“I’ve missed you, Will. Missed the closeness. Missed this.” She was as close to him as she could be, and still be in her own seat. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s time to . . . like you said . . .”
“Take it to the next level.”
“Right.”
“Move the relationship ahead.”
“That, too.”
“See where the road leads.”
She began to laugh softly. “See how many more really tired clichés you can come up with.”
“I got a million of them.” He rubbed the back of her neck gently.
“Save a few for after we chat with Vince.”
“Don’t worry, babe. There are plenty more cheesy lines where those came from.” He turned the key in the ignition. “But you know, I’m thinking maybe we don’t need to be at Mara’s until tomorrow. Maybe if Jayne and Aidan are there to keep an eye on things . . .”
“There’s always the Fleming Inn. Just about forty minutes from the prison.” She grinned as she leaned back into her seat. “Less, of course, if I’m driving . . .”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
“So, do I get to ask him anything?” Will asked as he and Miranda made their way across the parking lot toward the entrance to the prison. “Or are you really planning on doing all the talking?”
“Hey, Vince and I are old buddies. This will be like a reunion.” She grinned, ignoring the look on the face of the guard when he saw her come through the door. She pulled her credentials out of her bag and smiled. “Agents Cahill and Fletcher. We’re here to see Vince Giordano.”
The guard glanced from her badge to Will’s, then at the visitor’s log for the day.
“You’re not on the sheet,” he told them. “You weren’t expected?”
“When did ‘not on the sheet’ ever keep a federal agent out of a prison?” Miranda narrowed her eyes and stared the guard down.
“I was just saying . . .” the guard mumbled, then grabbed the phone. He turned away for a minute or so, then turned back and told them, “Warden said to put you in the room down the hall, not in the visitors’ area. He’s sending someone up for you, and he’ll have the prisoner brought down.”
“That’s better.” Miranda flashed a million-dollar smile and paced the reception area until the guard arrived to take them through the building.
Their escort arrived within minutes, and they followed him down a short hall to a small room.
“In here.” The guard unlocked the door. “The prisoner will be down in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Will said as they entered the room.
“I’ll bet I’ve been in a hundred nasty little rooms, just like this, over the past six years, but I never get used to the way they look or feel.”
“Or smell,” Will noted.
“That, too.” She wrinkled her nose.
The door on the back wall opened, and Vince Giordano shuffled in, his ankles in chains.
His eyes lit up when he saw Miranda.
“Hey! When they said there was a babe here, wanted to see me, I thought they were kidding. Agent Cahill,” he said as he sat down clumsily in the yellow chair. “Last time I saw you, you were holding a gun on me.”
“Hey, don’t thank me. It was my pleasure,” she told him.
“No hard feelings. If it hadn’t been you, it woulda been someone else. At least I got to feast my eyes on the finest the Feds got to offer.”
“That’s a disgusting thought, Vinnie. The thought of you feasting on any part of me in any way makes me want to throw up.”
“So, I see you still care for me as much as I care for you.”
“Vinnie, my feelings for you have never changed.”
He laughed again.
“So, what sends you and . . . who is this guy?” Giordano pointed to Will.
“Oh, pardon my manners. You haven’t met Agent Fletcher before. Agent Fletcher, this is the infamous Vincent Giordano. I get to call him Vinnie ’cause we go way back.”
“Not back far enough,” Giordano said, still appearing to size up Will.
“Heard a lot about you, Vince.” Will sat on the edge of the table.
“Yeah, like what did you hear?”
“I heard you were the mastermind behind that whole ‘Let’s do some good deeds for each other when we get out’ thing.”
Giordano looked up at Miranda, his face blank.
“What’s this guy talking about, Cahill?”
“Vinnie, we already know about the game,” she replied.
“Game, what game? Someone betting on a game? Hey, gambling’s illegal here,” he deadpanned.
