The Protector

16

Prescott flinched.

The phone buzzed again.

"Press the answer button," Cavanaugh said. "Then give it to me."

Uneasy, Prescott obeyed.

Steering expertly with his left hand, Cavanaugh held the phone against his right ear. "Pizza Hut."

"Cute,"a sandpapery voice said.

"Thanks."

"Not the Pizza Hut thing. I meant about setting fire to your car and stealing ours."

"I know what you meant."

Prescott watched intently, trying to figure out what Ca-vanaugh was hearing.

"This won't stop us. We'll keep coming," the voice said. "I expect that," Cavanaugh said into the phone. "You're not a cop. You'd have called for backup. Instead, you kept clear of police cars. You must be private security. Give it up. You're way out of your league."

"Gee, I thought I'd done pretty good so far." "Did Prescott tell you who you're dealing with?" "He hasn't had time to tell me anything," Cavanaugh lied. The transmission was weak. The shots had made his ears ring enough that he had to press the phone tighter against his ear so he could distinguish what the voice said next.

"If you don't know anything, we can cut you some slack. Give him to us, and we'll let you go."

"Say it again, this time as if you mean it." The voice sounded weary. "You'd be dead now if you hadn't been near Prescott. This has to be the only time the guy we were after was a shield for his bodyguard." "Protector." "What?"

"I'm not a bodyguard."

"Whatever." The voice became harsher. "The next time I see you, you'd better pray you're close to Prescott. Otherwise, I'll put a bullet through your head. Does that sound like I mean it?" "Is that the reason you phoned? To make cheap threats?" The voice became silent.

Cavanaugh suddenly understood what was going on. "Lots of cheese, right?" "What?"

"Your pizza will be ready in fifteen minutes." Cavanaugh risked taking his eyes off the road long enough to press the disconnect button.

A pickup truck loaded with junk drove past him. He lowered his window and tossed the phone into the back of the truck.

"What are you doing?" Prescott asked.

"Escobar's men didn't call just for the hell of it. They want to make certain we're with the phone."

"But why would-"

"The phone must have some kind of location transmitter in it. They'll follow it, hoping it leads them to us. Now it'll take them nowhere. For all I know, this car has a location transmitter also, but right now, there's nothing I can do about that."

"Why didn't you kill this car's driver?" Prescott asked.

"What?" Cavanaugh frowned at the unexpected question.

"Back at the mall, you took a chance when you told him to run. He might have reached for his weapon," Prescott said.

"A dead man in the car would have slowed us. I'd have had to pull him from behind the steering wheel. The other men might have found us before we could drive away."

"Would you have killed him if he hadn't been in the car?" Prescott asked.

"If he gave me a reason. Otherwise… I'm a protector, not a killer."

The rain lessened.

Cavanaugh took his phone from his jacket and pressed the recall button.

"Global Protective Services." Duncan's voice was tense.

The phone remained in scrambler mode. "I had to switch cars. We're in a black Pontiac."

"Can you make it to the Holiday Inn near the airport? I'm here with some of your friends."

"Good," Cavanaugh said. "I can always use friends."