Dead Even (22 page)

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And a message from . . . huh, no message.” She hit a button on the phone and scrolled for the number of the caller who had declined to leave a message. Finding it, she hit the return call button, then held the phone up to her ear. The number rang and rang, and finally, she heard the message prompt.

“This is Miranda Cahill, FBI, returning a call from this number. The caller didn’t leave a name, but if there’s someone there who still wants to speak with me, please call me back. You obviously have the number. . . .”

She disconnected and dropped the phone into its designated spot in her bag, then opened the box of mints and popped one into her mouth.

Finally, she asked, “So, are you going to tell me what’s eating you?”

He appeared to be debating a response, but when a full minute had passed, and he hadn’t replied, she said, “Nod if you can hear me, Fletcher.”

“I’m thinking,” he said, and moved to the right to allow a large truck to pass. “It’s hard to think when I have a headache.”

“You have a headache? Why didn’t you say something? Pull over and I’ll take the wheel. I just realized, you’ve been driving all day. I’ll drive the rest of the way, and you can relax.”

“It’s not the driving that’s making my head hurt.”

“What is?”

“You are.”

“I make your head hurt?” She sat straight up in her seat, offended.

“Among other things, yes.”

“I hope you’re going to explain that, and not sink back into silence again.”

“I’m thinking, Cahill, okay? Just stop talking for a minute and let me think, will you?”

She grew quiet then, and waited, hurt, wondering what she’d done to cause him to react to her in such a manner. They’d always gone round and round with each other, but it had always been mostly in fun, hadn’t it? And she couldn’t recall that there had been one of their usual go-rounds today. Or maybe even yesterday, for that matter. She looked over at him, confused, and felt the slightest stirring of apprehension, and thought back several days to having watched him and Annie walking across the parking lot, their heads close together, chatting like conspirators.

Miranda swallowed hard. Well, she hadn’t given him much encouragement, had she? She had no one to blame but herself if he had found someone else.

Which wasn’t to say that she wanted him, of course. Did she?

“That lightbulb go on yet?” she prodded, suddenly impatient.

“Okay,” he said, still looking straight out through the windshield. “I guess the best way to say it is like this: I just don’t want to go on like this anymore.”

“Like what?” she asked cautiously.

“Like, friends. I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

“You don’t want to be my friend?” She felt as if he’d struck her.

“Well, of course, I want to be your friend.” He exhaled sharply. “I just don’t want to be
just
your friend, okay, Miranda? We’re a little old for this shit.”

“But you were the one who brought up the friends thing. You said you wanted to be friends, Will.”

“I said what I thought you wanted to hear, okay?”

She blinked, not expecting him to sound so . . . vehement.

“Will—”

“Let me finish, will you? You wanted to hear this, you listen.”

“Okay.” She shifted in her seat so that she could watch his face, give him her full attention.

“I understand that the way things have been between us hasn’t been especially . . . stable. I don’t know if that’s the right word, but it will have to do for now. I know it’s no one’s fault more than the other. I mean, look at the way it’s always been for you and me. We’ve always had this great chemical thing going for us. Attraction.” The smile finally appeared, but barely. “An understatement, I know, but let’s just call it that for now.”

“You used to call it hot monkey sex.”

“That was when I was immature. Before . . .”

“Before what?”

“Before I realized I was starting to fall in love with you.” He never took his eyes from the road.

“Oh.” The tiny word escaped from her mouth without her even being aware of it. She couldn’t think of a single word to say, he’d taken her so off guard. So she simply repeated, “Oh.”

“Now, I’ve come to realize that you don’t understand what love is . . . no, don’t interrupt me.” He held up a hand when she appeared about to rebut. “You don’t, Miranda. You understand great sex, and you understand friendship, but you don’t understand the rest of it. The heart stuff.”

“That’s the stupidest thing anyone ever said to me,” she blurted out.

“Oh, speaking of maturity—”

“If you weren’t driving, I’d—”

“Spare me. You’re only trying to change the subject.”

