The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗

their minders weren’t all that loyal.” Evarts shook his head. “Back to the case at hand. Where do we go from here?”

“You go on a surfing safari? Down the coast. Have some fun.” Standish presented it as a jest. “You seem to be a sitting duck here.”

“Do you feel vulnerable unarmed?” Evarts asked.

“Of course. All cops do. We’re used to the weight hanging on our waist. When it’s not there, we feel naked.”

“And I’d feel the same way without the department surrounding me. It’s a comforting weight. So, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. But … maybe not in my home for the time being.”

Evarts got up to leave. It was late and he wanted to see his wife. He also suddenly realized he was very hungry.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you after I meet with the mayor. Got any mobsters in your family?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

He walked out of the office, leaving Standish befuddled.

Chapter 26

The Santa Barbara Biltmore was built in 1927 and locals viewed the oceanside resort as a landmark. Although now a Four Seasons, the owners were smart enough to retain the historic Biltmore name. Evarts was familiar with the grounds, so he had Standish drop him off on Hill Street where he could walk directly to the bungalow his wife had reserved. He didn’t check out another police vehicle because he didn’t want to draw attention to his presence at the resort.

He rang the bell. After he yelled though the door to confirm his identity, he heard the deadbolt releasing. Trish opened the door and threw her arms around his neck.

“Greg, thank goodness.” She kissed him. “It’s almost ten. Have you eaten?”

“No. Got anything?”

“Cheese plate, wine and a bottle of Macallan’s, but let’s order you dinner.”

“I have stuff to lug in. Could you order me a burger, salad instead of fries?”

“Hurry. I’ll have your drink ready with a single ice cube.”

Evarts dropped a polyester tactical case on the floor and reminded Trish to lock the door behind him. He returned in less than five minutes with two large roller suitcases. This time, it took her longer to answer the door. When she did, she still had the phone to her ear.

The suite was large and luxurious. As a teen, he and a friend had occasionally snuck into the Biltmore to swim in their pool. They would lounge in chairs next to families and act as if they were guests. It usually worked for an hour or two before they were discreetly thrown out. Now he was properly registered in one of the resort’s famed bungalows. Most of the time he didn’t think about being rich. It was still foreign to him. But this bungalow reminded him how nice it was to have money. Then he remembered he still wasn’t properly registered. Although the hotel manager knew who they were, Trish had registered under a false name.

After he put the suitcases in the bedroom, he went out to the private patio to find his wife. She sat at a wrought iron table in front of an extravagant cheese and fruit platter. He exhaled, feeling relaxed for the first time that day.

He spotted his Macallan’s and took a sip before his tush hit the cushion. Grabbing a toothpick, he stabbed a piece of cheese and swallowed it in a single bite.

“Nice,” Evarts said.

“Enjoy it. We can’t stay long. We’re both too well known to hole up at the Biltmore.”

“Let’s enjoy the evening first. Warm weather, nice accommodations, and the perfect company.”

She smiled. “Okay, no talk about our predicament.”

Evarts took a deeper sip of the scotch. “Unfortunately, we need to talk about a few things. What say we make plans until my food arrives? Then we enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Start by telling me what you learned today,” Baldwin said.

He told her about the attack, the aftermath, and the interviews. She asked no questions as he talked, and after he finished, she sat thinking.

“That means there are four assassins still in town.”

She glanced nervously toward the door.

“I doubt they hung around,” Evarts said. “Cops are out in full force.”

“Nothing’s stopping them from switching cars and returning to earn their fee.”

She became quiet again.

“What are you thinking?” Evarts asked.

“I’m wondering if I can trust the manager. Or more specifically, how much I can trust him.” She sipped her wine and nibbled on a piece of dried fruit. “I’m valuable to him. I hold at least three events a year at this establishment and treat my colleagues to lunch occasionally. Unless he’s put on the rack, he’ll stay quiet for a few days. No one else knows we’re here. Except … that boy who delivered this tray, but he didn’t appear to recognize me.”

Evarts thought about it. “When my hamburger comes, wear a hotel robe in a way to expose your negligee and tip heavily. Act slightly guilty. A cheating wife is not unusual here. Even if he’s heard about the attack today, it’s being advertised as a drunk busting through a sobriety checkpoint.”

“Okay, but we still need to move.”

“Any ideas?”

“You okay going downscale?”

“Sure.”

“Then I know how to get us an apartment at Hope Ranch. It won’t be much, but I can do it so that nobody knows except a professor who’s desperate to rent it.”

“Is the professor any more secure than the Biltmore manager?”

“Much more … she’s teaching in Florence for a year. Her renter bailed and she can’t afford to pay the mortgage payments and still live the high life in Italy. I’ll do it on her private email account. The only drawback is that I’ll need to rent it for the full eight months.”

“Sounds good. Do it.”

“Listen, should I keep working. I’m owed a sabbatical and I have a book project that could use more attention.”

“Take sabbatical only if you’re willing to hole up. If you’re going to use the University library, you might as well work.”

She nodded, then went quiet again.

“Do you think you can