Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

to eight. When the car pulled away, I went back upstairs and let myself in through the open window, closing it behind me.
    Trish’s money was supposed to be delivered to Jeannie’s hotel room in fifteen minutes. I wasn’t sure what to do. The money was the only leverage I had. If I gave it back, Trish and her cohorts would disappear. I’d never find out about Casey or how this mess was tied to me. But keeping the money didn’t guarantee an explanation either, just more trouble for Jeannie. I remembered Eric Lyons being found in the river and thought about how Craig Clement and I narrowly escaped death hours ago at the drop zone. Even if I turned over the cash, could I really believe they’d let Jeannie go?
    I used my cell to dial the motel. I’d say I couldn’t get back to Houston in time for the trade, but I was coming as fast as I could.
    No one answered in Jeannie’s room.
    They’d probably left. My instructions were to return the money by eight and then go back at nine for Jeannie. Whoever had her probably didn’t want to be there when I showed up. I used Kurt’s phone to call the number Trish had phoned from earlier, but Trish didn’t answer either.
    I went to Kosh’s office and powered up his desktop computer. Its files were password protected. I tried the laptop. It had no password protection, which was a surprise, but then something else shocked me more. The screen’s wallpaper image was a picture of Trish and Scud.
    I stared at their charming, misleading smiles and facts fell into place. Edward Kosh was the skydiver I knew as Scud. The man I’d shot, now maybe dead, for all I knew, back where this mess had begun. The trendy clothes in the closet, expensive jewelry on the dresser…those had to belong to Trish. There was no other explanation.
    I thought of David Meyer. Trish had been living with him for months. But why? She was using him, but I couldn’t imagine for what.
    I decided to take the hard drives, but I needed a screwdriver. I went to the kitchen and pilfered through drawers until I found a can opener with an end piece flat and small enough to do the trick.
    The desktop’s drive was in my backpack and I was unfastening the last screw on the laptop’s access door when I thought I heard a car in the drive downstairs. I peeked behind the drape as the trunk of a gold sedan disappeared into the carport below.
    I raced to finish the drive removal, but my fingers would no longer work together. The last screw was difficult to maneuver, but it finally yielded. Car doors slammed under the house as I pulled the access panel away. When I tried to extract the drive, I discovered it was fastened to the inside of the case with four, tinier screws. There was no more time.
    I put things back in the approximate place I’d found them and closed myself inside the office closet. It seemed my pounding heart would give me away.
    Moments later, the front door opened and keys dropped onto the granite countertop. Voices in the living room were muffled, but there were at least two men. I made out “just twenty minutes” and “watch the street” as one voice got closer.
    The door to the bathroom closed. Its overhead fan turned on. I cracked the closet door open so I could hear better.
    “Want some eggs?” someone called from the kitchen.
    The man in the bathroom shouted that eggs sounded good, and then the same question was asked to someone else.
    I didn’t hear an answer.
    The speaker said again, “Want some eggs, beautiful? Hungry?”
    There was a pause, and then he continued, “Come on. Might as well eat something.”
    His tone was taunting. Suggestive. The toilet flushed on the other side of the wall and the bathroom door squeaked open.
    The guy in the hall said, “I got something better than eggs.”
    An unequivocal reply came from the living room: “Fuck you, pencil dick.”
    My breath caught. It was Jeannie.
    Someone mumbled about hardheaded broads and acid tongues.
    The phone on Kosh’s desk rang and someone answered on an extension in the front of the house. I heard, “Is it there?” but couldn’t make out the rest.
    I looked at my watch. 8:00.
    They were talking about the money. The men were hiding out with Jeannie while they waited to hear if I’d returned it. I heard them discuss what to do. One said he’d call me.
    Shit. Where was my bag? Any minute my phone would ring, and I’d left the ringer on incase Richard called.
    I spotted it on the floor beside the desk chair, only a