Page 86

I’ll be there at midnight.

Chapter Forty-Five

ISAAC REMINGTON

It took him nearly an hour to get to the house, and he almost missed the turnoff for the dirt driveway. If it hadn’t been for his GPS, he might have.

He hated driving on dirt roads. It was uncivilized and made his car look dirty. This place was located in the middle of nowhere. He pulled his car behind Sampson’s at front of the house and killed the ignition. It was unfathomable that he’d had to come fix this mess in person. Why couldn’t the hired help perform to the standards he required anymore?

Stewing about that, he sat for a moment in the car, surveilling the residence. Even in the dark he could tell the structure was dilapidated and old. The curtains were drawn tight. The place was completely dark except for a faint light in what he presumed was the living room. He really didn’t want to go inside such a disgusting place, but he’d been left no choice.

He pulled on a pair of black latex gloves, left his car, and walked up the rickety porch stairs. He knocked twice on the door, glad he had gloves on so he didn’t have to touch anything.

After a minute, Sampson opened the door, dressed in his ski mask with the voice modulator.

Isaac stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why are you wearing that? Johnson is gone.” He pointed to the mask.

“I don’t want her to identify me,” Sampson replied, ushering Isaac inside. “It’s just a precaution.”

“Have you lost your mind? She’s never leaving this room.”

Sampson shrugged. “I’m not taking any chances. Better safe than sorry. Johnson never saw me, either, and that’s the way I want to keep it.”

Isaac sighed inwardly. The robotic voice grated on his nerves. He wanted to smack some sense into Sampson, but they had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. “Fine. Where is she?”

“In here.” He motioned for Isaac to follow him.

The smells assailed him the farther he got inside. Moldy carpet, urine, and grilled onions permeated the air. His stomach revolted, but he said nothing.

The place was a dump.

Sampson led him into a shadowy living room lit by nothing but a single dim lamp in the corner. He saw a faded and lumpy couch, a scarred coffee table, and a stained carpet. Aileen Sinclair sat in the middle of the room tied to a chair, gagged and blindfolded. Her blouse was torn and dirty, her hair a tangle of red knots. She was smaller than he’d thought, barely the size of a teenager. How she had almost managed to escape Johnson was a mystery.

Sampson picked up a pistol with a silencer and held it loosely by his side.

“Is that an unregistered gun?” he asked.

Sampson nodded. “Johnson left it.”

“At least he did one thing right,” Isaac grumbled.

The woman started crying, her sobs muffled by the gag, but her whole body shook. Isaac frowned. This situation was intolerable. Sampson had lost his mind, the smell of the house was revolting, and Isaac had started to sweat.

“Let’s just get this over with and leave,” Isaac snapped. “Did you make arrangements for the disposal?”

Sampson nodded. “I’ve got someone who can take care of this for us.”

“Good.” At least Sampson had the foresight to take care of that. “Let’s make it easy for him. Get some towels.”

“Already ahead of you,” Sampson said as he picked up a pile of towels from the couch and started draping them around the chair. Sampson finally handed Isaac the last towel to place over her head.

Isaac took the towel and approached Aileen Sinclair. Disgusted by her appearance and smell, he leaned down close to her face. “Shut up and stop crying. None of this would have happened if your husband would have fallen in line. Instead, he wanted to play hero and put everyone, including our country, at risk. But don’t worry, you can die knowing he’ll be joining you soon.”

She was still crying as he tossed the towel over her head, careful not to touch her. He stepped back and swept his hand out, motioning for Sampson to do the deed.

Sampson stepped forward, but instead of shooting her, he handed the gun to Isaac. “You do it.”

“What?” Isaac couldn’t believe his ears. “Since when did you become squeamish? You killed J. P. without thinking twice about it.”