Justified Means (Book One) (The Agency Files) (15 page)

“
Since when do you give me anything but a package of Ding-Dongs? That’s been the standing gift for the past twenty-three years or so.”

“
You’ll still get them.”

“
Keith, you can’t afford to give me much more than a book or a movie. Stick to the Ding-Dongs. The plane—”

“
Was free. Frequent flier miles.” He led her toward the back where Nate was working on bicycle brakes. “I got a bonus, and for once in my life, I’m not going to do the responsible thing and put it all in my savings. Half goes to making dreams come true. Come on.”

Nate wiped his hands on a greasy rag and greeted them.
“What can I do for you?”

“
We’re here about the bike.”

“
The bike? We’ve got dozens—”

“
No,
the
bike.”

“
Oh! Come in back and check ‘er out.”

Guilt began to form, sending bile into her throat, as Claire realized what kind of
“bike” her cousin had planned for her. How could she stand to betray that kind of generosity? He’d always been so kind to her, even when she’d been a pesky little kid—always trying to involve herself in everything the big kids did.

The motorcycle stood in the cent
er of the room, shining so intensely that it looked brand new. “There she is.”

“
Do you like it?” Keith asked with unmistakable eagerness.

“
It’s incredible, but you can’t—”

“
If it’s not what you want,” he interrupted, “we’ll find another one.”

“
I’d love it, but—”

“
We’ll take it. I need it shipped to Brunswick.”

The man nodded.
“It’ll just take me a few minutes to dig out the papers. Do you have a cashier’s check?”

“
I—I just thought you’d be able to use my credit card.”

“
That’s only for the business. I can’t take it for this.” The guy sounded apologetic.

“
I’ll find a way. Give me an hour, will you?” Keith pulled out his wallet and handed the man two hundred dollars. “That should hold it until I can get back.”

Without waiting for a receipt, Keith led Claire out the door and glanced around them.
“Why don’t you go in the salon and get a manicure? There’s no reason for you to ride around with me while I find a bank and get the check.”

“
I don’t want a manicure.”

“
What! You love manicures.” He punched the unlock button on his key chain and hurried to slip into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be back in just a bit.”

She stood staring after him, stunned.
What had gotten into him? Since when— then again he was excited about the motorcycle. She had to cut him some slack. Especially since he’d expect to find her in the salon, and if she went in, she’d practically be handing him over to Alek and his men.

Erika Polowski had information Alek couldn
’t risk getting out, and she understood that, but letting them know he was there put Keith in trouble—not Erika. She deliberated, and then made her decision. She’d lie. The fact that he brought her here to buy her the motorcycle proved he wasn’t protecting Erika anymore, so she’d spin that her way, and then she’d get information on the way home.

Putting on a confident air, she shoved
open the door and entered the salon. Before she could ask if they had an open slot for her, the girl behind the counter swallowed hard and picked up the phone. “Hey, yeah, can you tell Alek that Claire is here?”

Keith drove around the corner and parked.
He popped the trunk, grabbed the cashier’s check stowed there, and slipped it into his wallet. His watch assured him he had at least half an hour—thirty minutes to find the scum of the earth and ensure that Erika could return to her life unhindered by the threat that now hovered over her.

All because of an address.
If Helen Franklin hadn’t been such a stickler for protecting her property, there’d be no issue. They could have taken down the Anastas ring on their own without worrying about the well-being of anyone, but because she was conscientious and persnickety about her possessions, Erika was in just as much danger as Helen—simply by address association. Alek Anastas was not a man to take chances. If Helen had to go, then anyone in her house would too, and that anyone was Erika.

He could hear her questions as if she stood next to him.
Why does knowing that hurt me? You’re going to get him, so it’s not a problem.
Alek was the least of her problems. His small piece of the business would be the least of her worries. Someone like Erika wouldn’t keep her mouth shut if she knew how nauseating the stuff Alek’s salons hid was. That meant she’d have to be kept in the dark. Agency policy said not to share—just in case. With Erika, ignoring that could be a life or death fail. If the other men and women involved in the trade knew she was aware of their activities, she’d be dead. He couldn’t risk it—ever.

Pictures flooded his phone after he sent a quick text message stating he
’d arrived. The first three were of possible cars to look for, and the last three were people. Two men and a woman, none of whom he’d ever seen before stared back at him. The woman was identified as exceptionally dangerous and that she had the potential to recognize him.

“
Great,” he muttered as he found his way into an alley and crept from doorway to doorway until he had no doubt he was one away from the salon. Initially, he had luck with finding the vehicle, but a man stepped out the door, talking on a cell phone, and then returned inside once he snapped the phone shut again. Keith sent an empty reply to that picture, acknowledging he’d verified location.

