The Final Twist, Jeffery Deaver [philippa perry book TXT] 📗

know about it. Okay, Ashton taught us to look at facts. ‘Never make decisions based on emotion.’ But who somebody is, that’s a fact too, isn’t it? What you thought, what you accused me of . . . That was tough. It was easier to go away.”

“I was wrong.”

Was this a transgression that could be remedied by apology? Colter Shaw simply couldn’t tell.

Russell’s eyes went to the statue of the soaring eagle.

“Remember that?” Shaw asked, nodding at it. “Do you have the bear?”

“No.”

Had he thrown it away because Ashton’s ritual gave first prize to Colter? Russell’s was for the supporting role.

His brother surprised him by saying, “I’d been meaning to send it back. Never got around to it.”

Shaw considered this. “You had it, not Ash?”

“I took it, after the funeral.”

“Why?”

Russell was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Keep it,” Shaw said.

“No, it’s yours.”

Silence flowed and within it, this thought: the words he’d rehearsed for so long had finally been spoken . . . but had done nothing to bridge the chasm between them.

“Okay. Got to get the team up north. I’m glad this reward thing’s working out. It suits you. The Restless Man.”

“You were right. This BlackBridge operation, it wasn’t what I do. I needed you.”

A nod. There was no question of a handshake, much less an embrace. With backpack on his shoulder and duffel bag in hand, his older brother was out the door.

81

At ten that evening, Shaw and Victoria were returning to the Alvarez Street safe house from a fine Italian dinner in the Embarcadero. The day had been rainy and the streets slick, so they had taken her rental, the car that had been at the scene of the takedown in San Bruno park. They both were curious what Avis would make of the bullet hole in the fender. At least she’d bought the loss-damage waiver, so she would not be charged, though Shaw wondered if gunfire invalidated the coverage.

They paused outside.

“Anything?” Victoria asked.

Shaw was looking at the security app on his phone. Russell had left several cameras in the house. With Devereux still a wild card, and with him knowing where the safe house was located, they were being cautious, though Shaw believed the man would play the long game. Nothing would happen to Shaw or the family just yet. That would be too suspicious. The descendant of the beheaded member of English royalty was dangerous, greedy and narcissistic, but not stupid.

“Clear.” Shaw put the phone away.

They went inside, set the security system to at-home mode and opened wine and beer. “Think the fireplace works?” she asked.

“I checked. It’s sealed. My father and his colleagues? Didn’t want any surprise packages dropping in.”

“Your mother and I had a conversation about him. He had a reputation for being paranoid,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“But I guess after all this, he was just being cautious.”

“Russell said some of his concerns were smoke. That was true. But what he really was? A survivalist before anything else. That’s how I think of him now.”

Shaw had some beer and called up the tracking program on his laptop. The red dot that was Devereux pulsed, but didn’t move. Shaw panned in and saw that he was in a developed area off Highway 1, south of the city. He’d probably stopped off for a meal at one of the many seafood places along that sidewinding road. Perhaps he was on his way to Carmel, the magical kingdom on the Monterey Peninsula—it was the sort of place where he would have one of his mansions. And if so, was he accompanied by a tall, picturesque woman?

It was then that he heard Victoria’s alarmed voice, “Well.”

He noted her attention was on her phone.

“You have a news feed?”

Shaw asked, “Which one?”

“Any of them.”

He picked one at random. And read.

BILLIONAIRE BUSINESSMAN JONATHAN STUART DEVEREUX, CEO OF BANYAN TREE HOLDINGS, WAS SHOT AND KILLED TONIGHT IN THE TOWN OF HALF MOON BAY, SOUTH OF SAN FRANCISCO.

MR. DEVEREUX WAS LEAVING AN EXCLUSIVE GOLF RESORT WHEN HE WAS FELLED BY A SINGLE SNIPER SHOT FROM THE HIGHWAY. HE WAS LEAVING THE RESTAURANT IN THE COMPANY OF EXECUTIVES OF ABERNATHY CONSULTING, SANTA CRUZ, AND A BODYGUARD. NO ONE ELSE WAS INJURED.

THE SAN FRANCISCO DAILY HERALD REPORTED THAT AN ANONYMOUS CALLER TO THE PAPER STATED THAT A LOCAL GANG WAS BEHIND THE DEATH BECAUSE OF DEVEREUX’S INVOLVEMENT IN ILLEGAL DRUG OPERATIONS THROUGHOUT THE BAY AREA. A SAN MATEO COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE SPOKESPERSON SAID THE INVESTIGATION WAS ONGOING.

“God,” Victoria said. “The UIP thing.”

Shaw was doubtful. “He was insulated. That was BlackBridge’s thing. Nobody’d know that he was the ultimate client. He was careful about that.”

Dangerous, greedy and narcissistic, but not stupid . . .

It was then that his phone hummed with a text, and he read the brief message from an unknown number.

Delete the tracking app.

He stared at the words for a moment. Then the meaning hit him. Jesus. He did as the message instructed. Shaw replied.

Done.

A moment went by. Shaw debated. He sent another.

Take care . . .

Shaw wondered if he would get a response. Seconds later the phone vibrated again.

The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.

PART FIVE

JULY 3 ASH

82

One of those stainless-steel afternoons, when humidity, temperature, clarity of the air and a show-off of a sun conspire to make the setting as perfect as a setting can be.

Colter Shaw parked the Winnebago near the cabin and climbed out, stretching after the seven-plus-hour drive from the north, eyeing the craggy and soaring peaks to the west of the property, the dense pelt of pine and oak to the east and south. Sun danced off the pond where he and Russell had fished for hours upon hours.

There’d been several days of matters to attend to in San Francisco, answering more questions—and there’d been quite a few—about the San Bruno shootout, Droon’s death and the explosion of the Prescott home, the Urban