Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [8]
“How do you feel about outright lying to her? If she asks you point-blank if you believe that Julianne is not in the compound, what will you say?”
“I don’t like the idea of lying to her. I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t know if I could do it. On the other hand, if she knew for a certainty that Julianne was in there, she’d walk right into the compound herself.”
“That is precisely what we’re afraid of.”
“Let me ask you this. How much danger is Julianne in?”
“My guess is that her daddy has been able to shield her so far. Which makes me think that old Jules is performing some big service to Prescott. We suspect he’s found a way to launder some of those dirty dollars,” Miranda said softly, even as she smiled gently at Mara’s approach, “But we’re still trying to build the case.”
“Hungry?” Miranda asked as Mara sat back down.
“Not really.” She shrugged.
“Well, I am ravenous.” Miranda caught the eye of the tall blonde waitress who was leaning against the counter, watching them. “As long as we’re here, we might as well eat. Then, if it’s okay with you, I’ll hitch a ride to the airport with you.”
“We’ll need to check on a flight, I suppose,” Mara said, grim defeat drawing down the corners of her mouth.
“Taken care of.” Miranda patted her bag. “Compliments of the federal government.”
“You knew we’d leave with you?” Mara asked suspiciously. Her sister was a profiler with the FBI, and Mara knew sometimes things weren’t exactly as they seemed.
“I picked them up when I made my own flight arrangements. I figured . . .” Miranda paused and smiled as the waitress approached, paper menus in hand, which she distributed silently.
“Thanks, Jayne,” Miranda said, noting the waitress’s name tag. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to order.”
“Not very friendly, is she?” Mara frowned when the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sure she has her good points.” Miranda skimmed over the menu.”Anyway, as I was saying, I figured you’d be wanting to go back east. I mean, why waste precious vacation time on a dead lead, when a live one might pop up later on?”
Mara pondered the logic. It did make sense.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Mara turned to Aidan. “You’re sure, right? That it’s the right thing to do? You’re convinced that Julianne is not with Reverend Prescott’s group?”
“I am absolutely convinced it’s the right thing to do,” he told her, choosing his words carefully. “Miranda wouldn’t have come all this way to turn us in the wrong direction.”
“Okay.” Mara sighed, shaking her head slowly. “You know, I felt so sure this time—”
“I know, baby.” Aidan rubbed her shoulders. “Maybe next time.”
“It’s been maybe next time for seven years now,” she reminded him.
Aidan looked at Miranda through guilty eyes, and appeared about to say something when Miranda’s phone began to ring.
“Cahill.”
“Cahill, it’s John. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I just got out of a meeting and heard your message.” John Mancini, head of a special crimes unit within the FBI, sounded uncharacteristically tense. “Are you still—what was the phrase you used—hoofing it down Route 387?”
“No, right now I’m sitting in Ye Old Bumfuck Falls Café with Aidan and Mara, about to order lunch. Then, because my car rolled over and played dead about six miles back, I’ll be getting a ride to the airport with them. You might want to have someone pick up the car and return it, by the way. It’s charged to the Bureau.”
“Mara’s agreed to leave?”
“Not a problem.” Miranda studied the chipped polish on one of her fingernails.
“Have you told Shields the truth?”
“I didn’t have to.” She rested the phone on her shoulder and motioned to Aidan to order her a roast beef sandwich by pointing to the specials board. The sandwich was the