Page 60 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Yes.”

She did not sound happy about the plan but she had agreed to it. That was good enough, he decided.

He cracked the door open, grabbed the cane, and worked his way out of the back seat and into the shadows at the side of the narrow road. The maneuver sent a couple of shock waves through his leg. His forehead was suddenly damp with sweat.

He breathed into the pain. It receded somewhat.

He was really out of shape, he reflected. There had been a time when he could maneuver his way out of a locked trunk or a steel cage. Underwater. Bound hand and foot.

But in spite of the damned leg he was strangely energized. It had been two long years since he’d experienced the old thrill. And this time it was the real deal. No magic involved.

He had Irene to thank for the druglike rush of excitement that was coursing through him. He would pay a price later. The leg was going to bother him more than usual for a couple of days but it would be worth it. He had a bottle full of aspirin and some excellent whiskey waiting for him at Casa del Mar.

Irene had lowered the window on the driver’s side of the car. He spoke to her from the shadows.

“Are you all right?” she asked uneasily.

Irritation crackled through him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Give me a few minutes to go around behind the warehouse and make sure there isn’t anyone except Jennings inside. Douse the lights and the car engine as soon as I give the signal. We don’t want to attract any attention if we can avoid it.”

“There was no traffic on Miramar Road.”

“You never know. If a couple of kids out for a late-night cruise happen to see the lights, they might get curious.”

“All right,” she said.

“Remember, stay in the car until I wave you in. If anything looks like it’s not going well, get the hell out of here, understand?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got it. What about you?”

“Appearances to the contrary, I can take care of myself.”

He did not wait for her to acknowledge the order. He was accustomed to people doing what he told them to do. He’d had a lot of experience in the role of boss, first onstage, where even small mistakes in a carefully staged illusion could destroy a career or get someone badly injured, even killed. Now, as the owner of a hotel that catered to a fickle and often bizarre clientele, he’d managed to keep a lot of people employed during the worst of the hard times.

The country was finally emerging from the aftermath of the crash, but his staff was loyal. No one had left to seek other opportunities.

So, yes, he’d become accustomed to people doing what they were told.

He reached inside his jacket and took the gun out of the holster.

Cane in one hand, weapon in the other, he continued toward the warehouse, hugging the deep night just beyond the headlight beams. He knew from his experience establishing lines of sight on a brightly lit stage that the audience never noticed the assistants dressed in black who worked in the shadows.

When he got close to Daisy’s car, he saw that Irene was right. There was no one sitting in the vehicle. He took a chance and moved to stand next to the driver’s door. Nobody was hiding in the rear seat.

He eased his way around to the rear of the warehouse. The full moon, combined with the lantern light spilling out through the open freight door, allowed him to see the old dock and the squat shape of the boathouse.

He flattened his back against the wall at one side of the freight door.

“Daisy Jennings?” he said.

There was no response.

He raised his voice a little but kept his tone cool and unthreatening. “I’m Oliver Ward. We’ve met. I insisted on accompanying Miss Glassontonight. I didn’t want her to take the risk of coming alone. I’m sure you can understand. Sorry for the change of plan but I brought a hundred bucks with me. I hope that will serve as an apology.”

Nothing.

Gun extended, he leaned forward slightly and took a quick look around the interior of the warehouse. The lantern provided enough light to reveal that there was no sign of anyone inside. It also revealed the handbag sitting on a wooden crate.