“You think I’m not capable of loving someone?”

“That is not what I said. I think you’re more than capable. I just think you don’t want to.”

When she didn’t respond, he said, “You look at what went on between your mother and your father, and you think, Who needs that? Who needs a man who comes and goes, in and out of your life, the way Jack came and went in and out of your mother’s. You saw what that did to her, so you want none of it. I can respect that.”

She looked at him, her eyes dark, unreadable.

“But I am not Jack, Miranda. I won’t love you and leave you, and I’m tired as hell of coming in and out of your life. If you’d let me, I’d stay, for as long as you wanted me.” He took a deep breath. “If you’d let me, I’d take this as far as it could go, wherever it leads. If you’d let me.”

“It seems like you’re always leaving me.” The words were so soft, he wasn’t certain at first that she’d spoken at all.

“Sometimes you’re the one who leaves,” he reminded her. “Assignments sometimes come in the middle of the night; we both know that. It isn’t always me leaving you, babe.”

“It feels like you’re always the one to go. It hurts, Will. It hurts when I wake up in the morning and you’re gone. I never know if it’s been just a good time, or if it meant something more to you. You never told me how you felt.” She could have added,
And I knew just how my mother must have felt,
but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Neither did you.”

“Everyone knows the man is supposed to say it first.”

“I just did,” he reminded her.

Miranda put her face in her hands, and he reached over and gently pulled them away.

“Let’s start by not hiding anymore, okay? Over the past few years, we’ve each found a hundred ways to hide from each other.” His voice grew soft. “Let’s stop doing that, okay?”

Will drove with both hands on the wheel, as if needing something sure to hold on to. He’d put his heart on the line. He was so afraid of what might come next.

“So, what do you say, Cahill?” he asked, trying to infuse his voice with a lightness he did not feel.

“I don’t know what to say. I think I’m terrified.”

“Oh, that’s encouraging,” he muttered dryly.

Feeling rebuffed, he fell back into silence.

A few miles down the road, she said, “Are you saying you don’t want to sleep with me unless there’s something more than friendship between us?”

“I didn’t say that exactly, but that pretty much sums it up. Strange as it may sound, sex just isn’t enough for me anymore. I want it all, but I want it all at the same time. Body, mind, heart.”

“You left out soul.”

“Everyone’s entitled to keep a little something for themselves.”

“You realize you’ve rendered me pretty much speechless, don’t you?”

“That’s a first.”

“Will . . .”

“Hmmm?”

“That was our exit.”

“Swell.” He glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see the sign fade around the bend.

“The next one is just around that next curve, if I remember correctly.” She pointed ahead.

The exit was there, and he eased into the lane. Once off the expressway, they were only a few miles from the prison.

“What if we can’t . . . you know, make it as anything other than friends?” she asked.

“You really think that’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know what will happen. I’ve never seen this type of thing work out.”

“Of course you have. Look at Genna and John. You don’t have to look far to find relationships that work when both people want them to work. Stop looking so hard for a reason not to . . .” He paused, then said, “Unless, of course, you don’t feel that way toward me. If that’s the case, then—”

“I don’t know what to call what I feel for you. I can tell you very honestly that I’ve never felt that way about anyone else, though.” She leaned back into her seat, her blue eyes focused on his face. “Do you really think that things would have been the way they were between us if I hadn’t felt something really strong for you?”

“A guy can hope.”

“It’s hard to put a name to something you’ve tried to avoid thinking about for so long.”

“Well, I think that’s my point. We’ve both been avoiding this whole relationship thing for years.” He pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “We never talked about it, but we’re talking now.”

“I’ll give you this much”—she unsnapped her seat belt and leaned over and took his face in her hands—”there’s never been anyone but you. I’ve never known what to call what I feel for you, but the whole time since we’ve known each other, there’s never been anyone else.”

“I can live with that, for today. For now.” He drew her close and kissed her, almost weak with relief. He held on to her as if to a lifeline, his heart pounding. He wondered if he’d ever tell her how the thought of this conversation had struck terror in his gut. He’d been so afraid she’d shoot him down.

