I studied the little map, then nodded. “So Wexler is going to need an ambulance?”
“Yeah. We could leave him out there, but he’d die without treatment. We don’t want that, do we?”
“No. And the third set of coordinates?”
“To the hospital. You’ll drive. I’m going to be busy in the back.”
“All right. Mark, what about Wexler’s chauffeur?” I had no quarrel with the man, who’d chauffeured first for Senator Dufresne, and then for Dufresne’s daughter after she’d married Wexler. “I don’t want any collateral damage.”
“No. It would complicate matters.”
“I’m glad we agree on that.”
He leaned toward me and raised his hand, as if to run his fingertips over my cheek. “Do we—” He dropped his hand, shook his head, and smoothly changed what he’d been about to say. “Abe McGinley will be paying a visit
