The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [115]
He marveled at the sight of her sleeping. Her dark mahogany hair tousled around her pale face. Her long eyelashes like dark smudges against her cheeks. Her shell-pink lips slightly parted, as they uttered small, whispery breaths. Half woman, half child. All his.
His fingers brushed her arm again. She murmured something softly in her sleep.
“I’ll never hurt you, Rainie,” Quincy said quietly. Then his gaze went to the phone, which he knew would ring shortly. Back to the hunt, back to a psychopath’s killing game.
He thought of his daughter, young and proud, sitting in a hotel room right now, diligently scouring financial records. He thought of Rainie, the tilt of her chin, the way she sparked a room just by sauntering through the door. He thought of himself, older, wiser, and determined to learn from his mistakes.
He reached a conclusion. Time to stop mourning the things he had lost. Time to start fighting for what he had left.
31
The Olsen Residence, Virginia
The chocolates arrived shortly after 3 P.M., marked for special Saturday delivery and borne up the steps by a bouncing, brown-suited UPS man with gorgeous hazel eyes. Mary signed for the chocolates, gave the man a wink, and felt even better when he blushed. She took the plain delivery box inside and eagerly opened it. A small dark green box sat nestled in a sea of gold foil paper. Not Godiva; she didn’t recognize the name on the label.
She opened the inside box, and was immediately struck by the scent of bittersweet chocolate and almonds. Twelve truffles, she saw, four rows of three. Each one dusted in cocoa powder and topped with a candied nut. Beautiful box, beautiful truffles. She wondered if PIs got the munchies.
She put the lid back on while consulting her reflection in the mirror. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were now coated with a heavy layer of makeup. A pink silk cardigan covered her bruised arms. Hot rollers had done wonders with her hair. She looked fine, better than fine, actually. She looked lovely. The perfect doctor’s wife, swathed in layers of Pepto-Bismol pink.
“Here goes nothing,” she told her reflection. Then she grabbed the box of chocolates and headed out the door.
True to her lover’s word, she found a silver hatchback two driveways down with a well-dressed black man sitting in the front. He appeared to be studying a road map. The minute he made eye contact with Mary, however, his gaze dashed frantically from side to side. She marched right up to the driver’s side and rapped on the window.
“Howdy, darlin’,” he said immediately, rolling down the glass. “I was hoping someone like you would come along. I have no idea where I am and could sure use some help.” He held up the wrinkled map and flashed a helpless grin. She noticed, however, that his left foot was furiously kicking something beneath the driver’s seat. Probably his surveillance camera.
“I know you’re a private investigator,” she said.
“I’m telling you, ma’am, you get on these windy back roads and suddenly everything looks alike—”
“Especially when you’re seeing the same road for the second day in a row. May I?”
She gestured to the empty passenger seat. He blanched. “Now darlin’, if you could just point out the quickest way to I-95 . . .”
“Fine, I’ll show it to you on the map.” She came around the front and climbed into the car before he could utter further protest.
Inside, the air was stifling. The cloth-covered seat pressed her dress uncomfortably against her skin; the dash was warm to the touch. Belatedly, she realized that she should’ve brought iced tea or lemonade. God knows who’d want candy in the middle of this kind of heat. Live and learn, she thought, and resolutely held up the green-wrapped box.