of there.
I left Judge Wallace unconscious on the floor.
Making my way down the stairs I searched my pocket for my mobile phone. Instead, I found Kate’s.
A plan of sorts came to mind.
I rang Imogen’s number, not expecting her to answer. She didn’t, but I left a message on her voicemail. Imogen obviously knew enough not to use her phone — it could be too easily traced — but I suspected that she hadn’t cut herself off with any finality. Maybe she would access her voice messages. With some networks you could do that remotely from any landline.
‘Imogen,’ I said. ‘I’m Joe Hunter. I was a friend of Jake’s, maybe he told you about me? Kate has been taken by the men you’re hiding from. I’m going to get her back. But I need your help. Ring me.’
Then I could only hope that I was right.
My next call was to Rink.
‘I’m getting out of here, Rink.’
‘Uh-oh.’
I told him about my conversation with Robert Huffman.
‘He’s put out a contract on you?’
‘So he said. I have to assume he was telling the truth.’
‘Unless he’s only tryin’ to frighten you,’ he said, ‘so that you deliver Imogen to him quicker.’
‘That’d be a waste of time.’
‘Nothin’ frightens Joe Hunter, huh?’
‘Plenty of things frighten me, Rink. Contract killers don’t.’
‘So where are you going?’
‘If Huffman’s heading for Dallas, so am I.’
‘I’ll change my flight plans,’ Rink said. ‘Join you there instead.’
We arranged to meet at Dallas Fort Worth Airport the following morning.
‘You want me to pick up Harvey on the way?’ Rink asked.
‘We could do with the extra firepower.’
‘Harvey will be pleased to hear that. I asked him to dig up what he could on Huffman for you. He’s been itchin’ to get in on the action ever since.’
We hung up, and I felt a little better knowing that my friends were on their way. Despite my macho words, the thought of having a bunch of contract killers hunting me was concerning. If I failed, Kate would die too, and that was something I was afraid off. I wanted to believe that I had a purpose in this world. My protective side had kicked in and if Kate was to die, that would make me question everything I stood for.
That isn’t going to happen, I promised myself.
I was back at the bottom of the stairs, standing at the entrance to the kitchen. The only sound from the public area now was the tick of the Dodge Ram’s cooling engine. Someone — most likely Sheriff Aitken — had turned it off.
For a brief moment I considered going into the restaurant. Two outstanding issues needing resolving in there. First off, I had to decide what to do with Aitken. I couldn’t kill the man in cold blood, so I had to leave him as I had Judge Wallace. They would be dealt with by the law of the land. Second, I needed transportation out to the airport. The Dodge was available. But the truck was too visible a target.
With the SIG and Glock 17 pushed down the waistband of my jeans, I moved over to the door I’d come in by. The Magnum I placed on the stainless-steel counter in the kitchen. It was no good to me any more.
It was still snowing.
The deserted streets were tranquil beneath the fall of virgin snow. There was a hush, the blizzard blanketing and deadening all sound. The sidewalk looked pristine; not a footprint in sight. Pulling up my collar, I stepped outside and broke the image. My trail led away from le Cœur de la Ville.
As a rule I love snow.
But occasionally it can be as great an enemy as any other. I could only hope that it hadn’t brought the airport to a standstill. Something like that could slow me down more than any number of killers.