Taking a deep breath, he hurried past the salon, and hid behind the garbage cans as he waited
for a car to pass. The color was right, but the model seemed off. Then again, that had happened several times. The shadow follows, sees the target get out, it’s right next to a car with similar color, and the shadow takes a picture of the wrong car. It wasn’t common, but Keith never ruled out anything. Ever.

As the car door opened, he sucked in his breath and punched the reply button on a picture of Alek Anastas that Mark had sent him weeks before he
’d abducted Erika. He had twenty minutes before he’d have to walk in the front door of that salon. Twenty minutes was plenty of time to take down a man like Anastas—if he was alone. If the salon was crawling with the man’s army of bodyguards and silencers, then he’d be unlikely to escape and his cousin—

Keith shuddered.
He couldn’t risk leaving his cousin in the hands of these people. As he sent another empty reply to signify urgency, he hurried down the alley, keeping to the doorways and ducking behind dumpsters and large cardboard boxes.

A noise, a familiar one, sent a chill up his spine.
His first instinct was to jump in the dumpster, but he’d have to walk in the salon in fifteen minutes. Being filthy was a great way to look suspicious. He had a choice of between flattened large refrigerator boxes or stepping inside the back door of the appliance store. Each second he deliberated meant exponentially increased danger.

There it was again—the sound.
The click of a walkie talkie. Why didn’t they use cell phones on vibrate? Footsteps. He knew that gait. Whoever was coming was checking out the alley with a gun drawn and sweeping the area for a threat. Did they know he was there? Was his phone monitored somehow?

He had thirty seconds to move.
Keith decided. Taking one of the biggest risks of his career, he opened the back door of the appliance store and walked boldly inside, calling out quietly for anyone. “Hey, excuse me? Is anyone here?”

An elderly man stepped from a storeroom with hands full of boxes.
“Um, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“
I was in the alley and it sounded like someone was following me. Kind of creeped me out, so I came in here. I’m really sorry.”

“
Hey, no problem. There’s some seedy characters around these days. I’m considering retiring.”

“
Hey, thanks. I appreciate it.” Keith glanced around the showroom as he walked through. “Nice place you have here. You don’t see these old mom and pop type places very often anymore.”

“
Yeah, that’s true. Everyone keeps telling me I can’t compete with the big boxes, but I’ve made a good profit every year anyway—not enough to be rich, but enough to live comfortably.”

“
I bet you give great customer service.”

“
That’s the key.”

He wanted to stay and talk.
Something about the guy reminded him of Donald Bruner. “If I decide to replace any appliances, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

“
Thanks. We deliver and install—free.”

“
I’ll remember that.” Keith had to force back a snicker.
I bet he wouldn’t deliver to Rockland free.

His phone buzzed as he stepped out the front door and jogged across the street, dodging cars as he hurried into a costume store.
“Hey, I was wondering if you have anything that reads Jack Sparrow or Captain Hook.”

“
Sure. Just step into that changing room and I’ll bring it. Waist?”

“
Thirty-two.”

“
Gotcha.”

Behind the door, he slid open his phone.
“ETA, 5. Get out.”

A glance over the top of the changing room door showed the woman digging on a rack near the front window.
He slipped from the room, crept through the swinging doors to the back, and dashed out into the alley. He ran, dodging around parked cars and dumpsters, until he reached the side street where his car was parked. Once in the car, he blasted the AC to cool him off as he drove around the block and parked in front of the salon.

The salon door dinged as he stepped inside.
His heart sank as he recognized the woman at the counter. He slid open his phone and hit an empty reply as he pretended to check the time. Just as she looked up to greet him, Keith diverted to the chair where Claire’s fingers sat under a little dryer. “Hey, I’ve got the check. I’m going to go over and pay for it and arrange shipment.” He pulled out a couple of twenties. “Meet you out front in say five minutes?” He hated to do it. She might be in the salon when the team arrived, but trying to pull her out now would definitely make the woman behind the counter pay attention to him. That wasn’t in the plan.

“
Sure. I’m done here anyway. I’ll be right behind you.”

For a moment, Keith hesitated.
She sounded as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there— something that didn’t make sense. Was something—nah.
Paranoid.
Surreptitiously, he pressed a button in his pocket, causing his phone to ring. He answered with his left hand and strode from the salon, talking away about how he got the cool motorcycle and praying inwardly that the woman couldn’t see his face.

Even as Terry pretended to write down shipping information and pocketed the cashier
’s check, he watched the street. “I see three agency cars. Frank, Yvette, and it looks like Dean. Argh, I think I saw that silver car go by. Yeah. Dean is whipping around—”

“
I wish I could stay and get this done.”

“
Taking care of her is getting it done. This was brilliant on Mark’s part, and here comes Claire. Get her out of here.”