In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [103]
He got in the rental Town Car and headed for San Diego. Of course, the last place Gus would be was at his home. And with half the world looking for him, he would hardly be at his office either. But the San Diego marina was a starting place in his search. He checked into the Marriott, ate grilled pompano in the coffee shop, then went to bed. Tomorrow was another day. He hoped it would be Gus Aramanov’s last.
There was a cop on guard outside Gus’s yacht-brokerage office the next morning, plus a couple of newshounds hoping for a break. And more cops hovered by the slip where Gus’s own sleek Hatteras was moored.
Mario knew this was not going to be easy.
He spotted a Starbuck’s, went in, ordered an iced mocha latté, and sat sipping it through a straw, thinking. His criminal mind worked the way Gus’s did and he put himself in Gus’s place, pondering his next move.
He finished the iced latté, got back in the Lincoln, and headed north on the 405, back to LA. It was late afternoon by the time he checked into the Ritz Carlton at Marina del Rey.
60
Mel was with Camelia in the deli around the corner from the hospital. They were regulars by now and the waiters knew them. They always sat at the same table, the one near the window with a view of the passing traffic and, if they were lucky, a shaft of sunlight that Mel badly missed in her long vigils in the darkened hospital room.
“Our table,” she said, smiling at Camelia.
“I wish it could be somewhere grander,” he said ruefully.
“Like the restaurant in Charleston,” she remembered.
He smiled as their eyes met. “You and I are beginning to have a history together.”
“People will talk.”
He laughed then. “About what? How I buy you a coffee? A bagel with cream cheese, and extra jelly if you’re lucky.”
“Don’t forget the bacon and egg on a kaiser,” she reminded him, and then they were both laughing.
She was just so used to him now, Mel told herself, watching Camelia pile sugar into his mug. He had become part of her. Somehow, now, it was hard to imagine that he would not always be there for her. They were buddies, a team, united in their efforts to help Ed. But was that all there was to it? Mel stared into her coffee, wondering.
“My bet is it won’t be long now.” Camelia stirred his coffee. “When a guy is as hot as Gus Aramanov, there’s no place to hide.” He was remembering the Versace murder in Miami. “Even Cunanan finally knew there was only one way out. He took it. Shot himself on that houseboat.”
Mel shuddered. “Are we hoping that Aramanov does the same thing?”
“Not hoping, but I’m not sure he’ll see any other route.” The toasted bagels arrived and he spread hers with a thin layer of cream cheese, just the way he knew she liked it, then handed it to her. It was an intimate gesture.
“Of course, there is one way out,” he added.
“He could always plea-bargain. He tells us the name of the man who put out the contract, in return for his life.”
“A life spent in prison.” Mel shuddered again, at the thought.
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Camelia took a bite. “He’s a paid assassin. This wasn’t the first man he killed.” He held up his hand at her look of alarm. “Sorry. Attempted to kill.”
Their cell phones rang simultaneously, and they glanced guiltily at each other, then at the other customers, but the place was so noisy, no one noticed the irritating trill of the phones.
“Hi, Riley,” Mel said softly, her lips close to the phone. “I’m fine, honey. You’re going where? Oh, Radio City, the Rockettes . . . with Hamish?” Hamish had become Riley’s own personal bodyguard, and after a couple of days together they were firm friends. Hamish put himself out to entertain her, but his job always came first, and that meant Riley’s safety. Mel was comfortable with the situation, and she said have fun and see you later.