Page 106 of The 6:20 Man

CHAPTER

46

6:20.

The train bumped out of the station with Devine in his normal seat staring out the same window at the same countryside.

He didn’t expect to see Michelle Montgomery, and thus was surprised when she was sitting by the pool in her itty-bitty bikini staring at the water like it was the most mesmerizing thing ever conceived. She didn’t look up once at the train. She didn’t flip them off, or—to the chagrin of all the guys with their faces pressed to the glass—show her thonged butt, or better yet, strip to her birthday suit and take the plunge.

Only as the train started to gather speed, did the woman look up . . . and wave.

Pretty much every man on the train car waved back. Except Devine. Ironic, since he was pretty sure he was the one she was waving to.

And then Montgomery was gone from sight as the train sped up.

Devine sat back against his seat. He figured she was appearing more routinely because he was on the train and would be watching her. Devine wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was investigating Cowl and she was Cowl’s girl. That was going to get really complicated really fast.

He took out his phone and sent a text to Emerson Campbell to arrange a meeting that day. Next, he looked at the slip of paper that Fred Ewes had given him, with the information on the clinic that had been involved with Sara’s abortion. He doubted they would tell him anything over the phone. But they might if he went to the clinic. He had to try. He checked the train schedule on his phone and calculated the logistics.

He next thought about the man he had killed that morning, glancing down at his big, strong fingers, which had done the deed. He rubbed the bandage across his palm and felt the one under his shirtsleeve.

Don’t feel anything, Devine, not remorse, and sure as hell not guilt, because it was either him or me.

Maybe he had a family who would miss and mourn him when he didn’t show up. But he’d made the decision, not Devine.

He made fists with his killer hands and hid them in his pockets.

The 6:20 moved on and took a reluctant rider with it.

* * *

It was lunchtime and Devine didn’t head to the dining hall to hobnob with the exalted of Cowl and Comely. He headed north, to the Fifties. To the little Italian restaurant that was apparently never open to the public.

Campbell sat in the same room, in the same chair, but wearing a different set of clothes. A bowl of spaghetti and a bottle of wicker-bottomed Chianti was in front of him next to a half-full glass of wine. A large napkin was tucked into his shirt. He did not look up from his food.

“I had to kill a man this morning,” said Devine.

This news did not startle or disturb the old soldier. Campbell took a mouthful of pasta and a sip of wine.

“Explain in fuller detail.”

Devine did so and added, “I don’t think Cowl is at the top of the pyramid on this.”

“I never thought he was. He’s a means to an end who is paid a king’s ransom.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I wish I could. But I don’t really know more than that.”

“Hancock also knew I was an Army Ranger. He knew that the first time he saw me.”

“Your military service is not a secret.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Campbell finished the wine and pushed his plate of food, only half eaten, away. “I don’t actually like pasta.” He wiped his mouth.

“They wanted to know who I really was, and why I was at Cowl and Comely. That cuts very close to the bone. You need to be concerned about that.”