Catherine Coulter – FBI 3 The Target

Ramsey, his jaw locked hard from disbelief and tension, left the kitchen. He looked only at Molly when he reached the dining room. “Come upstairs with me, will you?”

“Yes, certainly.”

Then he realized that Emma was sitting there, quiche on her fork, staring at them. Ramsey calmed himself. “Em, would you do me a favor?”

She wanted to ask him questions, he could see that, but he shook his head at her. “Would you come upstairs with your mom and me?”

Five minutes later, after they’d settled Emma with a book on animal husbandry for children in her bedroom, all of them knowing it was a ploy, especially Emma, Molly and Ramsey were standing alone in his bedroom.

He said without preamble, “I see no reason to stay. Do you?”

“No, no reason at all,” Molly said, pulling a silver ring off her pinkie finger, then pushing it back on. “He’s a monster, Ramsey. My father just blew up a twenty-three-year-old woman.”

“That’s the league he plays in, Molly. The media should be back here anytime, if they haven’t already pulled up to the front gates. Let’s fly to Denver today, to your house. You and Emma can pack stuff for Ireland, then we’ll go to San Francisco. Okay?”

Molly said more to herself than to him, “Ireland would be beautiful, I’ve seen pictures.” Then he saw a sparkle in her eyes. “I could begin work again. I could take my cameras.”

He realized it would be a new beginning for Molly. And for himself as well. “Yes, bring all you need. Will you take a photo of Emma for me?”

“You don’t think the media will follow us, do you?”

“I doubt that we’re interesting enough.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“All right, so we’ll have to be smarter than they are.

“You’re leaving,” Mason said, no particular regret or surprise in his voice. “Miles said you’d ordered a taxi.” He smiled. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to take one of my cars or have one of my people drive you.”

It was a joke Ramsey hoped Emma hadn’t understood. He’d dealt with men like Mason Lord in his professional life. They were men to whom a designated death was just another move on a chessboard. “Yes,” Ramsey said, “we’re leaving. Molly is ready to return to Denver.” He wasn’t about to tell Mason Lord where they were really going.

“Eve wanted to go out on Lake Michigan. We didn’t go. I knew you’d leave if I left.”

“You stayed and we’re still leaving. It doesn’t matter, Mason. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Eve Lord came up behind her husband and said that Detective O’Connor had arrived.

Ramsey cursed under his breath. He should have foreseen this, but he hadn’t. He’d been focused on getting the Hell Out of Dodge. He turned to Molly. “You and Emma stick close for a moment. I want to speak to Detective O’Connor.” Ramsey got to him before he’d stepped into the living room.

“I was just leaving. Mrs. Santera and Emma are going with me.”

Detective O’Connor looked as if he’d slept in somebody else’s face. The skin didn’t fit, it was loose over his jowls. There were bags under his eyes. “I don’t blame you, Ramsey. Before you head out, do you know anything about this?”

“I heard it on the TV. We were all at lunch. I remember wondering why a local Las Vegas station was on the TV in the kitchen, why it was so loud. Then, of course, it was clear. You know as well as I do that Mason Lord arranged for the explosion. I’ve been told that now things are even again and there won’t be any more violence.”

Detective O’Connor whistled between his teeth. “I feel like a fly buzzing around with no place to land. I don’t suppose Mr. Lord admitted to you that he’d done it?”

“No, he didn’t say a word. But you know, he had a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide. Sure he ordered it. This place is like an alternate universe.”

“The cops down in Las Vegas say they ain’t got dip. Everything was neat and tidy, except for the two bodies left over.”

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