He gave her a slow once-over. “You may surprise yourself.” When his gaze reconnected with hers, it was hot and intense.
Uncomfortably, she looked away from it. “Did you buy or steal the groceries?”
“Bought.”
She remembered the money he’d been carrying in the pocket of the jeans. “You weren’t afraid of being identified?”
“The cap and sunglasses were in the console of the truck.”
“I recognized you in them.”
He chuckled. “They weren’t looking at me.”
“They?”
“I stopped at a bait shop out in the middle of nowhere. Slow day. No other customers in the place. Only the bottled-water delivery truck in the parking lot.”
She cast a glance at the twenty-four bottles encased in plastic. “You stole that off the truck?”
“Piece of cake. When I went into the store, the deliveryman was behind the counter with the cashier. His hand was inside her pants and his mouth was on her nipple. They had eyes only for each other. I grabbed my stuff, paid, and got out quick. They won’t remember me at all, only the interruption.”
Honor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment over the images he’d conjured. She wondered if the story was true, and even if it was, why had he painted such a vivid picture? To fluster her? Well, she was flustered, but if Coburn cared or noticed, he gave no indication of it as he checked his wristwatch.
“I’ll try Hamilton again.”
Using his own phone, he redialed the number, and this time Honor heard a man answer. “Hamilton.”
“You son of a bitch. Why are you fucking me over?”
He replied blandly, “A man in my position can’t be too careful, Coburn. If the caller ID is blocked, I don’t answer.”
“I identified myself.”
“After I heard the news, I would have known it was you anyway. You’re in a world of hurt. Or should I say a vat of gumbo?”
“Oh, that’s real funny.”
“Not so much. Mass murder. Kidnapping. You’ve outdone yourself, Coburn.”
“Like I need you to tell me that. If I wasn’t in trouble, I wouldn’t be calling.”
Switching to a more serious tone, the man on the other end said, “Is speculation correct? Do you have the woman?”
“And her kid.”
“Are they all right?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. We’ve been picnicking.” After a weighty, sustained silence, Coburn said again, “They’re fine. You want to talk to her yourself?”
Without waiting for an answer, he passed the phone to Honor. Her hands were trembling as she raised it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Gillette?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Clint Hamilton. I want you to listen carefully. Please, for your child’s sake as well as your own, don’t underestimate the importance of what I’m about to tell you.”
“All right.”