“I think we can work this out somehow,” she whispered, returning his kiss and running her top teeth along his bottom lip, because she knew it made him a little crazy.

“We’ll work on it.”

“Day and night until we get it right.”

He laughed and kissed her again, wanting to feel her pressed against him, but there was the console, and the steering wheel. So he kissed her one last time and said, “We can do this. No more joking around. We can do this.”

“I’ve missed you, Will. Missed the closeness. Missed this.” She was as close to him as she could be, and still be in her own seat. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s time to . . . like you said . . .”

“Take it to the next level.”

“Right.”

“Move the relationship ahead.”

“That, too.”

“See where the road leads.”

She began to laugh softly. “See how many more really tired clichés you can come up with.”

“I got a million of them.” He rubbed the back of her neck gently.

“Save a few for after we chat with Vince.”

“Don’t worry, babe. There are plenty more cheesy lines where those came from.” He turned the key in the ignition. “But you know, I’m thinking maybe we don’t need to be at Mara’s until tomorrow. Maybe if Jayne and Aidan are there to keep an eye on things . . .”

“There’s always the Fleming Inn. Just about forty minutes from the prison.” She grinned as she leaned back into her seat. “Less, of course, if I’m driving . . .”

CHAPTER
TWENTY

“So, do I get to ask him anything?” Will asked as he and Miranda made their way across the parking lot toward the entrance to the prison. “Or are you really planning on doing all the talking?”

“Hey, Vince and I are old buddies. This will be like a reunion.” She grinned, ignoring the look on the face of the guard when he saw her come through the door. She pulled her credentials out of her bag and smiled. “Agents Cahill and Fletcher. We’re here to see Vince Giordano.”

The guard glanced from her badge to Will’s, then at the visitor’s log for the day.

“You’re not on the sheet,” he told them. “You weren’t expected?”

“When did ‘not on the sheet’ ever keep a federal agent out of a prison?” Miranda narrowed her eyes and stared the guard down.

“I was just saying . . .” the guard mumbled, then grabbed the phone. He turned away for a minute or so, then turned back and told them, “Warden said to put you in the room down the hall, not in the visitors’ area. He’s sending someone up for you, and he’ll have the prisoner brought down.”

“That’s better.” Miranda flashed a million-dollar smile and paced the reception area until the guard arrived to take them through the building.

Their escort arrived within minutes, and they followed him down a short hall to a small room.

“In here.” The guard unlocked the door. “The prisoner will be down in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Will said as they entered the room.

“I’ll bet I’ve been in a hundred nasty little rooms, just like this, over the past six years, but I never get used to the way they look or feel.”

“Or smell,” Will noted.

“That, too.” She wrinkled her nose.

The door on the back wall opened, and Vince Giordano shuffled in, his ankles in chains.

His eyes lit up when he saw Miranda.

“Hey! When they said there was a babe here, wanted to see me, I thought they were kidding. Agent Cahill,” he said as he sat down clumsily in the yellow chair. “Last time I saw you, you were holding a gun on me.”

“Hey, don’t thank me. It was my pleasure,” she told him.

“No hard feelings. If it hadn’t been you, it woulda been someone else. At least I got to feast my eyes on the finest the Feds got to offer.”

“That’s a disgusting thought, Vinnie. The thought of you feasting on any part of me in any way makes me want to throw up.”

“So, I see you still care for me as much as I care for you.”

“Vinnie, my feelings for you have never changed.”

He laughed again.

“So, what sends you and . . . who is this guy?” Giordano pointed to Will.

“Oh, pardon my manners. You haven’t met Agent Fletcher before. Agent Fletcher, this is the infamous Vincent Giordano. I get to call him Vinnie ’cause we go way back.”

“Not back far enough,” Giordano said, still appearing to size up Will.

“Heard a lot about you, Vince.” Will sat on the edge of the table.

“Yeah, like what did you hear?”

“I heard you were the mastermind behind that whole ‘Let’s do some good deeds for each other when we get out’ thing.”

