The Next Accident - Lisa Gardner [128]
“His partnership was unusual,” Quincy said.
“Maybe not anymore,” Kimberly murmured.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. His bag was full. He zipped it up, then finally met his daughter’s waiting gaze.
“Maybe you could do me a favor,” he said casually. “You have a good memory. Perhaps you could make a list of everyone you knew in your childhood, friends of yours, friends of the family. You know, the people we knew when your mother and I were still married.”
Kimberly looked at him. He hadn’t fooled her. After a moment, she nodded wordlessly.
“Hey Kimberly,” he called softly. “Fuck ballet.”
Her gaze remained somber, but then finally, slowly, she smiled.
Minutes later, Rainie and Quincy rode the elevator down to the lobby to hail a cab for the airport. Kimberly had tactfully agreed to stay upstairs in the room, seeming to understand that they might want a moment alone. Quincy figured there was something profound he should say to Rainie. All he could think was no sickening-sweet pet names.
In the lobby, Rainie glanced at her watch. “Two hours,” she said, “not one.”
“And yet I’m heading home.”
“Intermission is over,” she agreed.
“Rainie—”
“I won’t let anything happen to Kimberly,” she interjected quietly. “You have my word.”
He nodded. He had figured that Rainie also realized that Montgomery was a long shot for a lone gunman.
Say something. Do something. Learn from your mistakes. Quincy heard himself murmur weakly, “Take care of yourself.”
“I’m not the one walking into the lion’s den.” Rainie jerked her head toward a cab that had just appeared on the street. Quincy flagged it down, and before he was really ready, the driver was out of the car and taking his bag.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
“At my loft, not here. Just to be safe.”
“Agreed.” The cab driver had the back door open. He looked at Quincy impatiently. Quincy, however, was still gazing at Rainie. His chest felt tight. He knew now what he needed to say, then realized he couldn’t utter the words. They would make the moment too final. They would reveal too much of his fear.
Rainie seemed to understand. She leaned forward and before he could react, she kissed him quick and hard on the mouth.
“Hey Quince. See you soon.” She walked back into the hotel. A moment later, Quincy got into the cab.
“Airport,” he told the driver.
Then, alone in the backseat . . . “Hey Rainie,” he whispered. “I love you, too.”
At three P.M., Rainie finally heard back from Carl Mitz on her home answering machine. She listened to it from the hotel room as she called in to check messages. Kimberly sat at the table in the kitchenette, hunched over Quincy’s laptop and rereading some report on Miguel Sanchez that was making her scowl. Rainie occupied the sofa in the adjoining living room, restless since Quincy’s departure, feeling not at all like herself.
Mitz informed her answering machine that he’d just gotten her message on his cell phone. He would be available for the next few hours if she wanted to call back. Rainie hung up, then glanced at Kimberly.
“What would you think if I arranged a meeting with Ronald Dawson for tomorrow?” Rainie asked quietly.
Kimberly looked up from the computer. “I think Special Agent Albert Montgomery is a putz,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“I think he couldn’t have reached my mother with a ten-foot pole, which means while he might be an Indian, he’s definitely not Chief.”
“Agreed.”
“And I think . . . I think if Ronald Dawson is the head honcho, well, if you invite him here, then he can’t be there in Virginia.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Set up lunch,” Kimberly said firmly. “Then call your sheriff friend and get out your gun.”
Rainie grinned. “Girl,” she said, “I like your style.”
Three-thirty P.M., Rainie reached Carl Mitz. Three-forty P.M., Quincy arrived at the Portland International Airport. Three forty-five P.M., Sheriff Luke Hayes received a phone call. He spoke for approximately fifteen minutes, then hung up the phone, told Cunningham he was leaving him in charge,