The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3), Brian Shea [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

"I hope," Kelly said, but he knew better. There was no reason why Bobby would be driving an electrician's truck.

"Do you think he knows about the tracking device? He's ditching us?"

Kelly shook his head. "I don't think so. That doesn't make sense. I mean, why go through the trouble of grabbing a different van and coming out the same way he had gone in? No. If he thought we were tracking him, he would have done something else to ditch us long ago. He would have stuck it on another car. He wouldn't have let us wait for him as he came back out in a different vehicle. No, this is all him. I just don't know why he's doing it."

They now had to contend with a much more complicated tail, and Kelly had to apply his Narcotics experience. At least Gray had dialed down his look and wasn’t wearing the full suit, trading it in for a business casual look and windbreaker. The good thing about following a panel van was that it stood out amongst the crowd of other cars. It wasn't like Bobby was driving a blue Honda Accord, blending into the scenery. Kelly tried to keep three cars between them and the van.

McDonough continued driving, appearing to be unaware of their efforts to follow him as he navigated Agawam’s side streets.

Then the vehicle took a right into a quiet neighborhood. The map showed the street to be a dead-end cul-de-sac. Kelly pulled to a stop just past the street, giving Gray the best vantage point of the parked van.

"Your friend hasn't left the vehicle. Scratch that—door’s open. He's stepping out. He's wearing a gray overall suit and hard hat. He's got a rectangular, heavy plastic case in his right hand."

Kelly’s pulse pounded. If this was a hit, he wouldn’t be able to protect his friend. If Bobby did something now that was witnessed by the FBI, he’d be done. Kelly thought about pulling away, saying it was too hot, too dangerous, all in the veiled effort of protecting his friend, but Gray would see right through it.

He knew there was no way around it. They had to see what he was up to.

"He's crossing the street and going behind that yellow house. Your call,” Gray said, focused out the window.

“Let's move," he said, opening the car door and hopefully not closing the chapter of his lifelong friendship with McDonough.

22

Kelly's mind raced at almost the same pace at which he and Gray were approaching the house where McDonough had just slipped around back. Whatever he was there to do, it was not good, and neither was what was in that case.

Kelly hoped, if nothing else, he would manage to get there quick enough to intervene before whatever was about to take place actually did. He might not be able to save Bobby from a prison sentence, but maybe he could save his life.

The fact that McDonough was wearing gray overalls and had ditched his car for a fake electrician's van left Kelly with only a few possible scenarios. Moonlighting as an electrician wasn’t an option. This was definitely a hit. The who was still up for debate. Walsh had a lot of enemies. The Penitent One was now one of many on a very long list vying for Walsh’s head.

Why here? Why in the middle of suburbia? None of this was making sense. But ever since touching the Tomlin case, nothing in Kelly's investigative world seemed to add up.

They were one house away when they slowed their pace from a sprint to a jog. They no longer had a visual on McDonough, the house’s back corner shielded from view by a large pine bush.

The neighboring houses looked to have been built in the ’70s, relatively new by Massachusetts standards. All of the houses looked dated, except the one McDonough had picked. Kelly banked to the left, skirting the space between it and the neighboring house.

In warmer months, the backyard would have provided ample cover to conceal their movements. Big trees and shrubs lined the rear, but most were completely barren. They crouched low and moved along the ice-covered grass to the poured-concrete patio tucked behind an oversized do-it-yourself fire pit. Kelly peeked around.

McDonough stood facing the back of the house. He knelt down and opened the case, withdrawing a handgun and screwing a gray cylinder onto the barrel. A silencer. The possession of those two items alone could land his best friend in prison for a cool ten.

Kelly cursed to himself. Did I just betray my best friend to the FBI? Have I severed a lifelong connection in the sole hopes of solving a case? The lines of his investigative career, his need for the truth, for justice, had never been so blurry as they were right now. He wanted to scream to his friend and tell him to run.

But how would he explain to McDonough why he and an FBI agent were there?

Gray took the lead.

"Let's see what he does. He's got a reason for being here. I mean, if what you told me is true and he is their top gun, maybe this is where The Penitent One lives. We may be closer right now than we've ever been."

Kelly looked over at his federal counterpart, who was almost salivating. The drive, that invisible force that pushed Kelly forward on his cases, Gray had it too. His eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through the walls of the house.

Bobby stood with the silenced semi-automatic handgun down by his right thigh, making no attempt to conceal it. At this point, he was committed.

"You think this is our guy? You think this is The Penitent One's house?"

Gray shrugged, still staring at Bobby and the house he’d targeted.

For Kelly, it seemed like time was as frozen as the landscape around them.

"The guy's got to live somewhere. I guess here is as good as any," Gray offered. "We've got to get closer. We've got to be