to mop up the mess he and his brother made in that warehouse. And it was a mess. Sam Marset and the others didn’t stand a chance. The twins slaughtered them.”
“And only you lived to tell about it.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve known those boys practically their whole lives.”
“Are you sure you know them? Are you sure you know what they’re capable of? For instance, did Doral tell you that he broke into Tori Shirah’s house and ambushed her? Yeah,” he said when he noticed a glint of surprise in the older man’s eyes.
“And then when she told him she hadn’t heard from Honor, he threatened her if she failed to contact him if and when she did. Did Doral mention that to you, Mr. Gillette? Never mind. I can see that he didn’t.”
“How do you know it’s true?”
“How do you know it isn’t?”
“Well, if you heard it from that slut, I’d say the source is unreliable.” He switched his attention back to Honor. “Is Emily with her?”
“Emily is safe.”
“Not from moral corruption.”
“Let’s put the character assassination of Tori on ice,” Coburn said. “We haven’t got time for it.”
“On that I agree with you, Coburn. Your time is up.”
“Really?” Coburn leaned down, putting his face within inches of Gillette’s. “You say that with a lot of conviction. How do you know my time is up?”
Gillette’s eyes narrowed fractionally.
Coburn continued. “The Hawkins twins are clever, but they don’t strike me as bright enough to run an organization as sophisticated as The Bookkeeper’s.”
Gillette looked beyond Coburn to Honor. “What’s he talking about?”
“Hey.” Coburn nudged the man’s knee, drawing his attention back to him. When Gillette’s fierce eyes met his again, he continued. “Somebody with an authoritative personality and a god complex has been giving Fred and Doral their marching orders. I’ve got my money riding on you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Coburn made a show of checking his wristwatch. “You’re either staying up awfully late or getting up very early. Why aren’t you groggy from having been woken up when the doorbell rang? Why aren’t you dressed in pajamas or skivvies? Instead, here you are, Mr. Gillette, fully dressed. Even wearing shoes. How come? Why are you all spit-and-polished at this time of morning?”
Gillette only glared.
“You know what it looks like to me?” Coburn continued. “Like you’re on standby for something. For what? For a showdown with me, the federal agent who’s put a real crimp in your crime chain?”
Hostility radiated from Gillette, but he remained silent.
Coburn straightened up slowly but continued to hold the man’s stare. “The only reason I might second-guess myself is because I really can’t see you ordering the murder of your own flesh and blood. Not because you might have some moral hang-up about it, but because your overblown ego wouldn’t let you destroy your own DNA.”
Gillette had had enough. He began struggling against the tape binding him, gnashing his teeth in frustration and rage. “You have maligned my character. You’ve insulted me as a man and as a patriot. And furthermore, you’re a lunatic.” His gaze shifted to Honor. “For godsake, why are you just standing there, saying nothing? Has he brainwashed you into believing this bullshit?”
“He’s convinced me that Eddie’s car wreck wasn’t an accident.”
Gillette stopped struggling as suddenly as he’d begun. His eyes darted between her and Coburn, landing on him. Coburn nodded. “Eddie died because he had incriminating evidence on a lot of people. Not just low-life types, but prominent, outstanding-citizen types like Sam Marset and law enforcement personnel who streamline the trafficking of drugs, weapons, even human beings.”
Honor said, “They had Eddie killed before he could expose them.”
“Or,” Coburn countered, “before he could blackmail them.”
“Drug dealing? Blackmail? My son was a decorated police officer.”