Forgive Me(87)

“That’s Downey, I believe.”

“Iron Man is Robert Downey?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so good. What about Clint Downing?”

Raynor glanced back at his passenger. “I believe your new name is Albert Tuttle.”

“Albert Tuttle?” Dante couldn’t believe his misfortune. “That guy sounds like an *.”

Thirty minutes later, the conversation hadn’t much improved. Raynor was glad they were nearing their destination, or he might have done something impulsive. He turned the Cadillac onto a dirt road devoid of any structures and drove exactly three point six miles before he came to a stop in front a field of sweet corn, stretching for miles along both sides of the road. The corn would be harvested late June through mid-September. By the looks of it, this field would be ready on the early side. The green stalks were already waist high.

He cut the engine. “Wait here.”

Dante took one look out the window and scoffed. “Like I’d go anywhere,” he said, examining his fingernails. “Just hurry it up, will ya? All this country scenery makes me itchy.”

Raynor returned a polite smile, then a nod before he climbed out of the car to unfold his tall frame, giving his muscles a needed stretch. Sunglasses shielded his eyes from the bright sunshine that slipped out from behind a puffy cloud. After he checked to see no cars were coming (though a tractor was more expected), he vanished into the corn like a scene out of Field of Dreams, his father’s favorite movie. Every year, on the anniversary of his father’s death, he watched the Kevin Costner film to honor the person he loved and hated the most.

Minutes later, the corn parted as though some massive animal were on the march, when in actuality it was Raynor driving a black four-door Chevy Silverado with off-road suspension and brand new all-terrain tires. He brought the truck to a stop in front of the Cadillac, climbed down from the cab, and opened Dante’s passenger door like a good chauffeur should.

Without hesitating, Dante climbed out the back of the car and blinked away the bright sunshine before setting a pair of Tom Ford sunglasses on his face. “So that’s how you do it, huh? Keep me moving. Change it up. Impressive.”

“Yes, it is,” Raynor said, standing by the open door of the truck’s crew cab.

Dante got settled in the back while Raynor took his seat up front behind the wheel.

“So where to now, Pedro?” Dante asked.

Raynor swiveled around to present Dante with a grim smile and aimed his 92 FS Berretta at Dante’s head.

Only then did it register that the back of the cab was draped completely in plastic. The clear tarp covered the seats and the wall behind Dante’s head.

“Now you don’t worry about potato picking or your supply of redheads.” Raynor pulled the trigger and a gruesome splatter coated the plastic sheet in red.

Dante’s chin fell, his chest and his body tilted slightly right, but he didn’t keel over completely.

Raynor replaced his leather gloves with plastic ones so he wouldn’t get the mess on his hands and took the Tom Ford glasses before he wrapped up Dante like a gory burrito. He effortlessly tossed the wrapped body into the truck’s cab, covering him in a blue tarp. The body would be buried in the deep woods, in a place where Raynor enjoyed hunting, never to be found again.

It was a job well done, Raynor thought as he drove away, leaving the stolen Caddy to be found by the farmer who tended those fields.





CHAPTER 46



Angie had been to Killer E.S.P., a funky coffee shop in Old Town Alexandria where she was to meet Bryce. She liked the casual ambience and what the ESP stood for—espresso, sorbet, and pie. Their pies were dangerously delicious, and her stress level since making the Conti connection had summoned a craving for sugar she found impossible to resist.

It wasn’t a date, not in the way it could have been when she’d accepted his invitation for a Saturday night dinner. They had business to discuss—Angie’s business, to be exact.

She had spent a lot longer getting dressed for this coffee encounter than was her norm, which contradicted her belief that it wasn’t an actual date.

Bryce had taken two days to call her back with news on Antonio Conti and his family. During those intervening days, she thought about Bryce quite a lot, and not just because of the research he was doing on her behalf. She wanted to see him, to impress him even, but not be overt about it.

When deciding what to wear, she’d avoided the tank tops that pushed everything up. After several outfit changes, she went with a rare number hidden in the back of her closet—a navy blue jersey dress that hugged her curves in a flattering way. She wore her hair down so her dark locks swayed enticingly across her shoulders, and she kept the makeup to a minimum. She noticed more than a few strangers noticing her as she walked to the coffee shop.

Dressed casually in faded jeans and a plaid sport shirt, the kind Mike Webb might have owned, but couldn’t wear with the same panache, Bryce stood to greet Angie.

An awkward moment ensued when she stuck out her hand to shake hello and Bryce moved in for a quick hug. “We did a mission together,” he said, wrapping his arms around her before she had time to pull away. “We’re kind of past the handshake stage.”

It happened so quickly Angie barely had time to hug him back.

They went to the counter where Angie ordered green tea and a slice of peach pie.