Chapter 29

Jeff Beasley sneered impatiently at the gum someone had spat out in the dark, filthy, narrow little alleyway. He edged his handmade Italian leather Oxfords out of the way. A flyer for a local bar with live music wedged itself under a bulging bag of rancid garbage, fluttering in the frigid wind coming off the stormy Atlantic. The smell of dog excrement permeated the air—the perfect allegory for his shitty day. He shivered inside his camel-hair coat, furious at being forced to take such a risk, furious at the inconvenience, furious at being kept waiting—especially in such a disgusting locale.

The scent of pizza drifted from a nearby restaurant and reminded him he was supposed to pick up dinner tonight to save Fiona the effort of cooking and give him an excuse to be late. Again.

He texted her, grateful he'd remembered before he was likely to be bitched at.

She texted back that two of the kids had friends over so to double up the order.

He sent her a thumbs up emoji. He didn't spend much quality time with his family, but with three teens in the house, he was okay with that. He loved his wife, and socially she was an asset, but their sex life had taken a dive over the past decade or so. Rather than rock the boat, he owned a small downtown apartment where he had those needs met by women he could pay by the hour and who kept their mouths shut. Unless he wanted it otherwise.

He smiled.

He hadn't had the opportunity to visit the apartment this week for obvious reasons. Too many eyes on him at the moment. And no one could know about this meeting. His career would be over if the DA's office found out. The bodyguards thought he was still at the office, and he didn't have long before they started tracking his phone. Ridiculous under the circumstances, but he had to at least pretend to be terrified of Leech.

He snorted.

As if that guy was anything other than a pathetic loser. It hardly seemed fair that people like that had so much money and the rest of the population had to earn their paycheck. Jeff was rich by anyone's standards, but he worked hard for his money while the likes of Leech and his ilk were fed gold milk from their mother's teat.

A scuff of a shoe alerted him.

Jeff Beasley whirled in the darkness. "This is madness. What the hell do you want? You know we can't be seen together."

Shadows surrounded the other man, his features hidden beneath the hood of a sweatshirt.

Jeff shuddered as a wave of apprehension crept over him. Or maybe it was the sushi he'd had for lunch. He was working his way up to a peptic ulcer, but when the hell did he have time to take care of himself?

Never, that was when.

Leech's escape was another spanner in the works of his life. A complication he didn't need.

"I couldn't risk the phone." The man stepped closer.

Jeff moved forward so they could speak without being overheard. Something sharp slid into his stomach and was jerked upward at a vicious angle.

He couldn't breathe as the blade was withdrawn and then plunged again, once, twice, three more times.

What…

He collapsed to the grimy garbage-laden ground. The man shoved him backward, and Jeff fell against the damp wall, banging his head and making it ring.

He opened his mouth to call for help, but nothing came out except the blood that bubbled on his tongue.

The man rifled through his pockets, removed his cell and held it up to Jeff's face to unlock it. A moment later, the light off the screen highlighted Leech's angular chin, full bottom lip. Revealed the pitiless glint in those pale blue eyes.

"I guess I'll no longer be needing your services." The smile was cruel.

Pain consumed him. He was going to die. He couldn't believe it. He was going to die here in the grime and the shit. He was going to die, and Hope Harper was going to get the last laugh.