Wyatt Hunt - 03 - The Hunter by John Lescroart

Author:John Lescroart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781101559451
Publisher: Penguin Group, Inc.
Published: 2012-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

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HUNT HAD LOTS OF TIME TO THINK, and the more he thought, the more he became convinced that Ivan had discovered something about Spencer that became the reason he was killed. Either Spencer had set up the last-minute dinner appointment with Ivan and gone down there to shoot him himself, or he had contacted someone else who had taken care of the wet work. And on that short a notice, it would by necessity have been someone that Spencer knew well.

How could Juhle and Russo not have recognized all this and pushed harder when they had him talking to them? Did Spencer own a gun? How did he earn his apparently significant sums of money? How could he not have known his wife’s best friend? Did he have an explanation for that?

Ivan had been working on Hunt’s mother’s case.

And so the responsibility for Ivan’s death lay squarely on Wyatt’s shoulders. He couldn’t deny it. He had sent his people out to gather information, and one of them had been killed. Ivan had gotten killed because he’d gotten close. Hunt couldn’t prove it yet, but he believed it absolutely.

He had to get his people off the case, and immediately. He couldn’t subject them to the risk. This was now a police matter in the present tense. Wyatt himself would talk to Juhle and Russo and keep them in the loop of his own investigation, which would be continuing, and his discoveries, if any.

And here was one more chilling certainty. Leaving out Ivan’s murder, this was more or less the result that his phantom texter had engineered from the beginning. Whoever it was had wanted to stay out of the picture and at the same time to help Wyatt build a criminal case against his mother’s killer, who now had been prompted to act to protect himself. And no doubt would do so again.

Hunt had a couple of guns in an underground floor safe in his house. He normally had no use for a weapon, and in fact did not have a CCW—Carry a Concealed Weapon—permit. Now, sitting in his darkened car on this empty street well after midnight, he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and wished he’d thought to bring his gun along with him tonight.

He realized with a shock of adrenaline that he was a fool to be going around unarmed. He would have to be better prepared, more on his guard, until this was settled.

In his rearview mirror, a lone figure—a tall man in a trench coat, hands in his pockets—appeared, walking up the street. Coming abreast of Hunt’s car, he slowed and then stopped at the passenger window, then—his curiosity either satisfied or piqued—he simply walked on. Hunt’s heart, a piston in his chest, gradually found its normal rhythm again as Wyatt watched the man continue up to Spencer’s gate and right past it to the corner, then around and out of sight.

Behind him, the street had reverted to its regular emptiness.

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