Giordano looked up at Miranda, his face blank.

“What’s this guy talking about, Cahill?”

“Vinnie, we already know about the game,” she replied.

“Game, what game? Someone betting on a game? Hey, gambling’s illegal here,” he deadpanned.

“Stop it.” She slammed her fist down on the table unexpectedly, and he jumped. “Just . . . stop it, okay? We know. We know how you and Channing and Lowell were shoved into a room together last February and passed the time away with a little game of hit list. You do mine, I’ll do yours.”

She rested her arms on the table and looked him straight in the eye. “Did you know that Channing was going to do it when he got out, or did that come as a big surprise to you? When did you know for sure that the game had really begun, Vince? Was it when they found your mother-in-law with a bullet between her eyes? Or when they found Judge Styler raped and murdered, just like the Mary Douglases were?”

“I remember reading something about that judge. Shame, wasn’t it?” He shrugged, but did not blink. “And Diane’s mother, well, hey, guess that was one of them wrong-place, wrong-time things, huh?”

“Eight o’clock at night, in her own house sound like the wrong place, wrong time?” Miranda met his stare.

“Hey, just goes to show—”

“Enough, okay?” She looked up at Will and said, “He’s not going to tell us a damned thing.”

“I got nothing to say.” Giordano shook his head.

“So I guess if we were to ask you to tell us who Lowell’s third victim was going to be, you’d just tell us to go to hell.”

“I prefer kiss my ass.”

“Well, I guess since you’re not talking,” Miranda pretended to study her nails, “you’re not going to want to talk about how it is that the bullets from the gun that killed your family match the bullet that killed Albert Unger.”

“Who?” Vince’s expression never changed, but there had been a definite spark in his eyes.

“The man who murdered Curt Channing’s mother.”

“Never heard of him.” Vince began to chuckle. “But I guess it just goes to prove what I been saying all along. Guess it proves that someone else killed my family. Just like I told you.”

“Or maybe you told someone else where to find the gun. Or maybe you gave the gun away. But it doesn’t prove that anyone other than you killed your wife and kids.”

Ignoring Will’s comment, Vince asked, “Aren’t you wasting time sitting here talking to me? Shouldn’t you be out looking for the guy who killed my wife and kids?”

“Waste of time, Cahill.” Will shook his head. “I told you he was a waste of time.”

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t be of any assistance.” Vince made no effort to hide his smirk.

“Vinnie, your sincerity is choking me up.”

“And your interest is touching, you know? I don’t get much company. A guy can get pretty lonely in here.”

“Sooner or later, we all get what we deserve, I guess.” She stood up to leave.

“I guess we do.” Giordano stared at her, then grinned broadly. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna get what you deserve, too, Agent Cahill. Wish I could be around to see it all go down.”

Miranda looked at Will and smiled.

“I’d take that as a confirmation, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

“Thanks, Vinnie.”

“For what?”

“For saving us the time we would have spent looking for that third victim.”

“I don’t know nothing about no victims.” Giordano smiled back at her. “Except my own, of course.”

“You know, you never did say how you came to choose those individuals to murder, Vinnie.”

“They were in my way.”

“Right. And I’m the Lone Ranger.”

“You lonely, Cahill, I got something for you. Pretty lady like you should never be alone.”

“Ugh, I’m gagging now.” Miranda signaled to the guard. “Get him out of here.”

“You want to talk, Giordano, you just give a holler,” Will said.

“Cold day in hell, Fletcher.” Giordano headed back to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Be seeing you, Cahill.”

“Not if I can help it.” She tapped Will on the arm to let him know she was leaving, and he followed her through the door.

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 . . .

Damn shame, take out a looker like that. But, hey, a deal’s a deal, and Channing wanted her out, so she’s out. Assuming that Archer was on the ball, and that was assuming 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-ass 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. Assuming 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 hell with any deal he might have made with Vince.

Not a chance, Vince reassured himself. He’d had Burt pegged as a greedy son of a bitch 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.