Tim paced the length of his house wondering why Chelsea hadn’t called yet. The messenger service confirmed deliver of the envelope.
“What is her problem? She should be pissed.”
Perplexed, he scratched the top of his head. “I think this is my best work yet.”
He eyed his packed suitcases and smiled. Tomorrow night, with his pockets filled with money, he’d be on a plane.
The television droned in the background. A meteorologist tracked the incoming hurricane. Tim winced. “I better be out of here before that thing hits or I’ll be stuck.”
Looking at the phone on his coffee table, he willed it to ring. He picked up the receiver and slammed it down, his butt landing on his leather recliner. “Call, damn it. I must have your attention with this one.”
He drummed his fingers on his thigh. He rose to get a beer and downed half of it in one gulp. Stalking back to his living room he stared at the black phone. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot.
A clock chimed the hour.