Chapter 20

“You’re like a broken faucet,” he finally said. “You’re just giving me drips when I want more.”

“No.” Jarrett shook his head. “Honest. That’s all I know. Loyola.” If he could just get Sandora out of the apartment, he could call the police. At this point, it was worth getting them involved. Their lives were worth more than some heat from the FBI.

“The thing about a broken faucet, though, is to figure out what’s blocking it up.”

Only his finger moved.

Jarrett jumped at the unexpected noise from the gun. Silencers in the movies always made a spitting sound. This sounded like a car door slamming, but it was nothing compared to the way the blood sprayed out the other side of Baptiste’s neck, splattering across the beige wall and the frame of his Aagaard print.

Baptiste crumpled sideways. He landed like a broken doll at the edge of the glass end table

Swallowing down the bile in his throat, Jarrett swung his gaze back up to Sandora. The gun was now aimed directly at Jarrett’s chest.