Free Cut and Run by Jeff Abbott Page A

‘Frank steals from me or my father again, I’m gonna take him to a doctor I own in Arizona. I’ll have his tongue removed.
     No anesthetic. Then his mouth surgically sewn shut. I’ll let him starve like that for weeks and then I’ll take a chain to
     him and put him out of his misery.’
    ‘I understand,’ she said. She fought down a wave of nausea.
    He leaned back. ‘Now. You and Bucks go get that money for me. I’ll see you when you get back, all right?’
    Eve stood, fought to keep from trembling. ‘All right.’
    ‘Drive careful,’ Paul said. ‘That traffic’s a bitch.’

7
    Eve sat at Frank’s desk, peering at the computer screen. Frank still hadn’t returned from lunch, which he considered a marathon
     event, and he’d forgotten his cell phone on his desk. She was reviewing the files on the CD Paul had given her and gritting
     her teeth. The discrepancies between large credit charges and the books had started small but widened in the past two weeks.
     In one case, a private party of ten in a suite had incurred charges of nearly ten thousand dollars. Only five appeared on
     the spreadsheet for the same charge, the other money diverted and never making it into the Bellini pockets. A little, yes.
     A perk. This much was unforgivable.
    The slow crooked twist of a headache sprouted in her temples and she craved a hot bath, a cold glass of wine, and silence.
    Her cell phone beeped and she clicked it on, hoping it was Frank.
    ‘Eve? It’s Bucks. I’ll meet you at the exchange,’ Bucks said. ‘I’m running a little late on other business for Paul. Sorry.’
     The barest hint of conciliation in his tone.
    ‘He wanted us to go there together,’ she said.
    ‘Sorry, can’t. I’ll meet you there.’ He took a breath. ‘Hey, Eve. About last night. I apologize. I was out of line. Too much
     wine. I was kidding around with you, okay?’
    ‘It’s forgotten, honey,’ she said, trying to sound relaxed.
    ‘Eve, I do respect you. The great work you’ve done for Tommy all these years.’
    She didn’t believe him, not for a moment. But sheneeded him on her side now, with Paul furious, and said, ‘It’s okay. We need to work together well, for Paul’s sake. Let’s
     have a drink after the errand today.’
    ‘Drown the hatchet,’ he said with a little laugh. ‘But not at the club. I’ll take you to a classy place with a really stellar
     wine list. I’m sure you’re tired of looking at tits in strobe lights.’
    ‘That sounds good.’
    ‘I’ll see you shortly,’ Bucks said, and hung up.
    Odd. She would have thought that Bucks would have ridden with her, been her shadow in getting the money. Especially if he
     knew about Paul’s accusation against Frank. But fine, whatever. She closed the accounting files and headed down into the nearly
     deserted club. A few men still sat at tables, watching a dancer. An air of failure hovered about them, guys alone in the afternoon
     who didn’t have desks to return to, and she wondered if most of them were salesmen having off days, blowing commissions they
     hadn’t earned.
    She walked out into the bright, hard Houston winter light, headed for her Mercedes.
    Frank. That idiot. She wondered why he’d skimmed. He didn’t do drugs beyond a rare and purely social toot of coke. He had
     no gambling problem. Their finances were fine, not grand, but then they didn’t need much. Tommy provided fairly. Paul seemed
     far less inclined to share the wealth. Ninety thousand. It was a long slow bleed that she couldn’t afford. She was in her
     late fifties now; she couldn’t launder and courier money forever.
    She had already taken a few precautions over the years, in case she needed to run. Credit cards under an assumed name, cash
     hidden in secret deposit boxes. She could drive right now to Houston Intercontinental, get on a plane. To Detroit. Or where
     no one knew her, find the Montana of the next stage of her life, begin again.
    And what then? She could not