“Stop it.” She slammed her fist down on the table unexpectedly, and he jumped. “Just . . . stop it, okay? We know. We know how you and Channing and Lowell were shoved into a room together last February and passed the time away with a little game of hit list. You do mine, I’ll do yours.”
She rested her arms on the table and looked him straight in the eye. “Did you know that Channing was going to do it when he got out, or did that come as a big surprise to you? When did you know for sure that the game had really begun, Vince? Was it when they found your mother-in-law with a bullet between her eyes? Or when they found Judge Styler raped and murdered, just like the Mary Douglases were?”
“I remember reading something about that judge. Shame, wasn’t it?” He shrugged, but did not blink. “And Diane’s mother, well, hey, guess that was one of them wrong-place, wrong-time things, huh?”
“Eight o’clock at night, in her own house sound like the wrong place, wrong time?” Miranda met his stare.
“Hey, just goes to show—”
“Enough, okay?” She looked up at Will and said, “He’s not going to tell us a damned thing.”
“I got nothing to say.” Giordano shook his head.
“So I guess if we were to ask you to tell us who Lowell’s third victim was going to be, you’d just tell us to go to hell.”
“I prefer kiss my ass.”
“Well, I guess since you’re not talking,” Miranda pretended to study her nails, “you’re not going to want to talk about how it is that the bullets from the gun that killed your family match the bullet that killed Albert Unger.”
“Who?” Vince’s expression never changed, but there had been a definite spark in his eyes.
“The man who murdered Curt Channing’s mother.”
“Never heard of him.” Vince began to chuckle. “But I guess it just goes to prove what I been saying all along. Guess it proves that someone else killed my family. Just like I told you.”
“Or maybe you told someone else where to find the gun. Or maybe you gave the gun away. But it doesn’t prove that anyone other than you killed your wife and kids.”
Ignoring Will’s comment, Vince asked, “Aren’t you wasting time sitting here talking to me? Shouldn’t you be out looking for the guy who killed my wife and kids?”
“Waste of time, Cahill.” Will shook his head. “I told you he was a waste of time.”
“Hey, sorry I couldn’t be of any assistance.” Vince made no effort to hide his smirk.
“Vinnie, your sincerity is choking me up.”
“And your interest is touching, you know? I don’t get much company. A guy can get pretty lonely in here.”
“Sooner or later, we all get what we deserve, I guess.” She stood up to leave.
“I guess we do.” Giordano stared at her, then grinned broadly. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna get what you deserve, too, Agent Cahill. Wish I could be around to see it all go down.”
Miranda looked at Will and smiled.
“I’d take that as a confirmation, wouldn’t you?”
“I would.”
“Thanks, Vinnie.”
“For what?”
“For saving us the time we would have spent looking for that third victim.”
“I don’t know nothing about no victims.” Giordano smiled back at her. “Except my own, of course.”
; “You know, you never did say how you came to choose those individuals to murder, Vinnie.”
“They were in my way.”
“Right. And I’m the Lone Ranger.”
“You lonely, Cahill, I got something for you. Pretty lady like you should never be alone.”
“Ugh, I’m gagging now.” Miranda signaled to the guard. “Get him out of here.”
“You want to talk, Giordano, you just give a holler,” Will said.
“Cold day in hell, Fletcher.” Giordano headed back to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Be seeing you, Cahill.”
“Not if I can help it.” She tapped Will on the arm to let him know she was leaving, and he followed her through the door.
Well, then. Wasn’t that interesting?
Vince couldn’t help but grin all the way back to his cell. Well, of course, that Cahill was always something to look at. And if things went the way they were supposed to go, he probably wouldn’t get another chance just to sit and stare at that face, that body. Those legs . . .
Damn shame, take out a looker like that. But, hey, a deal’s a deal, and Channing wanted her out, so she’s out. Assuming that Archer was on the ball, and that was assuming a lot, Vince knew. Archer hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the room that day back in February.
