10
I took the next two days to enjoy Winter Con and give Becca time to see what she could dig up on Rudy Pratt. On my way home from the convention each evening, I drove past the Pratts’ residence, but the place remained dark and deserted.
On Monday morning, I woke to the sound of someone laying on my doorbell at quarter to six. I usually got up at six, anyway, but those extra fifteen minutes of sleep could make all the difference. Whoever was at my door was going to meet a slow and painful death, unless they had a good reason for being there.
Conor had spent the night on a stakeout for one of his fugitives. I chambered a round in my Ruger and shuffled out of bed in my pajamas. Overly cautious? Maybe. But after finding the body of a dead journalist on my doorstep the previous year, I’d b
