Page 104 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Scott saw his chance, and he could not let it pass.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But I need you both to leave your cell phone numbers on my contact list. If anything happens to Ruth, if she is harmed in any—’
‘We’re trying to help her. Not hurt her,’ said Amanda.
‘If she does get hurt, I’ll know it was you two. And I’ll call the cops, and whoever else I can think of to come after you.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll call you when we find her. And let you know she’s all right. I promise.’
He nodded.
‘The main problem we have is locating her. She’s been living under false identities. Moving around the city. Before all this happened, she was a real-estate agent. Normal middle-class family. She wasn’t a criminal. She had no connections to that world. So where did she get multiple fake IDs to build all these different identities?’
‘She doesn’t know anyone. But I used to. An old school buddy. Jack. She never liked him. Jack was always plugged into some sort of scam. He’s the only person she might have gone to who would have those kinds of connections.’
‘Where do I find Jack?’
‘You don’t. He won’t talk to you.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘Leave your numbers on my call sheet, like I asked. I’ll call Jack. If he has anything, I’ll call you.’
57
Ruth
Ruth pulled into the driveway of a detached suburban home deep in central New Jersey, around two in the afternoon. Gary had called her back last night, said he’d watched the movie she recommended. They talked for half an hour and Ruth told him she’d like to meet. In person. Today.
He’d given her this address.
After the fire, Gary’s insurance company paid out a settlement that had allowed him to buy this house. The garage door was half open, and Ruth could see piles of boxes stacked just inside. He’d moved in a year ago, and he’d told her he was still unpacking. Most days he couldn’t summon up the strength to eat, never mind decorate or unpack what few items he had left after the fire.
She pressed the buzzer, stood at the front door and waited.
No answer. This time she pressed the buzzer for longer. Then knocked on the door. A brown sedan was parked in the driveway, so she guessed he was home.
Two minutes passed by and a creeping unease swept through her. It wasn’t her usual sensation of fear – this was different. She tried his cell.
He didn’t pick up.
Ruth moved around to the garage, lifted the door up a little more and went through on her hands and knees. She got up, called out his name and listened.
She could hear voices in the background. And then music. A TV turned up loud. The dumbass probably couldn’t hear her knocking on the door with the volume up so high. The garage was filled with boxes. Some opened, some empty, but most were still sealed. She could see a door at the far end. She tried the handle. It was open. She called out as she entered a utility room that led to the kitchen.
‘Gary?’
No answer. The damn TV was so loud now it was almost unbearable. She followed the sound to the living room.
Gary Childers sat on the couch in front of the TV. ESPN was blasting out at what must’ve been maximum volume. She grabbed the remote, hit the mute button then swung around.
Gary hadn’t moved.
His dead eyes stared at the screen. The top of his head was missing.
Ruth stumbled back, dropping the remote.
A gun lay on the floor by his feet along with an empty bottle of whiskey. He’d turned the TV way up to mask the sound of the shot. Gary had talked about ending it many times. Putting the barrel of his pistol in his mouth and pulling the trigger. Ruth had talked him down more than once, knowing how useful he could be to her. Ruth swore, angry now. Gary was the only one of her current group targets who could do the job.
