Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Rafferty definitely wished he hadn’t poked the bear. That was plain to see. Wilder had to give him credit; he didn’t get up and leave. Either he had courage or he wanted to see the senator put everyone in their place, Sam included.
“Yeah,” Rafferty managed. “I see it all the time. Killers walking around free when they should be behind bars.” He didn’t look at Sam or even Wilder. He didn’t know Wilder or his reputation. His gaze fell on Rainier. One didn’t have to know Rainier’s reputation. He walked into a room, and it was obvious who he was—what he was.
“We’ve certainly had our fair share of killers in and around Knightly,” Sam agreed. “I wonder what attracts them to this area.”
“You might be able to answer that question better than I ever could,” Rafferty said smoothly. Deliberately, Rafferty picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, indicating he was done with the conversation now that he’d delivered what he was certain was the winning salvo. He had his familiar smug sneer on his face.
“I would think it’s the corruption that draws them,” Zale said. “Easier to get away with murder if suspicion is being thrown on innocent people. That can bring serial killers, thinking they have carte blanche to do what they want, or bring hunters of justice.” He gave a casual shrug. “Guess the draw is for both kinds of killers.”
Rafferty nearly spewed his coffee across the table. Definitely, suspicion had fallen on Shabina, and Rafferty had perpetuated it, muddying the waters of the investigation. He had denied it, but the two FBI agents assigned to the case had lodged complaints against him. Shabina had refused to turn evidence of his nephew’s harassment over to the sheriff’s office, instead filing a restraining order and using military connections to preserve the evidence she knew would disappear. In the past, evidence had disappeared anytime the crime involved Bale.
“Approaching now,” Wilder heard. “Five minutes.” The crew was equipped with earpieces to stay in communication and the audio was crystal clear.
Rainier had two men outside on the roof to protect his crew. He had stationed those he knew and trusted with the women in the back room. One guarded the back entrance to the café. Inside the café, at one of the tables in the middle of the room, two of Rainier’s newest recruits were eating lunch and blending in with the locals.
Wilder didn’t like the newer recruits at his back while he was concentrating on protecting his woman from the senator and his chosen reporters. He didn’t know them and didn’t trust them. Blom wouldn’t just put a hit out on Wilder that could be traced back to him. He had to couch his treachery in orders to men who didn’t know Wilder or his reputation—meaning newer recruits. Trainees. Men like the two who had gone to Rainier and asked for jobs.
He knew Rainier would have vetted them, but he mainly hired men who left Blom’s employ. Since Wilder didn’t know them, they couldn’t have been in Blom’s employ long, if at all. He would have to talk with Rainier and find out more about the two men, but in the meantime, he would have to watch his back at all times. That wasn’t anything new. He’d been on his own a long time and had always preferred it that way. Now he had something to live for. Now staying alive mattered.
He could see the sleek SUV with the illegally tinted windows pull into the parking lot with three others in tight formation. The senator’s assistant stepped out of the second SUV, the two female reporters out of another, while the senator’s security team emerged from the vehicle parked beside his.
They were too slow—far too slow to surround the senator, who hadn’t waited for them before he stepped out of the SUV. Either of the two snipers on the roof could have assassinated the senator before his team even reached him. None of them looked up toward the roof. They did have the sense to eye the two men blocking the door. The team exchanged uneasy looks, but they didn’t interfere with the senator’s plans.
He hadn’t waited for someone to get the door; instead, he threw it open himself and boldly stood in the parking lot beside his car. It was significant to Wilder that he didn’t bother to help his wife out. He was far too busy posing, waiting for the two reporters to leap out, rush over and snap photos of him.
He looked sober, almost regal, his poses smooth from his years of practice. Keith Frye should have gotten an Oscar for his performance. Wilder could see how his constituents would believe him; he was that good. He looked the epitome of a family man, one who went to church and practiced the rhetoric he preached daily.