20
Jensen leaned forward and tapped Hutch on the shoulder. "Ease back on the speed."
"Just trying to make up for lost time."
"You won't be making up anything if you hydroplane us into a ditch."
They were heading west—swimming west was more like it—on 84. The normal speed limit was sixty-five but only an idiot would try that in this downpour.
"Who is this WA anyway?" Lewis said.
"You don't need to know his name, just that he's dangerous. He knows too much dirt—damaging dirt."
"Pardon my saying," Lewis said, "but how bad can it be? What can he know that deserves this kind of surveillance?"
The question was out of line, but he wanted these guys in skin-saving mode—not just the Church's skin but their own as well.
"Oh, let's see," Jensen drawled. "What about the time you told that Bible thumper, Senator Washburn, that unless he directed the Finance Committee's interest away from the Church, paternity test results on tissue from his closest aide's recent abortion would be made public? Dirty enough for you? Or what about the time Hutch threatened the daughter of that DD who was going to take the Church to court? And here's the icing on the cake, Lewis: He knows about that couple you shoved onto the tracks. What was their name again?"
"The Mastersons." Lewis's swallow was audible all the way to the back seat. "Shit."
Jensen was exaggerating. Blascoe suspected a few things, and could make it mighty uncomfortable for the Church if he started speculating in public, but that wasn't the real reason he'd been isolated.
"And those are just the tip of the iceberg."
The onJy sound in the car was the patter of the rain and the swish of the wipers.
Good, Jensen thought. That shut them up. He glanced at the glowing dial of his watch. It was a sixty-six-mile trip from the city to the cabin. In off-peak traffic it could be done in a little over an hour. They were well past the hour mark. But even with the rain and the reduced speed, it wouldn't be long now.