I'll Never Stop (Hamlet 4) - Page 33

Boone was lying on the long leather sofa, still fully dressed. He even had his boots on. His hands folded behind his head, his dark stare was focused on the massive television mounted on the wall across from the sofa.

Tommy stood in between Boone and the television. Muffled moans came from behind his back, the sounds of skin slapping together, the male voice grunting as he pounded away. Tommy didn’t have to turn around to know what ki

nd of movie Boone was watching.

Peering closer, he noticed that, while Boone was dressed, a massive bulge pushing at the front of his trousers warned that that hadn’t been his plan for much longer.

Oh, well, Tommy thought as he reached for the remote resting on the glass coffee table, a twin to the one in his room. He spared a single disinterested glance at the orgy on the screen before turning it off with a decisive click. He didn’t give a shit what Boone was into. The man could go rub one out later for all he cared. But not now. This was too important to let him have the option of disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes.

Tossing the remote back on top of the table, satisfied at the clank of plastic against glass, Tommy ordered, “Get the car. I’ll meet you right down.”

Boone reached below his belt, giving himself a quick adjustment before climbing out of the sofa and rising to his feet. “You got a tip?”

If only. It rankled his nerves to have to admit that his tech wasn’t infallible. The way Grace led them on a wild goose chase was as admirable as it was infuriating. But there was something… something that he couldn’t shake.

He wanted to go back, travel the highway again, get inside of her head.

Tommy knew the woman better than she knew herself. Now that he was more focused, thinking more clearly, it would be simple to figure out what move she made if only he went back and re-traced the last leg of her journey.

“No. Call it a hunch instead. I want to see something.”

Boone swiped his set of keys for the Jaguar off of the coffee table. “You want to drive, or me?”

Tommy couldn’t search for Grace and pay attention to the road. He wouldn’t care if anyone else got hit or mowed down, but what if his Jaguar got a scratch?

“You’re gonna drive,” he told Boone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pull over there.”

Boone obeyed, leaving the right lane and pulling off onto the narrow shoulder.

It was dark out, closing in on midnight, and this was the third time they’d traveled down this length of the highway. Tommy grew even more anxious and snappish as he told Boone to turn around, drive, then turn again. He didn’t know what he was looking for, and the repeated vibrating buzz of his cell phone against his thigh made him want to open the tinted window and chuck it into oncoming traffic.

His father must have called him at least ten times. Ken’s number came up twice. He ignored them both. They could wait.

This was important.

The highway was a ghost town compared to how busy it was earlier in the evening. Boone pulled off to the side, like Tommy told him to, and threw on the hazards so that none of the few drivers whizzing by came too close to the car.

Tommy didn’t even wait for Boone to put the car in park. The second it stopped, he threw open the door, stalking out into the night. His bodyguard hurriedly followed him, checking his gun in its holster and pulling it out, just in case.

“What did you see?” he asked.

Tommy was staring into the darkness. “I remembered seeing these before. It didn’t mean anything then, but…shit. Why are these here? What do you think?”

Boone drew up next to him. “The cones?”

“Right. Did you bring a flashlight? A good one?”

“In the glove compartment.”

“Get it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Boone returned a minute later, a military-grade flashlight in his hand. He slapped it into Tommy’s waiting palm.

Tags: Jessica Lynch Hamlet Mystery
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