Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

“Shaver?”


“You need a better disguise. All that thick hair of yours needs to go.”

***

Less than twenty-four hours later, at ten p.m., they were parked at the curb across the street from Mike Gabaldon’s house, a large bungalow on Finch Street in Davis. A traffic accident had prevented them from arriving sooner.

She looked at Jason. “What now?”

“I need to get inside.”

“There could be alarms. We need to get him to open the door and let you in.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“We’ll park the car further down the road. You stay out of view while I knock on the door.”

“When he opens the door, if he opens the door, I’ll step inside and tell him we need to talk. Is that what you were thinking?”

“Yes, but are you sure you don’t want to wait until morning?”

“I’m sure. I think it would be best if you stayed in the car though.”

“He’ll never open the door if he sees you. I’m going.”

She made a U-turn. She was stubborn and seemingly more determined than ever to find the truth. He didn’t bother arguing with her.

Without coats, the air had a bite to it as they stepped out of the car. A low fog had settled around the neighborhood. He pulled the baseball cap over his head. It felt strange not having any hair, but she’d been right about shaving it off.

Angela knocked on the door.

No lights came on inside. No footsteps sounded.

She knocked again and a few seconds later, a light came on in the entranceway.

Jason kept his back flat against the wall.

“Who is it?” a voice called out.

“Cynthia Baxter. My car broke down and I was hoping I could borrow your phone. I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but I was afraid to walk alone in the dark.” In case he was checking, she stared directly into the peephole and gave him a meek wave.

Bingo. The door came open.

She smiled at the man as she stepped inside. “I can’t thank you enough for—”

Before the man could shut the door, Jason stepped inside behind her.

“What the hell is going on?”

Jason shut the door.

It took a few seconds for recognition to light up Mike’s face. “Jason?”

“That’s right.”

“I heard about your escape, but they said you were in Vermont.”

“I was,” Jason said matter-of-factly. He looked at Angela. According to plan, she turned and left, headed for the car.

Mike looked suddenly nervous. His eyes darted from the front door as it closed, and then to the kitchen, where Jason could see a telephone. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What are you doing here, Jason?”

“I need answers.”

Mike suggested they take a seat in the other room.

Jason followed him across the entry into a nice-sized family room. An over-stuffed leather couch, coffee table, and a big-screen TV took up half the room. A round table and four leather seats were set up next to a bar in the far corner. Mike headed that way and picked up a bottle. “Scotch?”

“None for me.”

It had been five years since he’d seen Mike Gabaldon, but the lawyer looked at least ten years older. His hair had thinned. The lines in his face were much more prominent.

Mike poured himself a drink, then took a swig. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Well, you better get a clue real quick, because I’m not leaving here without answers. Now tell me who paid you off before I get angry.”

“Paid me off?” He forced a low rumble of laughter. “Let’s get real, Jason. Every bit of evidence pointed to you. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn’t murder my friend. I know it and you know it.” Jason walked toward him. “For the past eight years, I’ve had nothing better to do but think about the one day that changed my life forever. It always came back to the same thing—someone went to a lot of trouble to set me up. If you think about it, the evidence was flimsy at best. My DNA, my fingerprints, my hair were all in Dirk’s office. Well, guess what? I bet everyone who worked for the company had DNA and fingerprints in Dirk’s office.”

“Only your prints were found on the knife,” Mike said.

“Yeah. I know.”

The lawyer took another gulp of his Scotch. Despite the chill in the room, a light sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

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