The Dead Room

42

Jamie slid her right hand underneath a copy of the Globe that was spread across her lap and gripped the Glock resting against her stomach. She had plenty of ammo left.

She let her mouth hang open as if she’d fallen asleep while waiting. From behind her sunglasses she watched the dark-coloured car come to a full stop at the end of the bridge. The driver didn’t turn. The car just sat there, idling.

If it’s Reynolds, she thought, he’s probably checking out the place to make sure he’s alone.

She glanced down at her lap. The papers hid the handgun and silencer perfectly. No way would Reynolds see it.

The car was making its way across the curving road of broken asphalt.

That odd mixture of dread and adrenalin was shooting through her veins. She felt jumpy and anxious but not afraid. She was definitely not afraid. No matter what Reynolds threw at her, she’d find a way to handle it.

Provided he comes here alone, Jamie. It all hinges on that single fact.

The car, a navy-blue Ford Taurus with a sagging back bumper, pulled up against the kerb near the entrance of the car park. The windows were rolled down and she could make out the face of the driver.

Kevin Reynolds perched his arm across the front seat and looked in her direction. Nobody else inside the car; he had come alone.

Reynolds took a drag from his cigarette and kept staring.

Was he waiting for her to come to him?

She had planned for that possibility. Michael’s backpack, stuffed with his dirty laundry to give the appearance of money, sat on the passenger seat. If she carried the backpack the right way, she could hide the Glock behind it. Granted, it might get a little dicey – she wanted Reynolds outside his car, not in it. It would be much easier to take him down outside. She’d have more manoeuvrability if he decided to go for the gun.

Let him, she thought, feeling the tyre iron hidden beneath the left sleeve of her sweatshirt. One hit to the artery behind the ear and the blood would rush away from his brain and shut down his central nervous system. He’d go down fast.

And there was always the jaw. A good, swift crack would disrupt the fluid in his ear. He’d lose his balance and his knees would buckle. Win-win either way. And let’s not forget about the kneecaps.

Reynolds flicked his cigarette out of the window. He didn’t get out of the car, just sat behind the wheel smoking and staring out of the front window.

He smells a set-up, Jamie.

No, he doesn’t. If he did, he would be driving away.

Get out of here. Go home to the kids and –

Reynolds opened the door.

Mouth dry and heart beating faster, faster, she watched Reynolds step into the ashy light. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of a short-sleeved black silk shirt. He wore it Tony Soprano-style – untucked to accommodate his ample gut. She couldn’t tell if he was packing.

He lit another cigarette and looked towards the woods behind the minivan.

Come on, quit stalling. Come on over and introduce yourself.

Here he was.

Reynolds’s high-topped sneakers crunched across the gravel. He paused in front of the minivan, smoking as he studied the person asleep behind the wheel.

Jamie didn’t move or turn her head. She watched him through her sunglasses, watched him staring. Her finger slid across the trigger as she waited for him to come and knock on the driver’s door. That would be the best play. Have him open the door and when he reached inside to wake up the driver she’d press the Glock against his stomach.

Reynolds walked back to the Taurus.

Opened the door.

Climbed behind the wheel.

Started the car and pulled into the car park.

Jamie’s breathing was steady and shallow as he pulled up in front of the minivan. She could hear the low rumble of his car engine over the air-conditioning, and she could see him staring at her.

Reynolds hit the gas, tyres spinning as he shot backwards out of the car park.

Jamie threw the door open. The papers spread across her lap blew away in the hot breeze and the tyre iron tucked underneath her sweatshirt sleeve slipped past her hand and hit the ground. She had the Glock up, ready to fire, but Reynolds was too far away, speeding towards the bridge, scattering crows from the trees.