The Inn - James Patterson Page 0,31

perfect brow, taking in the sight of us as he tucked a hardcover book under his arm.

“I hope that’s a guide to New Hampshire,” Nick said, pointing at the book. “You’re going to need it.”

The silence Cline had seemingly willed into existence was eerie. He gave a gentle sigh, looking at the pot in the car windshield.

“Anyone get a name for these punks?” he asked.

“Bill Robinson,” I said. “Nick Jones.” I nodded at Nick. “We’re returning something you lost.”

I took the pill from Nick and tossed it at Cline’s chest. He didn’t try to catch it. Didn’t flinch. It bounced off his chest and landed on the pavement.

“I have witnesses who can connect you to the distribution of at least two of those pills,” I said. “One of which caused an overdose and another that destroyed a family home. After I ride around for a couple more days surveying the shit-storm you’ve brought down on this town, I’ll be able to connect you to some fatalities.”

“Listen to this guy.” Cline smiled. Perfect teeth. He still hadn’t addressed me directly yet, like he was a rock star and I was a hopeless fan yelling up at him from the crowd at a concert. He would choose who he wanted to shine his light on.

“There are plenty of prosecutors in Boston who will run a murder charge on a dealer who supplies a fatal dose of an illegal narcotic,” Nick said. “Especially if someone connects the dots for them.”

“Gentlemen,” Cline said. “You’ve made a very interesting choice of how to spend your afternoon, coming all the way out here to give me a legal lecture. It’s very kind of you. I haven’t actually had anyone volunteer to give me a talk on the local laws in the four months I’ve been here. Not one police officer has darkened my doorstep with such outrageous accusations.”

I looked at Nick, knowing he was thinking of Sheriff Spears. If he hadn’t been here already, that meant that his employees could be on Cline’s payroll. Clay was advised of the region’s serious crime leads by his sergeants, and their failure to even come sniffing around Cline was worrying.

“We’re telling you to pack this shit up,” I said. “Crawl back under whatever rock you came out from. We’re not threatening legal action here, Cline. We’re promising it.”

“You own the Inn on the north side, don’t you?” he asked me as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d just said. I felt prickles of pain spread out from the center of my chest.

“I do.”

“Lovely property. I haven’t been out, but I looked at it online just now.”

Dr. Raymond Locke. He’d heard me talking to Bess at Addison Gilbert and called ahead. And then there was Craft. He’d probably called to let Cline know someone was roughing up his clients and wanted an appointment with the top brass. Before them, there was Squid, who I spied now sitting on the arm of the wicker couch with the two young girls on it. He watched me closely from behind his leader.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on properties near the woods there,” Cline said. “I like to hunt when I get the chance, and it’s so quiet. I’m sure the gunshots wouldn’t bother anyone. Maybe I’ll come out. Take a look around. Make you an offer.”

“You come anywhere near my property or the people who live there and I’ll feed you into a meat grinder,” I snarled. The loss of control had been sudden, shocking; I’d been blindsided by thoughts of Siobhan, her house, her people, her dream. My reaction was exactly what Cline wanted. I stepped off the curb, turned away for a moment, rubbed my brow. Nick was by me, his shoulder like a brick wall, reassuring.

That reassurance was short-lived. One of the girls pointed up the street and started laughing. “Someone called the real boys in blue on your asses.”

I turned and saw a familiar vehicle heading our way. Sheriff Spears’s friendly beep of the patrol-car siren was made more cheerful by his wave through the windshield as he approached.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CLINE SMILED THE thin-lipped, dead-eyed smile of a snake as he watched Sheriff Spears ease his bulk from the squad car. I noticed Marni in the back of the vehicle, leaning over to look up at the turret at the front of Cline’s house.

“Someone else call in Cline’s crew?” I asked Clay. “You got backup on the way?”

“Ah, no.” He looked puzzled, then glanced at Cline and his cronies.