“It was a good punch, and it had to hurt. Rico couldn’t get any air for a minute. Then he sat on the floor and didn’t say anything else until all three men came for him later.”
“Why take him?”
She’d been thinking about that, and she told Holton exactly what she’d been pondering. “Was Rico acting the way he was for show, because he knew they wouldn’t do anything to him?” Holton didn’t say anything, and she went on. “I know what you’re getting at. If Rico was an inside man, someone giving the robbers information about the bank, they might take him as their hostage. They use him as their way out, their shield against the police. You’re not going to take out the bad guys when they have a hostage. But Rico knows he’s not going to get hurt, so he plays up his role, acts like he has no clue who they are.”
Holton nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting possibility.”
“Or, no one was involved.”
“Is there anyone else you’re suspicious of?” he asked.
Jo puzzled over another thing that had occurred to her, deciding whether she should bring it up to him. “Did you look into Sabrina?”
“We’re looking at everyone and everything,” he said. “But tell me about her.”
“She acted scared, and even said something about her heart racing.”
“So?”
“I held her wrist multiple times, and I could feel her pulse. It was steady. Not what you’d expect from someone who was that frightened.”
He rubbed his chin with an audible scratching sound. “Anything else about her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m on the wrong track, but her behavior might’ve been over the top. Like she was acting.”
He jotted down more notes, then went over everything with her again. She couldn’t tell if he thought anything of her perception of Sabrina. He finally finished, and he gathered up his notes and files.
“I appreciate your talking to me. This is an ongoing investigation, and I do need you to stay in town.”
“Of course.”
“Did you have a car parked near the bank?”
Jo shook her head. “I walked from my hotel.” She gave him the location.
He arced an eyebrow. “That’s a long walk.”
She shrugged. “It was a beautiful morning.” At least until everything happened at the bank.
“I’ll have an officer drive you wherever you want,” he offered.
“My hotel.”
He stood up. “Wait here, and I’ll get someone.”
“What about my phone and license, and my other stuff?”
“I’ll return everything to you before you go.”
With that, he left her alone in the room, where she continued to run over everything that had happened that morning.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kline waited at a parking garage off Forest Lane, in northern Dallas, a several-minute drive from National Bank. He was a brawny man, with big hands that had done a lot of damage over the years. He was parked on an upper level, where he had a view of the downtown skyscrapers to the south. The Bank of America Plaza stood tallest, dwarfing the nearby Renaissance Tower. Kline liked Fountain Place, a fifty-eight story prism that defined the city skyline. He remembered seeing the building on reruns of Dallas, and when Kline moved to Texas, one of the first things he’d done was walk all the way around it. Now, after several years of living in Texas, he didn’t pay much attention to the skyscrapers. Too much else to do.
A warm breeze blew, but he was in the shade. No one was parked on level four of the parking garage, and no one would leave their car on the rooftop, even though it wasn’t hot yet. There were no surveillances cameras anywhere in the parking garage, and no one to know he was there. Kline looked around anyway, then checked his expensive watch. Ten minutes late. He wasn’t worried, though. The men he’d hired were experts, and he’d vetted them well. That was what money could buy you. If anything had gone wrong, he would’ve heard about it.
Kline leaned against an unremarkable brown sedan—license plate registered to a fake offshore business—and stared at the empty parking places. He barely noticed the hum of U.S Highway 75 in the distance, his mind on the last twenty-four hours. So far, his plans had worked to perfection. Which was good, because there was no room for failure.
Finally, the sound of a car engine approached. An older-model Chevy sedan turned the corner and drove up the ramp, then parked two spaces down from Kline’s vehicle. A man with closely cropped dark hair, steely eyes, and a big nose got out. He wore faded jeans and a white shirt, as well as a pair of tennis shoes. He looked like any number of people you’d see on the streets or in the nearby stores.
Kline smoothed his own hair, short and blond. “How did it go?” His voice was cool, void of any emotion.
“Your intelligence was flawless,” the man replied, gravelly and with the hint of an accent.
Kline studied him. “But?” He could tell something wasn’t quite right.
The man shrugged. “One of the employees pushed back a little.”
Kline took a couple of steps forward. “How?”
“We had them in a storage room, and the guy started acting tough. One of my guys had to hit him, show him who was boss.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Was he hurt? Did he have to go to the hospital?”
The man shook his head. “Nothing like that. My guy said he couldn’t breathe for a moment. He’ll probably have a bruise.” A slight smile rippled across his face.
“You better hope nothing happened to him,” Kline said. “That could make things bad for you.”
