Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [87]
They drove in silence for another fifteen minutes.
“This is the road that goes to Landry’s,” Archer said, confused. “Why are we going there?”
No response.
The pickup drove a mile past the Landry farm, where police cars and media vans still congregated, before turning into the small county park that sat between a pond and a wide field, the crop of which had recently been cut. There were no other cars in the lot, nor had they passed any on the road. All the local folks were home right about now, watching the news reports of the drama that had unfolded right down the road, or so Burt suspected. The truck drew to a stop all the way at the end, and Burt cut the ignition. This being farm country, no one would think twice about seeing a pickup truck parked near the pond.
“Out.” Burt gestured to Archer. “Out of the truck.”
“You’re gonna leave me here?” Archer looked out the window. “With all those cops down the road? They’re gonna find me.”
“That’s the idea, asshole.” Burt pointed to the door and said, “Don’t make me say it again, Archer.”
Archer sighed and jumped out of the truck and stood next to the door, as if waiting for instructions.
“Walk,” Burt told him, pointing toward the play equipment near the pond.
“Wait.” Archer took a few steps toward the truck. “I forgot my stuff.”
“Don’t bother.” Burt pulled the gun from his belt. “There’s nothing in that bag you’re gonna need.”
It took a moment for Archer to realize what was about to happen.
“No, you can’t. You . . . can’t.” He shook all over, and he looked around frantically for an escape route. There was none.
“Tell you what I’m gonna do, Archie. I’m gonna count to five. I’m firing on five. So when I say one, you make a run for it. Five seconds, give you time to run into the woods, find a place to hide. Maybe I won’t find you.”
“B . . . but . . .”
“That’s your choice, Archie. You can run when I say one, or I can shoot you where you stand. It’s up to you.” Burt spoke softly, enjoying himself. “I’m gonna start counting now, Archie, so you turn around and get ready to run. One . . .”
“But—”
“You’re wasting time, asshole. Two . . .”
Archer turned and ran toward the trees.
“Three.” Burt fired and hit his target square in the back. Archer fell face forward onto the stones that covered the parking lot. “I was only kidding about giving you till five.”
He walked over and put a second bullet in the back of Archer Lowell’s head.
Tucking the gun into his belt, Burt walked back to his truck and drove from the parking lot, careful not to kick up stones that might further mar his paint job. He’d noticed a few pockmarks on his rear fender that morning, and he was determined to avoid adding to them. He took his time as he drove back the way he had come, easing on the gas as he passed the Landry farm. Laughing to himself, he sped up. The sooner he left the fields of New Jersey behind him, the better.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
“Where are we?” Julianne stirred in her seat in the small plane, then sat up and rubbed her eyes as if it were a huge effort.
“We’re on an airplane, sweetie.” Genna leaned forward and tucked back the hair that had fallen over Julianne’s face.
“A plane?” The girl sat up groggily. “Why are we on a plane?”
“Because we’re taking you home,” Genna replied, dreading what came next.
She’d been coached by Anne Marie, who, as a psychologist, had stressed the importance of answering truthfully any questions Julianne might ask. But Anne Marie wasn’t here, looking into those blue eyes, anxious even through the residual effects of the sleep she’d been coaxed into by Jayne Young, the agent who’d been sent to assist with Genna’s flight from the Valley of the Angels with Julianne. A little sleeping aid into the hot chocolate had been all it had taken to rock Julianne gently to sleep.
Just as well, Genna thought, since the ride to the airport over treacherous roads had been anything but smooth. When they’d finally reached a stretch of highway that was all but closed due to drifting snow, Jayne had