Well, then. Wasn't that interesting?

Vince couldn't help but grin all the way back to his cell. Well, of course, that Cahill was always something to look at. And if things went the way they were supposed to go, he probably wouldn't get another chance just to sit and stare at that face, that body. Those legs . . .

d.a.m.n shame, take out a looker like that. But, hey, a deal's a deal, and Channing wanted her out, so she's out. a.s.suming that Archer was on the ball, and that was a.s.suming a lot, Vince knew. Archer hadn't been the brightest bulb in the room that day back in February.

But he'd apparently been true to his word, Vince reminded himself. Faithful to his promise. Vince had seen the press conference on television, had seen the photograph of Archer they'd shown. Had caught the New Jersey cop's comments about how Lowell was wanted for questioning in connection with the Josh Landry murder as well as a murder in Ohio, and Cahill had just confirmed that Unger had been taken out. That meant that Archer Lowell had already gotten two out of his three. As many as Channing had gotten, as many as Vince himself.

Vince shook his head slightly as the guard opened the cell door and stepped to the side to permit Vince to enter. Hard to believe that Archer Lowell might even best what the other two had done. Boy, that would be something, wouldn't it? If dumb-a.s.s Archer managed to do what neither Vince nor Curtis Channing had been able to do: hit all his targets.

There was still Cahill, though, and she was not going to be an easy target to hit.

Vince sat down on the edge of his cot, still thinking about the irony of Lowell besting the other two.

Lowell had had help, though, hadn't he? Didn't that give him an advantage? Then again, dumb as Archer was, he deserved the handicap. a.s.suming that Burt had been true to his word and ridden herd on Archer the way Vince had asked him to. And Burt had been paid handsomely for his trouble, hadn't he?

If in fact he'd gone to the trouble . . .

Rubbing his chin, Vince thought about the possibility that maybe Burt had simply taken the money and said the h.e.l.l with any deal he might have made with Vince.

Not a chance, Vince rea.s.sured himself. He'd had Burt pegged as a greedy son of a b.i.t.c.h from day one. No way he'd have walked off with half if he thought he'd end up with twice as much.

Of course, there was no other half, Burt had gotten it all on the first round, but he wouldn't find that out until he came back to tell Vince that all the deeds were done. And what was he going to do, once he found out that Vince had duped him, go to the police? Call the FBI?

Vince stood up on the end of his bed and tried to look out the narrow window. He had a view of the parking lot, though not a very good one, since the parking lot was so far away. In the distance he could see two figures walking. It could be Cahill and Fletcher, though they were too far away for him to be sure.

His chin resting on the windowsill, he watched until the figures faded completely, then jumped down off the bed.

That Cahill was real fine. It was a shame Channing had put her name on his list.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

The first thing Burt did when he returned to the motel was to flop onto the bed, the TV remote in hand. He was more than a bit spooked when, while channel surfing, he found Archer Lowell's mug front and center on the screen.

That sure got his attention.

He turned up the volume in time to hear the earnest and excited young reporter describe how Archer Lowell was wanted for questioning in the death of Joshua Landry as well as for the murder of an Ohio man.

Burt sat up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. d.a.m.ned good thing I dumped him when I did. d.a.m.ned good thing I dumped him when I did.

"According to the FBI," the reporter continued, "the suspect should be considered armed and dangerous-"

"Not anymore." Burt chuckled.

A sobering thought then occurred to him. Should he worry that the desk clerk or the cleaning people might recognize Archer as one of the inhabitants of Room 109? He tried to remember if Archer had actually been in the office. Burt didn't think he had. Didn't think he'd been out of the room much at all, except for the trips down to Landry's farm in Plainsville, and those trips had been made pretty early in the morning. Burt had brought in takeout for their meals, so it wasn't likely that any well-meaning waitress was going to call the cops and say she'd seen Archer Lowell and he'd been with a tall guy with dark hair who drove a black pickup with tinted windows.

Now that he thought about it, they hadn't really run into too many people at all since they'd been staying here. Burt mentally reviewed all the places they'd gone and things they'd done over the past week and decided that he was probably okay. But all the same, it was time for him to be moving on.

Besides, they'd be finding Lowell's body pretty soon, wouldn't they? He wondered if anyone had seen his truck there in the park, but thought he was probably okay there, too. He'd pulled all the way to the back of the lot, and hadn't stayed for more than a few minutes. He didn't even recall pa.s.sing many cars on the road.

He searched the room to make sure there was nothing of his or Archer's remaining, then wiped down all the surfaces with bath towels to remove any fingerprints Archer may have left behind. It probably wasn't necessary, but still, why take chances? Besides, it gave him time to think about what he was going to do next.