But he’d apparently been true to his word, Vince reminded himself. Faithful to his promise. Vince had seen the press conference on television, had seen the photograph of Archer they’d shown. Had caught the New Jersey cop’s comments about how Lowell was wanted for questioning in connection with the Josh Landry murder as well as a murder in Ohio, and Cahill had just confirmed that Unger had been taken out. That meant that Archer Lowell had already gotten two out of his three. As many as Channing had gotten, as many as Vince himself.
Vince shook his head slightly as the guard opened the cell door and stepped to the side to permit Vince to enter. Hard to believe that Archer Lowell might even best what the other two had done. Boy, that would be something, wouldn’t it? If dumb-ass Archer managed to do what neither Vince nor Curtis Channing had been able to do: hit all his targets.
There was still Cahill, though, and she was not going to be an easy target to hit.
Vince sat down on the edge of his cot, still thinking about the irony of Lowell besting the other two.
Lowell had had help, though, hadn’t he? Didn’t that give him an advantage? Then again, dumb as Archer was, he deserved the handicap. Assuming that Burt had been true to his word and ridden herd on Archer the way Vince had asked him to. And Burt had been paid handsomely for his trouble, hadn’t he?
If in fact he’d gone to the trouble . . .
Rubbing his chin, Vince thought about the possibility that maybe Burt had simply taken the money and said the hell with any deal he might have made with Vince.
Not a chance, Vince reassured himself. He’d had Burt pegged as a greedy son of a bitch from day one. No way he’d have walked off with half if he thought he’d end up with twice as much.
Of course, there was no other half, Burt had gotten it all on the first round, but he wouldn’t find that out until he came back to tell Vince that all the deeds were done. And what was he going to do, once he found out that Vince had duped him, go to the police? Call the FBI?
Vince stood up on the end of his bed and tried to look out the narrow window. He had a view of the parking lot, though not a very good one, since the parking lot was so far away. In the distance he could see two figures walking. It could be Cahill and Fletcher, though they were too far away for him to be sure.
His chin resting on the windowsill, he watched until the figures faded completely, then jumped down off the bed.
That Cahill was real fine. It was a shame Channing had put her name on his list.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
The first thing Burt did when he returned to the motel was to flop onto the bed, the TV remote in hand. He was more than a bit spooked when, while channel surfing, he found Archer Lowell’s mug front and center on the screen.
That sure got his attention.
He turned up the volume in time to hear the earnest and excited young reporter describe how Archer Lowell was wanted for questioning in the death of Joshua Landry as well as for the murder of an Ohio man.
Burt sat up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Damned good thing I dumped him when I did.
“According to the FBI,” the reporter continued, “the suspect should be considered armed and dangerous—”
“Not anymore.” Burt chuckled.
A sobering thought then occurred to him. Should he worry that the desk clerk or the cleaning people might recognize Archer as one of the inhabitants of Room 109? He tried to remember if Archer had actually been in the office. Burt didn’t think he had. Didn’t think he’d been out of the room much at all, except for the trips down to Landry’s farm in Plainsville, and those trips had been made pretty early in the morning. Burt had brought in takeout for their meals, so it wasn’t likely that any well-meaning waitress was going to call the cops and say she’d seen Archer Lowell and he’d been with a tall guy with dark hair who drove a black pickup with tinted windows.
Now that he thought about it, they hadn’t really run into too many people at all since they’d been staying here. Burt mentally reviewed all the places they’d gone and things they’d done over the past week and decided that he was probably okay. But all the same, it was time for him to be moving on.
Besides, they’d be finding Lowell’s body pretty soon, wouldn’t they? He wondered if anyone had seen his truck there in the park, but thought he was probably okay there, too. He’d pulled all the way to the back of the lot, and hadn’t stayed for more than a few minutes. He didn’t even recall passing many cars on the road.
He searched the room to make sure there was nothing of his or Archer’s remaining, then wiped down all the surfaces with bath towels to remove any fingerprints Archer may have left behind. It probably wasn’t necessary, but still, why take chances? Besides, it gave him time to think about what he was going to do next.
