The Devil’s Share Read Free Page A

offices. It keeps me busy.”
    â€œYou do all that yourself?”
    â€œI have people I use when I need them. A team. Guys I served with.”
    â€œI guessed. What branch?”
    He looked at her. “Corps all the way. First Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment. First over the berm, March 20, ’03.”
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œThe berm. That’s what we called the southern border of Iraq and Kuwait. We’d been waiting for days, going crazy in the heat, so it was a relief to get moving.”
    â€œHow long were you over there?”
    â€œTwo deployments. Rotated out in 2006, then eventually got a job stateside with a private security firm. Next thing I knew I was back over there as an independent contractor. Made a hell of a lot more money that time, though.”
    The road straightened. Through the trees she could see the lights of the boulevard down there, traffic moving along at a crawl.
    â€œIt must have been dangerous,” she said.
    â€œThe more you learn, the less dangerous it is. And bits of wisdom get passed on, stuff you don’t learn in your training, or from a manual.”
    â€œLike what?”
    They came to a red light. He eased the car to a stop, rested his wrists on the steering wheel.
    â€œLots of things,” he said. “For example, we used to have a saying, ‘When the pin is out, Mr. Grenade is not your friend.’”
    â€œGood advice.”
    â€œReason is, guys go to toss a grenade out of a moving vehicle, to break up an ambush, whatever, sometimes they pull the pin, pop the spoon right there in their lap. You need to have both hands out the window when you do that. Otherwise, you hit a bump, drop that baby inside your vehicle, and it’s good night, Irene.”
    The light changed. They made a left, and then they were on a side road that fed onto Sunset. She’d given him the name of a hotel there. At the intersection, he made another left, and they merged into traffic.
    â€œListen,” he said. “I know you just got here, and you’re probably tired, jet lag and all. But since we’re going to be working together…”
    â€œWho said that?”
    â€œWell, since there’s a chance we’ll be working together, can I buy you a drink before you turn in? Someplace quiet?”
    â€œThanks anyway. Maybe another time.”
    â€œYou got it. No worries. This it up here on the right?”
    â€œYes,” she said.
    He signaled, pulled into the breezeway of the hotel. The glass doors slid open, and a valet came out, a kid in his twenties with the blond good looks of a surfer.
    Hicks parked, left the engine running. When they got out, she shook her head at the valet. Hicks got her bag from the trunk, shut the lid.
    â€œI guess we’ll be talking,” he said. “If you need anything, call.”
    She’d bought a disposable cell phone before she left New Jersey, had exchanged numbers with him. The one he’d given her would be a burner as well, she knew. Another precaution.
    â€œI will,” she said, and took the bag.
    â€œDo I call you Chris, Christine, what?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. Either’s fine.”
    â€œWell, it was good meeting you.” He held out his hand.
    She looked at it for an awkward moment, but he didn’t draw it back. She took it. His grip was warm and dry.
    â€œYou’ve got a good handshake,” he said. “Strong. I like that.”
    She looked at him, but there was no sarcasm there.
    â€œGet some rest,” he said, and got back behind the wheel.
    She watched him drive off, the valet hovering a few feet away. When the car was out of sight, she turned to him.
    â€œCan I have that taken to your room?” he said.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Just get me a cab.”
    *   *   *
    She gave the driver the name of the motel in Culver City where she had a reservation. It was in a residential area, bungalows and small