Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [97]
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.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Mara sat on the ottoman in front of the wing chair and studied her daughter’s face. Julianne had barely moved since their arrival. Wide-eyed and confused, she had stood at the end of the cobbled walk for a long time, staring at the house.