When Steve arrived home from work late Wednesday afternoon, he barely had time to give Gary a kiss and ask how he was feeling before his phone rang. He saw Owen’s name come up on the caller ID and answered it.
“It’s over,” Owen said. “Blaine Ayers is dead.”
“Thank God,” Steve replied. “They found him in Chicago?” He sat down next to Gary on the sofa, holding the phone so they could both hear Owen.
“No. He was in San Antonio. For someone who thought he was so smart and clever, he made a couple of fatal mistakes.”
“How so?” Gary asked.
“For one, he used his laptop. Now you’d think he’d know better, but apparently he didn’t.”
“Or he was desperate,” Gary said.
“Could be,” Owen agreed. “The first time was in a Starbucks on Chicago’s south side. The agents canvassed motels in the neighbor
