Killfile by Christopher Farnsworth Page B

response: buried secrets, steal, fear, took away from him . And I’m getting nothing. If he did steal from Sloan, he’s got it covered well, or he managed to justify it to himself long ago.
    He teeters on the edge of a decision, and then his curiosity pushes him over the brink. “Sure,” he says. “I can’t promise to give a shit, but I’ll listen to your pitch.”
    â€œThat’s all I ask,” I say. “When?”
    â€œLet’s get it over with. The lodge has an office I’m using. Give me a few minutes to get this party started, and then we can talk, cool?”
    He turns back to Kelsey without waiting for my response. “What about you, Kelsey? You going to help your boy here? I’d rather listen to anything coming out of your mouth. Or at least watch it while it moves.”
    For a second, I think she’s going to lose it and punch him. I can feel the impulse run down toward her fist. I wouldn’t blame her.
    Then she surprises us both by saying, “Actually, I thought I’d go shoot a few of your nerds.”
    That wipes the grin right off Preston’s face. “Seriously? You want in on this?”
    Her smile is something sharp now. “What, your boys can’t handle a girl on the field? Are you scared of me, Eli?”
    He laughs. “Hey, knock yourself out. You want to try for the cash, you got it. I guess Sloan’s not paying you that well these days. Be careful out there.” He looks at me as if he’s won some kind of point. “Office. Twenty minutes,” he tells me, and then his bodyguards escort him away.
    Kelsey finishes her drink and sets the glass down carefully on a nearby table made from the foot of an elephant. She turns to go as well.
    I stand in her way. “This is a bad idea,” I tell her. “I’ve had people shoot at me before. Trust me, the novelty wears off pretty fast.”
    â€œI can handle myself,” she says. “Why shouldn’t I take a shot—yes, I know, terrible pun—at a hundred thousand dollars?”
    â€œBecause it’s idiotic. You could get badly hurt. Take one of those rounds in the face and you might not get back up.”
    She smiles brightly. “That’s assuming they get me before I get them.”
    I can see she’s completely serious, completely unafraid. And the more I argue with her, the deeper she’s going to dig.
    I step back. “Do what you want,” I say. “I’ll be here when I’m done with Preston.”
    â€œTry not to melt his brain before I get back,” she says.
    â€œI told you. Nothing’s going to happen.”
    She walks away, and I watch her go.
    All right. Let her have her version of fun. She’ll be fine. And besides, protecting her is not part of my job.
    I KNOW WHY Preston wanted time before he met me. He needs to run me through his databases. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t.
    I felt one of his goons snap a picture of me with his phone earlier. It’s the same tingle I get when someone looks at me through a gunsight. I could have spoiled it easily, but I want him to have my photo.
    With Kelsey’s help, I’ve already got a full cover ID. My fake credit report lists me as an employee of Sloan’s firm, and I’ve got a fake address with a fake mortgage. My fake credit-card numbers lead to a full purchase history—copied and pasted from another guy’s account—so that even if Preston uses his data-mining software, he’ll find a complete record. I checked it out on Kelsey’s laptop on the plane. Apparently I spend a lot of money on dog food.
    It’s enough to stand up to whatever Preston can throw in twenty minutes. I don’t think he’s going to look at me too closely, because he wants to believe that Sloan would come to him for help. It’s a chance for him to be smarter than his old boss, to show that he was always the bigger