Tripwire by Lee Child

‘I’m calling the loan,’ he said.

He listened to the swallowing sounds as the guy started panicking. There was desperate silence for a long time. Then he heard the guy sit down, heavily.

‘Can you pay me?’

There was no reply.

‘You know what happens to people who can’t pay me?’

More silence. More swallowing.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We can work something out. I got two properties to sell. A mansion up in Pound Ridge, and my apartment on Fifth. I want two million for the house, and three-point-five for the apartment. You get me that and I’ll write off the loan against your commission, OK?’

The guy had no choice but to agree. Hobie had him copy down the bank details in the Caymans and told him to wire the proceeds within a month.

‘A month is pretty optimistic,’ the guy said.

‘How are your kids?’ Hobie asked.

More swallowing.

‘OK, a month,’ the guy said.

Hobie clicked the phone off and wrote $5,540,000 on the page where he had scored out three automobiles and two residences. Then he called the airline and enquired about flights to the coast, evening of the day after tomorrow. There was plenty of availability. He smiled. The ball was soaring right over the fence, heading for the fifth row of the bleachers. The outfielder was leaping like crazy, but he was absolutely nowhere near it.

With Hobie gone, Marilyn felt safe enough to take a shower. She wouldn’t have done it with him out there in the office. There was too much in his leer. She would have felt he could see right through the bathroom door. But the one called Tony was not such a problem. He was anxious and obedient. Hobie had told him to make sure they didn’t come out of the bathroom. He would do that, for sure, but nothing more. He wouldn’t come in and hassle them. He would leave them alone. She was confident of that. And the other guy, the thickset one who had brought the coffee, he was doing what Tony told him. So she felt safe enough, but she still had Chester stand by the door with his hand on the handle.

She leaned in and set the shower running hot and stripped off her dress and her shoes. She folded the dress neatly over the curtain rail, out of the water

stream, but near enough for the steam to take the creases out. Then she stepped into the stall and washed her hair and soaped herself from head to foot. It felt good. It was relaxing. It took away the tension. She stood face up and soaked for a long time. Then she left the water running and stepped out and took a towel and changed places with Chester.

‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘It’ll do you good.’

He was numb. He just nodded and let the door handle go. Stood for a second and stripped off his undershirt and his boxers. Sat naked on the floor and took off his shoes and socks. She saw the yellow bruise on his side.

‘They hit you?’ she whispered.

He nodded again. Stood up and stepped into the stall. He stood under the torrent with his eyes closed and his mouth open. Then the water seemed to revive him. He found the soap and the shampoo and washed himself all over.

‘Leave the water running,’ she said. ‘It’s warming the place up.’

It was true. The hot water was making the room comfortable. He stepped out and took a towel. Dabbed his face with it and wrapped it around his waist.

‘And the noise means they can’t hear us talking,’ she said. ‘And we need to talk, right?’

He shrugged, like there wasn’t much to talk about. ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing. There are no trustees. He’s going to find that out, and then he’ll just get mad.’

She was towelling her hair. She stopped and looked at him through the gathering cloud of steam. ‘We need a witness. Don’t you see that?’

‘A witness to what?’

‘To what happens,’ she said. ‘David Forster will send some private detective over here, and what can Hobie do? We’ll just admit there is no trust, and then we’ll all of us go down to your bank, and we’ll hand Hobie the stock. In a public place, with a witness. A witness, and a sort of bodyguard. Then we can just walk away.’