We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,95

Allen Jacobson.

He would set her up for life. She had to give the woman her due. It was well played by Izadora. Jennifer had made similar decisions for herself thirty-five years ago. Wallace had been the ticket for her to save herself.

“Rumor has it he took her out of the hospital after the attack.”

“He was the man, wasn’t he? The one who interrupted the attack. I thought those assholes were making it up.” Trying to cover their own asses. Failure meant they wouldn’t get paid. It was the law of the jungle. You didn’t catch your prize, you didn’t eat.

“No, it was Jacobson. Security cameras for the food bank down the street show his SUV leaving the parking lot just moments after it happened. He wasn’t alone. There were at least three other people with him, including a woman who was most likely unconscious at the time.”

“How did you find all this? I’ve been trying to find her for days.” For two separate reasons. Izadora, so she could be removed from causing problems completely—to get back at that damned Jake MacNamara, too.

Allen Jacobson because Wallace was absolutely convinced Jacobson had those damned precious journals Wallace was going on and on about.

Jennifer stood where she was while Kyle came toward her. His hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her against his hard body. He had always prided himself on being fit. She’d enjoyed exactly what that meant for her. Younger men—they had all the energy she loved. “Easy, darling, when you have the right sources. And know the right way to play them.”

Jenny accepted the subtle dig for what it was. Kyle had never let her get away with anything; he called her out on her faults when it was needed. Yes, she been reckless, careless, earlier. But she had learned her lesson.

“The journals Wallace is obsessing over?”

“I’m working on that. Rumors say that Jacobson was spotted carrying a bag of what looked like purple books out of the hospital that very afternoon. He most likely has them with him.”

“So where are they going?”

“In a van, traveling south. A Mercedes, I believe. Probably toward Mexico. Rumor has it the mayor may have something to do with getting them out of the country soon. That’s what my source at the hospital and at city hall both said.”

“We’ll need to stop them. I need those journals.” If it was the only thing that bought Wallace’s sanity, then she’d pay the price for them in a heartbeat.

Kyle had a cold, calculating look in his blue eyes that she didn’t quite trust.

Because she knew him to the bottom of his feet. In every way.

Whereas she’d been Dennis Lee’s protégée, this was hers. She had trained him well.

“I am already on it. Expect reports of their bodies very soon. I’ve decided…it’s just easier to have them meet with an accident or a mugging—travel can be so hard on unsuspecting tourists, after all. Then we’re through with them. If something happens to her hundreds of miles away—well, that’s better for you, isn’t it?”

Yes, she had trained him well.

Very well indeed.

Sometimes, even she feared the monster she’d created.

78

It was a long stretch of highway between Corpus Christi and Brownsville. They filled the silence with talk about anything and everything. He had a droll sense of humor that Izzie found meshed well with her own. She could snark at him and feel perfectly comfortable about doing it.

It was nice. Easy. Familiar.

Oliver spent most of the time crawling on her lap or sleeping. They’d fastened his leash to the table behind Allen, so the puppy couldn’t tangle in Allen’s feet as he drove, but Oliver could still reach her if needed. It was almost idyllic—like a real vacation or retreat.

They were halfway to their destination when Allen laughed.

“What is it?” she asked, scratching Oliver’s ears until he settled back down on her lap. He was getting restless. They’d have to find a spot to let him go outside. Puppies had far more accidents than cats, by far. That had been one thing she’d learned fast.

Then she saw it. A long black limousine pulled off alongside the highway at the only rest stop they’d seen for a long while. The driver was changing a tire.

“Should we stop and help?”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” Izzie said, and then she looked closer. The man changing a tire on the long limousine with a familiar white logo was someone she had seen before. In the company of Turner’s cousin