The Calhouns Collection by Nora Roberts

Author:Nora Roberts [Roberts, Nora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101569504
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Hawkins was sick and tired of waiting around. As far as he was concerned every day on the island was a day wasted. Worse, he’d given up a tidy little job in New York that would have earned him at least ten grand. Instead, he’d invested half that much in a heist that looked more and more like a bust.

He knew Caufield was good. The fact was, there were few better at lifting locks and dancing around the police. In the ten years of their association, they had pulled off some very smooth operations. Which was why he was worried.

There was nothing smooth about this job. Damn college boy had messed things up good and proper. Hawkins resented the fact that Caufield wouldn’t let him take care of Quartermain. He knew Caufield didn’t think he had any finesse, but he could have arranged a nice, quiet accident.

The real problem was that Caufield was obsessed with the emeralds. He talked about them day and night—and he talked as though they were living things rather than some pretty sparklers that would bring in some good, crisp cash.

Hawkins was beginning to believe that Caufield didn’t intend to fence the emeralds after all. He smelled the double cross and had been watching his partner like a hawk. Every time Caufield went out, Hawkins would pace the empty house, looking for some clue to his partner’s true intentions.

Then there were the rages. Caufield was well-known for his unstable temper, but those ugly tantrums were becoming more frequent. The day before, he had stormed into the house, white-faced and wild-eyed, his body trembling with fury because the Calhoun woman hadn’t been at her station in the park. He’d trashed one of the rooms, hacking away at furniture with a kitchen knife until he’d come to himself again.

Hawkins was afraid of him. Though he was a stocky man with ready fists, he had no desire to match Caufield physically. Not when the man got that gleam in his eyes.

His only hope now, if he wanted his rightful share and a clean escape, was to outwit his partner.

With Caufield out of the house again, haunting the park, Hawkins began a slow, methodical search. Though he was a big man, often considered dull-witted by his associates, he could toss a room and hardly raise the dust. He sifted through the stolen papers, then turned away in disgust. There was nothing of use there. If Caufield had found anything, he would never have left it in plain view. He decided to start with the obvious, his partner’s bedroom.

He shook out the books first. He knew Caufield liked to pretend he was educated, even erudite, though he’d had no more schooling than Hawkins himself. There was nothing in the volumes of Shakespeare and Steinbeck but words.

Hawkins searched under the mattress, through the drawers in the bureau. Since Caufield’s pistol wasn’t around, he decided the man had tucked it into his knapsack before setting off to find Lilah. Patient, Hawkins looked behind the mirrors, behind drawers, beneath the rug.

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