“Did you see the van later?”
She shook her head. “I was on the lookout, but I didn’t notice anyone following. But if they were good, I might not. I can manage to follow almost anyone and not be detected.”
“And maybe that van was just looking for an address.”
Jessie just raised her brows skeptically.
Kendra’s hands clenched. “It’s never made any sense to me why they would try to snatch me.”
“Maybe they don’t have Waldridge and think you do? Or maybe you’re looking too hard for your old friend, and they want to discourage you? Maybe they believe you have something they want? A few less benign reasons are occurring to me, but I won’t go into them. At any rate, neither Lynch nor I want to find out until we have the upper hand.”
That last sentence struck her wrong. They were clearly leaving her out of any decision making. “Lynch and you. What about me?”
“You’re smart, and you’re able to take care of yourself under most circumstances.” Jessie tapped her own chest. “I’m equipped to take care of people under any circumstances. That’s why Lynch made that call to me. I know he’s been checking me out, and that’s fine. But you should let me do my job. It will help you and Lynch, and it might even save Waldridge.” She shrugged. “But that’s your decision. If you want me to get out, just say the word.”
Kendra stared at her in exasperation. “And if I say that word, it might be the wrong thing to do. You’re damn right it’s my decision, but I’m in a corner, and I’m not going to be forced to make mistakes. So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” She looked her in the eye. “I can’t trust Lynch not to fly back here, so you stay on the job. I’d be stupid to not pay attention to your expertise, so I will take advantage of it. But you’ll never lie to me or pretend to be something you’re not. I want honesty and integrity, and I intend to use you to find Waldridge. Tomorrow we’re going to go to L.A., and we’ll squeeze answers out of Dyle. You’ll work your ass off, and Waldridge is going to come out of this alive. We’re going to do that together, Jessie.”
“No problem.” Jessie smiled. “Can we have that wine now?”
“No. It’s going to take awhile before I’ll be able to be on drinking terms with you again.”
“It will come. Actually, we do like each other.”
“Don’t be too sure. It wasn’t long ago that I was thinking of you as a friendly gargoyle.”
Jessie laughed. “Really? That visual is priceless.” She humped over in a gargoyle-like pose, waving her arms like a monkey. Then she reached over and turned out the lamp. “Good night, Kendra. I’m glad the air is cleared now. I’m lousy at deception…”
“You should have told that to Lynch.” She closed the door behind her.
She was still upset, but some of it had ebbed away. It was difficult being angry with Jessie. It was really all Lynch’s fault, and Jessie was only a tool. She found herself smiling grimly at that description. Jessie would never let herself be a tool for anyone. It was almost like calling her a friendly gargoyle.
The memory of Jessie bent over in that ridiculous gargoyle pose was suddenly before Kendra.
Do not smile.
CHAPTER
14
Croyden, England
Middlesex Lane
STEVEN KINCAID, THE OFFICER from the Serious Organized Crime Agency, had not arrived when Lynch reached the factory, and he felt both impatience and frustration. Too much time had already passed since Rye’s death, and he didn’t need bureaucratic red tape and heel dragging to add to the problem.
Calm down. Kincaid was only twenty minutes late. If Lynch weren’t so on edge, he wouldn’t be making a major thing of it.
He glanced down at his phone. No text from either Kendra or Jessie this morning. He hadn’t really expected one from Kendra. It was going to take some time to persuade her that he’d only done what he’d felt he had to do. And it was probably good that Jessie hadn’t texted him. She was too professional to leave Kendra without informing him. He could only hope they were working things out.
“There’s nobody here, you know.”
He looked up from his phone to see a seventysomething woman with gray hair and wearing a green plaid jacket coming toward him. He smiled. “No, I didn’t know. I heard that there might be. And you are?”
“Dorothy Jenkins.” She nodded at Dapper Dan’s Pub across the street. “I’m the bartender and manager.” She cocked her head. “You’re American, aren’t you? I can tell. Americans always sound so flat. I thought you might be Scotland Yard or something like that.” She paused as she had another thought. “Maybe FBI?”
“No. But if I were, why do you think I’d be interested in whether there was someone here at the factory?”
“Cagey.” She smiled. “That’s fine. I understand. Mr. Malone was like that.”