Blink of an Eye (Kendra Michaels #8) - Roy Johansen Page 0,51
in the earpiece?”
“Yes. Loud and clear.”
“Good. Leave your own phone, weapon, and any tracking device right where you are. You’ll soon be scanned. If you’re detected with a tracking device, Delilah Winter will pay the price. Do you understand?”
Lynch pulled out his phone and semiautomatic and laid them on a nearby folding table. “I understand.”
“There must be no one following you or walking with you.”
“Got it…”
“Good. Then walk north on Olive to Fifth Street. I’m transferring you to someone else for the remainder of the transaction. The others will also be leaving the conversation at this time.”
Kendra’s phone went dead.
Lynch grabbed the money satchel and took one last look back at the group.
Kendra moved toward him. She’d seen him in some of the most dangerous situations imaginable, but for some reason she’d never been more frightened for him than she was at that moment.
Lynch gave her a reassuring wink. “It’ll be okay.” He looked toward the group and patted the satchel. “Anyone want coffee? I’m buying.”
He ducked out of the tent.
Typical Lynch. Trying to defuse her worry with a wink and a quip.
It didn’t work.
Kendra whirled toward the monitor bank. “Do you see him?”
One of the techies nodded. “Yep. We’ll be able to follow him on almost any downtown street.”
Kendra joined the others around the monitor bank. “Come on, Lynch,” she whispered to herself. “Make the damn delivery and get your ass back here.”
* * *
“Turn left.” It was now an entirely different synthesized voice in Lynch’s ear.
“Someone new,” Lynch said. “Perhaps an introduction is in order?”
“We’ll become quite well acquainted later. Just make the turn.”
Lynch turned left onto Fifth Street. Police officers were attempting to keep a wide perimeter between onlookers and Lynch, but groups of people were gathering on the opposite side of the street. “I’ve already started attracting a crowd,” he said quietly.
“Not a surprise, Mr. Lynch. Just hold on to that bag.”
Lynch looked up as helicopters roared overhead. “And I’m guessing the news stations are giving you a good look at me.”
“Again, all part of the plan.”
Lynch walked past the Biltmore Hotel and crossed Grand Avenue. “Care to give me a hint where I’m headed?”
“Turn left again, Mr. Lynch.”
Lynch stopped. He was standing in front of the Los Angeles Central Library. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the library isn’t open yet.”
“Never mind that. Walk across the main plaza. Ever been to this library, Mr. Lynch?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Pity. It’s quite beautiful.”
Lynch looked up as another helicopter buzzed overhead. “Where are we going?”
“Step around to the left. You’ll walk down a short flight of steps running down the side of the building. See them?”
“Yes.” Lynch walked across the plaza and took the red brick stairs down, under cover of a row of cedar trees.
“You’ll see a black door on your right. Step inside, Mr. Lynch. It’s unlocked.”
He pushed open the door and strained to see beyond. Only darkness.
The voice grew more insistent. “Step inside, Mr. Lynch.”
He walked through the doorway.
“Tear the tape off the doorjamb and close the door behind you.”
Lynch saw a slender piece of duct tape stretched over the doorjamb’s locking mechanism. He tore it off and pulled the door shut. It locked behind him with a loud click.
Lynch took two steps forward and a light flicked on. He whirled around. He was in what appeared to be a landscaper’s workroom, with several electric edgers, tree trimmers, yard shears, and a power mower neatly arranged against the wall.
“It’s a motion-activated light,” the voice told him. “You’re still quite alone.”
Lynch looked around. “I’m leaving the money here?”
“Oh, no. We’re just getting started. Look for a dark nylon bag on the floor. Pick it up and look inside.”
Lynch spotted the bag crumpled up in the corner. It was a medium-sized gym bag with a long shoulder strap. He lifted it and peered into the unzipped main compartment.
“You’ll find a windbreaker and a baseball cap in there.”
“I see them.”
“Take them out and put them on.”
Lynch put on the navy-blue windbreaker and matching hat. “Done. Not quite my style, of course.”
“I’m sure those broad shoulders of yours fill it out quite nicely.”
“How kind of you to notice.”
“I’m not the only one. I think CNN’s morning anchor has a bit of a crush on you. Now, Mr. Lynch, take the money out of your satchel and place it into the bag.”
He transferred the bills into the gym bag, keeping the stacks piled neatly. He tossed aside the leather satchel. “Okay.”