Free PMadriani 12.5 - The Second Man by Steve Martini

has to stay clear of the house. I’m sure that’s why he’s not around.”
    â€œThat would probably do it,” says Herman.
    â€œShe was very worried. I think she loves him. But what are you gonna do? She’s got the two kids. She’s gotta protect them.”
    â€œYou don’t happen to have a phone number for her?”
    â€œI tried her cell phone, but there’s no answer, and her voice mail isn’t set up. You know how you get that message every time you call?”
    â€œYeah, I hate that,” says Herman. “She’s lucky to have a neighbor like you.” He glances at me, a sly smile passing across his lips.
    â€œI feel sorry for her,” she says. “I do what I can.”
    I pull a business card from my wallet and hand it to her. “Listen, will you do me a favor? If you see her or hear from her, can you give me call at that number? I’d like to talk to her if I could.”
    â€œSure.” She looks at my card. “If I hear from her, I’ll let you know.” She smiles pleasantly and heads back to her house. Herman and I turn and walk toward the car.
    â€œIt’s a good thing we weren’t looking to whack him,” says Herman. “With a neighbor like that, you wouldn’t need to set up surveillance. Ask her nicely, she’d probably shoot him from her kitchen window for you.”
    â€œWhy don’t you check the courthouse and see if you can find the file, any information on the application for the restraining order,” I tell him. “We need to find out what the hell’s going on.”

 
    Chapter 12
    A KERS SHOOK HAND S with two of the men standing near the large UAV. One of them was a Stanford researcher he had worked with on other visits. The other was from Grumman, the aircraft manufacturer. The third man he didn’t know. There were smiles all around.
    Joselyn couldn’t hear everything said because of the persistent, high-­pitched whistle from the craft’s idling jet engine. If they kicked it up, she would have to plug her ears or lose her hearing.
    Cam kibitzed around for a few seconds until the guy from Stanford introduced him to the third man. Joselyn edged in closer, trying to hear.
    â€œCharlie here’s from Langley. He’s out visiting.”
    â€œI take it you’re the money?” said Akers.
    â€œPart of it,” said the man.
    â€œGood to meet you. My name’s Cam.” Akers held out his hand.
    The other guy hesitated.
    â€œHe’s OK,” said one of the other guys. “He’s with DEVGRU.”
    â€œAh!” The mystery man loosened up. “Good to meet you. I’m Chuck Henley.” They shook hands. Henley was tall and lean, about six foot two, a shock of short, sandy-­colored hair that stood up on top of his head like a stiff-­bristled brush. He wore tan slacks, a red polo shirt, and a light blue windbreaker zipped about halfway up his chest, as if he might lose the thing later in the day when it turned warm.
    Joselyn was surprised how many ­people didn’t know that Akers was out of the military. But then, as she thought about it, it made sense. Unless the military sent out some kind of an all-­points memo, how would ­people know? He’d been out only a short time, a few months. It would take a while for word of mouth to get around.
    â€œWho’s your friend?” Henley looked over Akers’s shoulder.
    â€œI’m Joselyn.” She reached out and took his hand.
    â€œShe’s a friend,” said Akers. “We were out for a ride heading up the coast, thought we’d stop by. You don’t mind, do you?”
    â€œYou’re here now. So I suppose it doesn’t matter. Just don’t take any pictures,” he told them.
    â€œHow is she doin’? Have you seen her in flight?” Akers turned the question toward one of his friends from Stanford.
    â€œHad her up yesterday, testing