failure to find the notebook or depressed at the thought of her car totaled, Hannah slouched in the seat, weary to the bone.
"Why don't you put the seat back and close your eyes?" Luther suggested as she lifted her glasses to rub her eyes.
Westy shifted his legs to give her more room.
"Thanks." She put the seat back, curled onto her side, and pretended to sleep. The hum of the tires filled her ears.
A long time later, she overheard Luther speaking to Westy in a hushed voice. "Chief, you think we could all stay at your place for a while?"
"No problem. Guess your house is still empty, huh?"
"Yes," said Luther on a dampening note.
Hannah pricked her ears. There were overtones to this conversation that she wasn't understanding.
"Shouldn't have let Veronica run off with everything," Westy said. "It was your money she spent on it."
"Thanks for reminding me."
An odd sensation swept through Hannah as she lay there, eavesdropping. Veronica. So, she'd been right; Luther had suffered a recent breakup. Wife or girlfriend? she wondered, though it really didn't matter, did it?
Holding her when she'd needed to be held was an act of kindness. He'd have done the same for anyone in need of reassurance.
She and Luther weren't together for romantic reasons. He was a defensive lineman standing between her and the faceless Individual that had come out of nowhere. The only thing they had in common was a mutual desire to make Lovitt answer for his crimes.
Sebastian was dressed completely in black: black boots, black slacks with zippered pockets, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and black gloves. He didn't need face paint. Thanks to his Mexican heritage, his skin was brown; his wavy hair was black as pitch. He didn't worry that the two sailors stumbling past him en route to the elevator would even see him. After twenty-two years as a SEAL, Sebastian had perfected the art of blending into shadow.
But never alone.
Still, this needed to be done. If they could show that Miller hadn't killed himself, that Lovitt had ordered him silenced, it just might tip the scales of suspicion in Jaguar's favor.
Regrettably, Sebastian had to break the law himself to get the evidence they needed. Jason Miller's regular entrance was roped off from the hallway with yellow security tape, the door double bolted. He couldn't get in that way.
The elevator doors closed with the late-night arrivals inside it. Sebastian stepped from his hiding place and onto the guardrail that ran the perimeter of the parking lot. He notched his gloves tighter and looked up.
Miller had enjoyed an ocean view on the fifth floor. Since the building's roof was secured, climbing from balcony to balcony, up the face of the building, was the only way in.
Praying that his forty-year-old body wouldn't betray him, Sebastian jumped. His fingers closed around the iron bars on the first balcony. Finding them rusty and easy to grip, he performed a chin-up and crooked his knee over the ledge, moving with stealth to avoid unwanted notice by the room's occupants.
By the time he clambered over the railing of the fifth-floor balcony, his fingers were stiff, his biceps shook with fatigue, and a light sweat had broken out under his T-shirt.
But he'd made it. Squatting by the sliding-glass door, Sebastian pulled a penlight from his pocket to examine the lock. What he saw drew a shiver up his spine. No need to put his lock-picking skills to the test, here. The catch on the door had been sawed in half.
Someone had come this way before him.
He reached into another pocket and extracted a compact digital camera used for reconnaissance. Since it relied on infrared light, there wasn't any flash to betray him. The military police on Dam Neck were vigilant, cruising the empty streets below. Sebastian took a picture of the compromised lock, stood up, and slid the door open.
A heavy curtain blocked the entrance. He skirted it and found himself in a dark living room. The putrid odor of stale organic matter
"Why don't you put the seat back and close your eyes?" Luther suggested as she lifted her glasses to rub her eyes.
Westy shifted his legs to give her more room.
"Thanks." She put the seat back, curled onto her side, and pretended to sleep. The hum of the tires filled her ears.
A long time later, she overheard Luther speaking to Westy in a hushed voice. "Chief, you think we could all stay at your place for a while?"
"No problem. Guess your house is still empty, huh?"
"Yes," said Luther on a dampening note.
Hannah pricked her ears. There were overtones to this conversation that she wasn't understanding.
"Shouldn't have let Veronica run off with everything," Westy said. "It was your money she spent on it."
"Thanks for reminding me."
An odd sensation swept through Hannah as she lay there, eavesdropping. Veronica. So, she'd been right; Luther had suffered a recent breakup. Wife or girlfriend? she wondered, though it really didn't matter, did it?
Holding her when she'd needed to be held was an act of kindness. He'd have done the same for anyone in need of reassurance.
She and Luther weren't together for romantic reasons. He was a defensive lineman standing between her and the faceless Individual that had come out of nowhere. The only thing they had in common was a mutual desire to make Lovitt answer for his crimes.
Sebastian was dressed completely in black: black boots, black slacks with zippered pockets, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and black gloves. He didn't need face paint. Thanks to his Mexican heritage, his skin was brown; his wavy hair was black as pitch. He didn't worry that the two sailors stumbling past him en route to the elevator would even see him. After twenty-two years as a SEAL, Sebastian had perfected the art of blending into shadow.
But never alone.
Still, this needed to be done. If they could show that Miller hadn't killed himself, that Lovitt had ordered him silenced, it just might tip the scales of suspicion in Jaguar's favor.
Regrettably, Sebastian had to break the law himself to get the evidence they needed. Jason Miller's regular entrance was roped off from the hallway with yellow security tape, the door double bolted. He couldn't get in that way.
The elevator doors closed with the late-night arrivals inside it. Sebastian stepped from his hiding place and onto the guardrail that ran the perimeter of the parking lot. He notched his gloves tighter and looked up.
Miller had enjoyed an ocean view on the fifth floor. Since the building's roof was secured, climbing from balcony to balcony, up the face of the building, was the only way in.
Praying that his forty-year-old body wouldn't betray him, Sebastian jumped. His fingers closed around the iron bars on the first balcony. Finding them rusty and easy to grip, he performed a chin-up and crooked his knee over the ledge, moving with stealth to avoid unwanted notice by the room's occupants.
By the time he clambered over the railing of the fifth-floor balcony, his fingers were stiff, his biceps shook with fatigue, and a light sweat had broken out under his T-shirt.
But he'd made it. Squatting by the sliding-glass door, Sebastian pulled a penlight from his pocket to examine the lock. What he saw drew a shiver up his spine. No need to put his lock-picking skills to the test, here. The catch on the door had been sawed in half.
Someone had come this way before him.
He reached into another pocket and extracted a compact digital camera used for reconnaissance. Since it relied on infrared light, there wasn't any flash to betray him. The military police on Dam Neck were vigilant, cruising the empty streets below. Sebastian took a picture of the compromised lock, stood up, and slid the door open.
A heavy curtain blocked the entrance. He skirted it and found himself in a dark living room. The putrid odor of stale organic matter
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