By the time he returned the towels to the bathroom, he'd figured out his next moves. He wanted the rest of the money. He'd promised Vince three dead bodies; he got three dead bodies. Of course, one of those bodies was Archer's instead of that hot FBI agent, but how the h.e.l.l was he supposed to find her now? He'd been given half the money for making sure Archer killed Unger and Landry. Well, he'd done that, hadn't he?

But would Vince think that killing Archer was a fair trade for doing Cahill?

Burt gathered up the remains of the pizza and tossed it into the box. He stood in the doorway and looked around. The room was clean. There was no trace of him-or, more important, of Archer Lowell-left behind. Satisfied, Burt turned off the light and went outside. He tossed the pizza box and the empty soda cups into the Dumpster, then headed for his truck.

He'd be able to make it to the prison before visiting hours were over if he hurried. Along the way, he'd rehea.r.s.e 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? 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 s.h.i.t 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 p.i.s.sed 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 s.h.i.t, 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 pa.s.sed by.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h! 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. The only spark of life she'd shown during her homecoming was when Spike, Mara's Jack Russell terrier, had danced around her feet, greeting her wildly.

"You have a dog," Julianne had said, even as she avoided looking at Mara.

"His name is Spike," Mara told her, forcing a steady note into her voice. "I bought him after you . . . went away. You always wanted a dog, and I wanted him to be here for you when you came back."

Julianne had merely nodded, sitting down on a chair to allow Spike onto her lap. He lavished her with dog kisses, bringing the first true smile to her face.

"He likes me," Julianne said softly.

"He does," Mara had agreed.

Mara sat quietly and watched as her dog won over her daughter, knowing that she, as Julianne's mother, would need to take things a little more slowly than Spike did. She wished she could hug her daughter again, wished she could gather her back into her arms as she had at the airport, but after that first connection, Julianne had begun to withdraw. She'd barely spoken in the car on the way home, and once at Mara's house, she had said nothing until Spike had welcomed her home.

The front door opened cautiously, and Mara's sister stepped inside.

"Hi," she said. "May I come in?"

She addressed the question to Julianne, who openly studied her face, then nodded slowly.

"I'm your aunt Anne Marie," Annie told her as she closed the door behind her.

Julianne nodded slowly. "Ammy."

"You remember me?" Annie dropped her briefcase and overnight bag near the door and exchanged a fleeting glance with Mara. As a child who had found "Aunt Anne Marie" too much of a mouthful, Julianne had called her Ammy.

The girl nodded again.

"Do you remember this house, Julianne?" Mara asked.

Another nod.

"There were plants there." She pointed to the wide windowsill behind the sofa. "And a picture of a lighthouse there." She pointed to a s.p.a.ce near the stairwell that now held photographs of Julianne as a baby.

She stared at the photographs for a long moment, then turned to Mara for confirmation.

"Yes," Mara told her, "that's you."

Julianne got off the chair, Spike still in her arms, and stood on the bottom step to more clearly see the photographs.

"Do you want me to take them down?" Mara started to get up.

"No. I can see them." She touched first one, then the next, then turned to Mara and said, "There's you and Ammy, but not Daddy."

"No," Mara answered, not wanting to look at Annie, afraid to risk finding approval or disapproval in her psychologist's eyes. "No. There are no pictures of you with your father in this house."

"You're really angry with him," Julianne stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes. I am still angry with him."

"I'm angry, too." Julianne turned to her, that anger burning in her eyes. "You must have done something really bad for him to take me away."

Shocked, Mara sat back as if she'd been shot.

"You must have been a really bad mother." Julianne aimed at her heart again.

"Julianne, sometimes people do things for their own reasons, reasons that have nothing to do with what someone else might have done or might not have done." Anne Marie stepped in immediately. "Do you remember when you lived here? Do you remember when you were little?'

Julianne's face hardened.

"Do you, Julianne?" Annie pressed her.

"Yes. I remember."

"What is it that you think of when you remember living here?" Annie walked toward the stairs.

"I want to go to my room. Do I still have a room?"

"First door on the left," Annie told her.

Julianne ran up the steps and, seconds later, slammed the bedroom door.

"That went well." Mara grimaced.

"Actually, it didn't go badly at all." Annie sat down behind her sister on the chair that Julianne had vacated. "Julianne remembers you, she remembers the house-"

"She hates me." Mara covered her face with her hands. "She blames me for all this. She thinks it was my fault that Jules ran away with her. You heard her-"

"It's not an unexpected reaction, honey. She's a very, very confused little girl. You're just back from the dead, as far as she's concerned, remember? She's been with Jules all these years, and regardless of what else he has done, she loves him. He's her father. She's feeling betrayed by him right now, and finding it really, really difficult to understand how her loving, wonderful father could have done something so terrible. So instead of blaming him, she has to blame you."

Mara broke into tears.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I told you this was going to be very hard for both of you."

"I know, but I want so much for her to love me again. I want her to know how much I love her, how I never gave up hope-"