Page 111 of The Devoted Game

“I knew you’d come.”

He pivoted and faced the voice.

Martin Fincher.

What was probably Grace’s weapon or maybe Worth’s was aimed at him.

“Place your weapon on the ground and kick it under the SUV,” Fincher ordered.

Taking his time, Ryan crouched down and laid his weapon on the ground.

“Now scoot it with your foot.”

Slowly, his hands out to the side, Ryan pushed back to his feet, then toed the weapon away as ordered.

“Now the cell phone.”

He did the same with his cell. “You’ve got me now,” he suggested. “Why not let Grace go?”

Fincher smiled. The glow from the overhead security lamp highlighted the amusement in his expression. “I can’t. She’s not here. And I am certain I will need her to keep you in control.”

Fury whipped through Ryan. “Where is she?” He was just about through playing the bastard’s games.

“Behave yourself and I’ll tell you.” He motioned to his right. “But first we have to take a little ride.”

“What about the reporter, Goodman?” Ryan demanded. “You made her call me, where is she?”

“She’s in her van with her cameraman. They’re a little tied up right now. I doubt they’ll make the morning news with this. I did find it rather convenient that she followed me to the decoy location. Prevented the need for making the call myself. This way was much more interesting.”

Ryan started walking in the direction Fincher had indicated. “I don’t want Grace hurt, Fincher,” he said. “She isn’t the one you want to hurt.”

“We’ve had this conversation already, McBride. Just keep walking.”

When Ryan reached the end of the row, Fincher said, “Left here.”

He took the left. A white Impala was parked between the next two rows of storage units.

“Get into the driver’s seat,” Fincher ordered.

When Ryan had dropped behind the wheel, Fincher got into the rear passenger seat. He tossed the keys into the front seat. “Take a right out of the parking lot.”

“Where’re we going?” Ryan started the engine.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Turn by turn, Fincher gave the directions. Ryan followed them verbatim. Anything to get Grace’s location. “Are you going to tell me where she is now?” He made a final turn into Elmwood Cemetery on Martin Luther King Drive.

“Soon,” Fincher promised.

A short distance onto cemetery property, Fincher ordered him to stop.

They got out simultaneously. Fincher held a medium-size brown paper bag in his left hand, the weapon in the other. “Start walking straight ahead,” he ordered.

“We here to visit someone you know?” Ryan asked in an attempt to rattle him.

“Turn left here,” Fincher told him.

“I hate to keep repeating myself,” Ryan said, “but I’d really like to know where Grace is.” He could take this guy, he was reasonably sure. But he couldn’t make a move and risk him ending up dead before he got Grace’s location out of him. This round had to be played by his rules.