Page 22

Back in New York City, where it was still early evening, Murray Hatcher was sitting in the downstairs office of his auto shop when his cell phone buzzed three times in quick succession.

He snatched it up and opened the tracking app.

“Finally,” he muttered.

The glowing dot that had been stationary all day was on the move.

In the early hours of that morning, he had broken into the building where Jack and Hillary Coulter lived and sneaked into the underground garage.

After locating their Mercedes-Maybach sedan, he had quickly set to work and, after thirty minutes, was on his way back home.

He switched from the tracking app to the walkie-talkie app.

“Andy?”

“Go for Andy.”

“The Maybach’s leaving the garage. You still have eyes on the exit?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen—” The walkie-talkie went silent for a moment.

“Never mind. The car just came out.”

“Occupants?”

“I see two.”

“Is one of them the target?”

Another pause, then, “Yep. She’s in the front passenger seat.”

“Copy. Keep them in sight.”

“Copy.”

Murray had given everyone at his auto shop the afternoon off, so the garage was quiet.

He walked through it and into his back lot.

There near the gate sat one of his special cars.

On the outside, it looked like a generic gray Honda Accord—the kind of vehicle that blended into the background.

Under the hood was another matter entirely.

The factory engine had been replaced with a custom job that would provide enough power to get him away in a hurry if things went sideways.

Not that he expected that to happen, but he never left his well-being to chance.

Murray climbed behind the wheel and turned the key.

The engine rumbled to life, purring just the way he liked it.

He contacted Andy again.

“Update.”

“Just turned south onto Lex.”

“Copy. I’m on my way.”