Watch Your Back Read Free Page A

got skills,’ he added bitterly. After all, Mazzetti had nailed his son right between the eyes as well. ‘Two of the three recent attacks were commissioned by rich folks, annoyed that she’s making their offspring pay for their sins. The shooter wasn’t caught, but I assume the same motive. The attacks will likely continue. Until she’s put down for good.’
    ‘Which is where I come in.’
    ‘Yeah. You need to strike before the cops hide her away in some safe house. If that happens, we’ll have lost our opportunity. I won’t be happy.’
    ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be happy.’
    ‘Good. Now, to make your job a little easier, she’ll be at the Harbor House Restaurant tomorrow afternoon at three.’
    Henderson frowned. ‘How do you know that?’
    ‘Because tomorrow is March 15. For the past seven years she’s gone to that same restaurant at three o’clock on March 15.’ Which he knew because he’d had her under surveillance all this time. ‘She’ll be meeting a psychologist visiting from Florida, Dr Emma Townsend.’
    Henderson thumbed through the pages in the folder. ‘There’s no photo of Townsend here.’
    ‘Google her. You’ll find her photo on her Amazon page. She writes self-help books on dealing with grief. Try not to shoot her, too, but do what you have to do to get Mazzetti.’
    Henderson looked up from the file, eyes gone flat and calculating. ‘Mazzetti has a kid.’
    ‘Cordelia,’ Robinette said. ‘She’s seven years old. If Mazzetti is a no-show at the restaurant, you can get to her through the kid. She goes to ballet class on Saturday afternoons.’
    ‘I see that here. Stanislaski’s Studio. Okay, then. I’ll call you when the job’s done.’
    ‘No, you won’t. I’ll take that folder back.’ Henderson handed it over, and Robinette fed the contents through the shredder under his desk. ‘I want no trail, paper or electronic. Nothing for the cops to find. When you’re successful, I’ll hear all about it on CNN. That’ll be all.’
    Dismissed, Henderson left, but Robinette’s office door didn’t close completely. Another head appeared in the gap. ‘Got a minute, Robbie?’
    ‘Sure.’ Robinette waved his head chemist to enter. ‘Not like I’m getting any work done.’
    ‘When do you ever?’ Fletcher’s teasing grin abruptly faded at the sight of Levi’s photograph out of place. ‘So. You’re finally gonna do it.’
    ‘It’ didn’t need specification. Fletcher had been there for him at Levi’s funeral, along with Henderson, Miller, and Westmoreland. His friends. His trusted team.
    It had been an open casket funeral, because Stevie Mazzetti really was a damn fine shot. The hole her bullet had left in Levi’s head was neat and clean, easily camouflaged by the funeral parlor’s makeup artist and hairstylist.
    Lying there . . . It had been the most at peace his son had looked in years.
    Robinette returned the silver frame to its original position. ‘Yeah. I’m finally going to do it. Henderson is, anyway.’
    ‘It’s about time,’ Fletcher said roughly. ‘We would have done it for you eight years ago, but I understand why you waited. You’re more patient than we are.’
    ‘No, not really.’ Just less willing to go to jail . ‘But, speaking of patience, how are the tests coming? You get any benefit from that obscenely expensive equipment you insisted we needed?’
    Fletcher slid a single sheet of paper across the black granite. ‘You be the judge.’
    The plain white paper bore no company logo on its letterhead. There would be no connection of Fletcher’s pet project to Filbert Pharmaceutical Labs. Or to its president. Which would be me. Or to the chairman of the board. Which would be me, again .
    Because all of the company’s other officers were dead. Robinette shot a quick, satisfied glance at the Rubik’s cube. May they all rest in peace .
    Robinette read the summary, handwritten in Fletcher’s precise script. The news was good. Very good. He