By the time he returned the towels to the bathroom, he’d figured out his next moves. He wanted the rest of the money. He’d promised Vince three dead bodies; he got three dead bodies. Of course, one of those bodies was Archer’s instead of that hot FBI agent, but how the hell was he supposed to find her now? He’d been given half the money for making sure Archer killed Unger and Landry. Well, he’d done that, hadn’t he?
But would Vince think that killing Archer was a fair trade for doing Cahill?
Burt gathered up the remains of the pizza and tossed it into the box. He stood in the doorway and looked around. The room was clean. There was no trace of him—or, more important, of Archer Lowell—left behind. Satisfied, Burt turned off the light and went outside. He tossed the pizza box and the empty soda cups into the Dumpster, then headed for his truck.
He’d be able to make it to the prison before visiting hours were over if he hurried. Along the way, he’d rehearse what he was going to say to Vince Giordano when he got there.
Burt sat in the pickup truck, the driver’s window down, and tried to get his thoughts in order. The longer he sat, the less hope he had that Vince would just hand over the location of the rest of the cash in exchange for a, Well, I wasted Lowell, but I won’t be able to do Cahill. Can’t we just call it even all the same?
Who was he kidding? Vince wasn’t going to give a shit about Lowell. It was Cahill who was supposed to be the victim here.
And wasn’t it more likely that Vince was going to be royally pissed when he told him he’d gotten rid of Lowell before he’d been able to finish the job Vince had wanted him to do?
Might as well save myself the trouble, Burt told himself. There was no point in even getting out of the truck. He’d just have to make do with what he had left of the first half of the money. There was still plenty left, but shit, he really wanted that franchise. . . .
The doors to the main section of the
prison opened, and a man and a woman stepped out into the autumn sun. The man was big, big as Burt himself, and the woman was tall with the most incredible legs he’d seen since . . .
Burt sat and stared at the woman with the dark hair and the incredible legs. He actually pinched himself to see if he was awake and not just dreaming that it was really Miranda Cahill walking toward him. For a second, he almost ducked before she got close enough to the truck to see him, but then he remembered. He’d seen her at the bar back in Fleming, but she had not seen him. He unfolded the map that lay on the seat next to him and pretended to study it.
His heart began to pound as he pondered the possibilities.
The couple drew closer to the truck, and Burt, still pretending to study the map, leaned slightly to the open window to see if he could catch some of their conversation.
“We’re not really going to the Fleming Inn now, are we?” Miranda Cahill was saying as they briskly approached the truck, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched.
“That was just a lot of wishful thinking on our part, wasn’t it? A little bit of fantasy to keep us going.”
“ ’Fraid so.” The big guy took her hand. “Besides, if John is right, looks like we’re going to have to—”
The words were lost on Burt as the couple passed by.
Son of a bitch! He shook his head and started his engine, marveling at his good fortune. It had been her. It had really been her. Was there a luckier guy on the face of the earth?
All he had to do was follow them, Cahill and the guy. He watched in his rearview mirror as the two got into a car thirty feet away.
I’ll bet they were in there talking to Vince. Wonder what they asked. Wonder what he’d told them.
Maybe they’d found Lowell’s body. Maybe they’d put it all together. Maybe they think it’s over.
Had his name come up? Had Vince told them about his deal with Burt?
Nah. Vince wouldn’t give him up. He’d bet his life on it.
He eased out of the parking lot and drove slowly to the end of the row, giving the driver of Cahill’s car a wave, letting him pull in front of the pickup. He was good at tailing without being detected, and the couple in the car seemed to be in a serious discussion. They’d never make his tail to wherever they were going. He’d be able to take her out, then come back and tell Vince he’d taken care of all his business. There would be no loose ends left, no reason for Vince not to tell him where the rest of the money was. Cheered, he cautiously followed the car ahead of him, thinking about the condo he was going to buy when he got to Florida.
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