6
Jeremy kept a death grip on the Miata's steering wheel as he crossed the Williamsburg Bridge. He shifted his gaze between the road ahead and his rearview mirror, keeping an eye on a silver PT Cruiser that had been staying two cars behind him since he'd left the Lodge.
Was that an Enemy? The so-called detective? Or just another guy on his way to Brooklyn?
Fuck Hank for weaseling out and making him do this all on his own. They were supposed to be a team, damn it.
He tried to see through the PT's windshield but the glare reduced the driver to a featureless silhouette.
Damn! If he could just get—
He glanced at the road, saw red lights, and slammed on his brakes. As his car screeched to a halt just inches shy of the bumper ahead of him, he heard other tires screeching behind him and braced for a rear-end collision.
It never came. The cars stopped in time. He checked for the PT, saw it pull out into an open lane and roll by to his right. The college-age girl behind the wheel didn't even glance his way as she passed.
He pounded his steering wheel. He could have been killed. And then what? Would Dawn keep the baby—the Key—if he was gone?
Like hell. She didn't seem all that crazy about being pregnant. In fact, she seemed downright unhappy about it.
The Key… aborted… its remains tossed out like garbage.
Unthinkable.
He heard a toot and looked around to see that his lane was moving again. Keeping his eyes trained on the road, he resumed his trip. But his thoughts remained on the enemy.
Average height… brown hair… brown eyes—
"Shit!" he cried.
Joe Henry… the guy hanging around Work… the video gamer. He fit
Vecea's description to a T. But lots of guys did. He bet he could wander through Work and—
Shit!—the guy had been reading Hank's book. That clinched it. He knew they were brothers. All a fucking setup.
He pounded the steering wheel in near-blind rage until a honk warned him that he was veering out of his lane. He straightened the wheel and drove on, seething.
The guy had played him like a fucking five-string banjo.
What had Vecca said his name was? John something… like two first names…
John Robertson. Yeah.
He bared his teeth. You and me, John Robertson… I think we got us a score to settle.