Legally Dead Read Online Free Page B

swept around the corner, its white high-intensity beams ablaze. The driver braked, almost to a stop, just feet away.
    A tiger-striped cat dashed for cover under Salvi’s Ford, detoured when he saw the space occupied, and streaked across the street.
    Did the stray give him away? He didn’t dare look. He expected to see a pair of patrolman’s boots next. But the lights began to ease away as the vehicle rolled slowly into the driveway next door.
    He heard the engine die. The slam of a car door. A high-pitched beep as the driver locked it with his remote. Then footsteps, the jangle of keys, and finally, a front door closing. He lay motionless, breathing deeply.
    He waited in case the driver came back for something in the car or to check his mailbox. He wondered if the neighbor’s late arrival woke Salvi, who, among his myriad of complaints, had once bitched and moaned that he hadn’t slept well since his arrival in Flemington.
    Salvi’s place stayed dark. Eventually the lights went out next door.
    Venturi slid cautiously out from beneath the car, jogged to the end of the street, then disappeared into the woods.

    Scout wagged his tail furiously. “What’s wrong?” Venturi asked him. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”
    He went straight to the laptop, tapped into the program, and smiled. The signal from the GPS tracking device was strong and bouncing off the satellite. He set the timer on his watch, so he could check the monitor every two hours.
    The display on the screen was Salvi’s address. The Ford never moved.
    At 6:30 a.m. Venturi took the dog for a short walk, put the laptop in the car, and took Scout out for a fast-food breakfast.
    He swung by Salvi’s house on the way and was startled. Salvi was no morning person, but there he was, big as life, the man himself, wearing sneakers and a red and white sweat suit, up and out at 7 a.m. He plucked the newspaper off his lawn, tucked it under his beefy arm, and climbed into his car.
    Venturi followed from a distance, the map on his computer screen showing Salvi’s position and each change of direction. Was he bound for a rural jogging path or hiking slope? No. The man parked at a Denny’s just off the interstate.
    Salvi took a rear booth, near a window overlooking the parking lot. He was joined minutes later by a muscular dark-haired man in his late thirties. Everything about the newcomer, his ramrod posture, his haircut, the way he carried himself, screamed military. Venturi recognized the face but couldn’t quite match it to a name. Salvi had to be violating the rules by associating with him. He watched from a distance through powerful lenses as the men attacked their breakfasts like wolfish animals. Venturi wished he could monitor the animated conversation between them as Salvi speared bacon strips and drowned his pancakes in butter and maple syrup. The discussion grew more intense over coffee but they stopped speaking whenever anyone passed near their table.
    Salvi picked up the check, then they lingered beside his car talking. Venturi copied the New York tag number on the other man’s vehicle, a black Escalade, then loosely tailed Salvi back to his house. He re-emerged shortly, swinging a gym bag. He worked out at the community center gym for nearly an hour, then drove to the Krispy Kreme for doughnuts and coffee. Afterward he bought a few groceries at Hannaford’s and drove home. Salvi never did go to work. Venturi wondered what had become of the job that had been arranged for him.
    Iggy called later to report that Deputy U.S. Marshal April Howard had left a message on Venturi’s cell. Said she wanted to touch base and say hello.
    He had Iggy reply with a text message. “Hvng a blst. c u sn.” Her caller ID would display his number. Anyone who checked would confirm that the signal bounced off the cellular tower in Cape May, New Jersey.
    Salvi’s morning schedule remained identical