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“Were you at that address?”
He spread his hands in front of him. “I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?”
Reynolds placed the coffee cup on the table. “Why are you here, Page?”
He shrugged. “I’m visiting an old friend.”
“Rachel Sloane?”
Zep lifted an eyebrow.
“How long do you intend on staying in the area?”
He'd had enough of this bullshit. “You looking for a dinner date?” He stood.
Reynold chuckled again. “You’re very funny, Page.”
Zep headed for the door, where another plainclothes detective stood. When he didn't break his stride, the cop hurriedly stepped out of his way.Gutless prick.Clearly Ricochet weren't looking to break his balls, otherwise they’d have hauled him down to the station. So, what was their game plan? He’d have a word with Scott, see what he knew.
Dodge was leaning against the wall, just down from Rachel’s room. “The cop said he was going for some air.”
Zep couldn’t blame him, with Abby giving him the cold shoulder. He nodded at the cops standing guard at the door as he walked through. Abby sat on the edge of the bed, holding her mother’s hand.
“Hello.” The bedhead was raised, allowing Rachel to sit up.
“You’re awake?” The heaviness that had sat in his gut all day shifted. Her smile almost banished it.
“And feeling a lot better than earlier.” She had some colour in her cheeks, and her eyes looked less glazed.
“That’s good.” He glanced at Abby. She gave him a look that practically screamed at him to leave. “I’m going to go and stretch my legs.”
Abby’s lips pressed into a thin line Zep guessed was as close to a smile as he was going to get.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said to Rachel.
“Okay,” she replied.
Zep left them to it, telling Dodge he was going outside for a while. The temperature had dropped several degrees and the sun was glowing low on the horizon when he walked outside the hospital. He glanced up and down the street, catching sight of Scott walking about two hundred metres up the road. Zep made to follow him, when another man emerged from the shadows and walked to a tree about 50 metres from where Zep watched. The man stood behind the tree, peering around at Scott.
Motherfucker.
Zep sprinted across the road to the parking lot. He pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the SUV, jumping behind the wheel. Straining his neck, he couldn’t see Scott, or his tail. The SUV roared to life and Zep drove out of the lot. He could make out Scott in the distance, and headed in the same direction. The second man seemed to have disappeared into the shadows.
A minute later, Zep pulled into the curb, startling Scott. He lowered the window. “You’re being followed.”
Scott turned and surveyed the path he’d just walked. Zep reached across to the glove compartment and grabbed his gun. A flash of movement in the rear view mirror caught Zep’s eye.
“Get down,” he growled as a gunshot rang out.
Zep pushed the door open and stepped onto the street, his gun drawn. Another shot tore by his head, close enough to feel the heat of the bullet on his cheek. The gunman was running straight at him. Zep lined him up, then pulled the trigger.
The shooter’s head snapped back as his arms flew up. He was dead by the time he hit the ground.
“You hit?” Zep looked around. Scott had taken cover behind the front of the SUV. His face was ashen as he stood up.
“No.” His eyes fell to the dead man lying on the ground not twenty metres from where they stood.
Zep looked up and down the street. No one else seemed to be around, which didn’t mean the shooting had gone unnoticed, only that no one was foolish enough to get involved. Zep exhaled deeply, his heart pounding a steady rhythm in his chest. It felt good to have taken at least one of Isobel’s crew out today, after the bloodshed in Broulee and the bomb at Rachel’s.
