And Then There Was One by Patricia Gussin Read Free Book Online

He’d have been a perfect partner in this house. Those deep brown eyes, so expressive when they were making love. Longish black hair, very silky, so erotic. Just the thought aroused Maxwell, making him dizzy with desire.
    As Maxwell climbed into his Lexus, he tried to decide from where to place the call? Not Carrollwood, where he lived, but Ybor City, where the guy who called himself “Vincent” hung out.
    The call went to voice mail. “This is Mr. Justice,” he said, using the same name he’d used before. “Call me as soon as possible. I have something for you.” Maxwell gave him the pay phone number. He did not see the forest green minivan with the dark windows lurking at the corner of the block.
    He waited fifteen minutes before the phone rang. “What’s up?” asked the familiar masculine voice.
    “We need to talk. I have a job. Has to be done immediately.”
    “No way. I’m outta here on a long vacation. Out of the country, man.”
    “Good. My job’s out of the country, too. Nevis. Island in the Caribbean.”
    “I know where Nevis is,” the hit man said. “Look, I got no time to haggle. You say Nevis. Yeah, it might work. Meet me tomorrow morning eleven sharp with details. Same place, but come with the money. You know the drill. Seein’ it’s a rush job, it’ll be complicated. Bring a hundred fifty, all up front this time.”
    Before Maxwell could protest at such an exorbitant price, the connection was severed, leaving that buzz in his ear. Last time he had hired Vincent — the only time — it had set him back one hundred grand. Cash in hundreds. Then he’d had more time to plan.
    Maxwell slammed down the receiver and considered his limited options. He had to get his hands on a hundred fifty grand. He checked his Rolex: 3:05. Enough time to get to the bank. Premonition told him to get the money now, not wait until morning, just in case the feds decided to freeze his accounts. Although he didn’t think they could do that. If they had anything on him, they wouldn’t have let him go. He didn’t have that kind of cash in his personal account, so he’d have to take it from the firm. Shouldn’t be a problem with a half-a-million line of credit, but there’d be scrutiny by the fucking accountants. No big deal, he’d have time to replenish the money once he could get at his brokerage account and sell enough stock or go with a margin loan, whatever. He was a professional architect and a damned successful one. But the man called Vincent was right about this job, it could be complicated.

    Streeter picked up the call from Special Agent Emmitt Rusk, his counterpart in Tampa.
    “Cutty went into a bank? What the heck did he do in there?” Massaging his forehead with the palm of both hands, he took a deep breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed sleep. He’d been awake for almost forty hours.
    “Can’t be sure,” said Rusk. “He went into a private office at the Bank of America with one of the vice presidents. Went in and came out with a canvas case. Without a warrant, we’re not going to get anything from the bank.”
    “Follow him. Let’s get a warrant to access all his financial accounts, personal and business. Meantime, I’m going to crash for a couple of hours, but call me if you get anything.”
    Streeter had sent Katie and Scott home empty. Without a scrap of information. There’d been no ransom note. No trace of the little girls. His only lead, Maxwell Cutty. Not much to go on there, but he’d milk it for all it was worth. As the Tampa field office held Cutty for questioning, they’d gotten a warrant to search his house and seized his computer. They’d found zero evidence of the missing Monroe girls, but they were still going through his hard drive. It was obvious that he had not personally snatched the girls in Detroit, then made it back to Tampa to be found alone in his own bed in his night clothes in the wee hours of the morning. But a man of his sophistication,