Free Contract to Kill by Andrew Peterson Page B

murders. They would’ve intercepted you at the soccer fields.”
    “What are you gonna do with my phone?”
    “I’m going to video your video with my phone and then wipe your phone’s memory. Have you backed it up lately?”
    “No, but I need to.”
    Toby sounded a little better now. Giving him a concrete task had had the calming effect Nathan hoped for.
    “Back up your phone before you record what you saw. After we capture your video, you can wipe your phone’s memory and then use the restore feature of iTunes.”
    “I’ve done that before. But what about work? I can’t stay sick forever.”
    “We’ll figure that out later.”
    “What about the dead guys?”
    “We’ll deal with that. As far as the rest of the world goes, you never saw any of this. You know nothing about it. It never happened.”
    Toby looked relieved, and so did Mara. Holly didn’t react, but Nathan knew she was thinking about courtroom testimony. He was too, but now wasn’t the time to mention that.
    “Man, this really sucks.” Toby looked at Holly. “Sorry about my language, ma’am.”
    “It’s okay,” she said.
    “Play it cool and you’ll get through this. You obviously can’t keep working at BSI, so Harv and I will give you a temp job until you find something else. Maybe we’ll keep you on. It depends on how you do.”
    “I’m really grateful you guys are helping me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m still really freaked out.”
    “Your job now is to record what you saw. Be as detailed as you can. If you think of something later—something you forgot—add it to the end of the video. Needless to say, don’t mention anything about Harv or me or about calling First Security, and don’t use your cell or landline to call us back.”
    “I won’t.”
    “We’ll be back in less than an hour.”

CHAPTER 8
    Tanner Mason’s office reflected a stark, no-nonsense attitude about work. An office was just that. The real work took place outside these sanitized walls.
    A few of his cage-fighting trophies sat in a glass cabinet, and some certificates and other memorabilia hung on the walls, but for the most part this room was a painted drywall box with hard, angular furniture. Even though BSI’s headquarters occupied one of the most beautiful areas of La Jolla, his office didn’t have an ocean view. Neither did old man Beaumont’s, for that matter. Thanks to the draconian bureaucrats of the California Coastal Commission, no building west of I-5 could rise higher than thirty feet. Mason’s office did, however, overlook a sagebrush canyon and the freeway beyond. He supposed it was better than nothing.
    Directly across the street from BSI’s headquarters sat the prestigious Scripps Clinic and beyond it, Torrey Pines Golf Course and the cliffs overlooking Black’s Beach. Mason wasn’t much of a golfer, but he’d gone over there a few times to check out the PGA tournaments. He just couldn’t afford the time it took to become a good golfer. Maybe in a different life . . .
    He left his office for the break room, where he found Chip sipping coffee and being his usual subdued self. Chip rarely initiated conversation, which suited him just fine. There was nothing worse than a mindless chatterbox who never knew when to shut up. More important, though, was Chip’s loyalty. There was only one person in the world Mason trusted with his life: Chip Hahn.
    “So what’s your gut on Darla?” Mason asked. “If you want to voice any doubts, now’s the time.”
    Darla Lyons was the newest addition to Mason’s inner circle. The old man had brought her into BSI’s ranks as a favor to a friend, and he’d made it clear she wasn’t an ordinary hire. A former Blackwater operative from Desert Storm, she had extensive combat experience as well as computer and countersurveillance training. Her résumé closely mirrored Mason’s own, which spoke for itself. About the same height and age as Chip, she had dark eyes and cropped