Page 144 of The List

Hank jumped down.

He twisted the outboard into gear and the skiff shot away from the dock toward the open lake.

THE PHONE PULSED INJON’S HAND.

“Redbird is down. Possibly dead. But they are away, in the boat, headed for the intended location.”

He did not react to the news concerning Frank Barnard, though he was disturbed by the possible loss of another well-trained associate. Obviously something had gone wrong. The idea had been to rattle Reed and Walker, isolate them without phones, then push them onto the lake. The house was to appear to have been vandalized, which was why rocks were used on the windows. A surreptitious check of the boat earlier revealed the outboard gassed and operational. A perfect, and apparent, means of escape. Also an easily explained theft. There was no time to criticize right now. He’d deal with any mistakes later.

“Go to your boat and follow. Stay close,” he made absolutely clear in a tone Victor Jacks should fear.

“Understood. They have a gun.”

Good to know.

Five hundred yards from shore, standing at the helm of a V-hull, camouflaged by darkness and the storm, Jon switched off the cellular phone.

Then he calmly waited in the rain for his prey to draw close.

BRENT BROUGHT THE SKIFF OUT OF THE COVE AND AROUND TO THEsouth and quickly grabbed his bearings. He knew the county boat ramp lay about two miles west, an infinite number of landing points in between. He decided to head for the ramp. That area was heavily populated and the more people, the fewer chances De Florio and his goons would have to make a move. The eight-foot skiff was nearly inadequate against the stormy chop, its flat bottom taking a beating from the waves. Hank sat near the bow while he operated the outboard from the stern. He still held the gun. It was hard to see far in any direction so he navigated by his wits and the occasional help lightning provided.

“This is not the place to be in the middle of an electrical storm,” Hank yelled.

“Beats the hell out of where we were.”

He looked back and saw a boat approaching.

JON PATIENTLY WAITED UNTIL THE SKIFF COMMITTED TO A COURSE.Once done, he revved the 250 horsepower of the twin inboards and shot forward, its deep V knifing the water, the hull quickly planing. He left the running lights off until fully under way, then switched on the bow’s red sparkler.

More than enough indication to let them know the chase was nearly over.

JACKS RACED THROUGH THE WOODS TO A SECOND DEEP-VBEACHEDa short way from Leon Peacock’s lake house. He jumped in, cranked the two powerful engines, and roared off in pursuit of his boss.

“WE’VE GOT COMPANY,”BRENT SAID, AND HE INSTANTLY REALIZEDthe situation. “Hank, I’m afraid we’ve been pretty stupid.” He stared back at the puny thirty-five-horsepower outboard barely pushing them through the water. “I wondered why we weren’t chased by anyone to the dock. And those guys were pretty lousy shots for professional killers.”

“We have a gun.”

“Not much good it will do. This is where De Florio wanted us.”

“And that’s him behind us?”

“You got it.”

He whirled his head around and tried to find a house with lights.

None was visible.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Hank said.

“He’s toying with us. He can take us whenever. We don’t have the horsepower to outrun him and he knows it.”

He kept searching the shoreline. De Florio was now less than three hundred yards and closing.

“We could hit the water and swim,” Hank said. “Maybe he can’t find both of us in this storm.”

Behind De Florio, another red light was now shooting through the rain toward them.

“Looks like two of them,” he yelled over the howling wind.