Free Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) by Irene Hannon Page A

must be to have no family to turn to in a crisis.
    “I’ll check with her this weekend and give you a call. Thanks for being so thorough and professional.”
    “No problem.”
    But that was a lie. Because as Cole looked at her, he felt anything but professional. His usual on-the-job neutrality and detachment had failed him this time—prompting a request he wouldn’t typically make. “Would you mind sharing your cell number with me too? In case I need to reach you quickly for some reason.”
    If she thought his lame request odd or unnecessary, she gave no indication. She just recited her number as he keyed it into the directory on his phone.
    “Okay.” He slipped the phone back onto his belt and turned the doorknob. He didn’t want to leave, but there wasn’t any reason to linger. At least none he could come up with. “Lock up behind me.” He stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut. A moment later, he heard the bolt slide into place.
    She was as safe as she could be for now.
    But as far as he was concerned, she wasn’t safe enough. She needed to add a lot more security to her house.
    Which gave him an excellent excuse to call her again in a few days.

    Things had gone well this morning.
    A slow smile twisted his lips as he dipped a cotton swab in spirit gum remover, pried up a corner of the bushy mustache, and dabbed at the dried adhesive. Leaning close to the mirror, he worked his way across the strip of bristly hair with practiced efficiency. Once the gum was dissolved, he discarded the swab in a plastic sandwich bag, peeled off the mustache, and disposed of it in the bag as well.
    Straightening up, he flexed his shoulders to work out the kinks. But the discomfort was worth it. The unnatural stoop he’d assumed for the job had completely altered his usual bearing and gait.
    Next, he removed the green contact lenses. Not that anyone had noticed his eye color behind the thick glasses, but details counted in an operation like this—and he was a master at details. That’s why he was successful on these types of assignments.
    The contacts went into the plastic bag too . . . along with the glasses.
    He hadn’t played a part for a while, but he’d had no trouble shifting back into that mode. And he excelled at it. He knew how to blend in, and he’d perfected the art of disguise to the point that no one would recognize him. Even his wife. Grinning, he added the bottle of temporary theatrical hair color to the bag. She’d been impressed the time he’d fooled her, just for laughs, when they were first dating.
    He zipped the bag closed and set it on the vanity. A little drive in the country later today, with a brief stop on a bridge over the Meramec River, would take care of the evidence of his morning outing. Unzip the bag, shake it over the water, and the episode would be history. He’d toss the clothes in the Goodwill bin on his return trip.
    But first he needed to get rid of the gray hair.
    As he flipped on the shower and adjusted the water temperature, he thought back over the groundwork he’d laid last night and the steps he’d taken this morning. As far as he could see, the operation had been flawless. He hoped Kelly was dead, but even if she’d survived, her near brush with death should distract her from raising dangerous questions about her father’s death.
    A tiny twinge of regret pricked at his conscience as he stepped into the shower and lathered his hair, then began scrubbing out the gray. Disposing of her had been different than killing her father. John Warren had been on his last legs, anyway. What was the harm in hurrying the process along a little? Especially for such a big payoff. And the man hadn’t suffered. It had been a painless, peaceful way to die.
    Kelly, however, had been young. Healthy. Talented. Cutting short a life like that didn’t feel right.
    Soap washed into his eye, and he blinked against the sting, groping for the towel he’d draped over the shower door. He rubbed