Page 5 of A Matter of Time

“My boss, Dane Harcourt, he’s the main architect. Miles Brown does interior design, and Sherman Cogan is the landscape architect.”

“What does main architect mean?”

“He designs residences.”

He stared at me for a long minute. “Does he?”

“Yes. He’s very famous.”

“If he’s so famous, why haven’t I ever heard of him?”

I scoffed. “I bet the people you haven’t heard of could fill a book, Detective.”

“You’re a punk, you know that?”

I smiled at him. “Particularly nice comeback, Detective.”

“So that’s it? No family, just you?”

“Just me.”

“This’ll be easy, then.”

“What will?”

“Making you disappear.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Protective custody, witness protection… Are you starting to get it?” he said, tapping his temple like I should have been paying attention.

I shook my head. “Just tell me when I can go home.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you stupid?”

I just waited, staring at him.

“Speak,” he growled at me.

“You have terrible communication skills. Are you aware?”

He ignored me. “Mr. Keyes, you are never going home again. You are going into the witness protection program. Federal marshals will be here in the morning to transport you to⁠—”

“Yeah, right.” I got up. I was tired of being treated like I’d done something wrong. “I’m going now. I’m beat, and I gotta be at work in the morning.”

“Mr. Keyes, people want to kill you. Do you understand that? Brian Minor is very well connected and⁠—”

“Leaving now,” I announced as I headed for the door.

“Mr. Keyes, you are going into protective custody.”

“Uh-huh,” I placated him, stopping at the door only as long as it took to open it and go through. I had tested to see if it was locked earlier. At the end of the hall, Brian was being walked to wherever he was being taken by two uniformed police officers.

“Jory!” he yelled at me. “You’re a dead man! Do you understand me? Dead!”

I smirked at him and flipped him off. He yanked free and came charging down the hall toward me. I had no idea what he thought he was going to do to me, handcuffed like he was, but he came anyway. He’d always been so big and brutish—one of those bull-in-a-china-shop kind of guys. A lot of big men were still fluid when they moved, like their size was perfect for them, but Brian had always seemed unaware of how strong he was or the confines of his own shoulders and legs. Plodding like an animal was what had forever come to mind. So when he got to me, I crouched and swept my leg underneath him. He went down hard, face-planting into the tile floor at my feet. I stood there a second and then very theatrically stepped over him.

“You sonofabitch!” he shrieked at me.