The Lonely Mile(71)
He forced his eyes open once more and focused on Agent Miller, who he could see was taking the news about Canfield just as hard as he was. Creases lined the man’s face from lack of sleep and worry, and he looked like he had aged ten years in just a couple of days. Bill knew he must have felt betrayed by Angela Canfield, too. He had no doubt now that she would have used her partner in the same way she used him if she thought she could benefit from it.
It didn’t really matter, though. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back, and maybe that was a good thing, for Angela Canfield as well as for him.
Bill smiled. The smile was returned by Agent Miller, albeit tiredly. “Do us all a favor,” Bill told him, “and go round up the rest of those sickos responsible for my daughter having to be a hero before even celebrating her eighteenth birthday.”
“We’ll do our best, of that I can promise you.”
Bill nodded. “I hope you nail every one of those suckers to a wall.”
“Even if we do,” Miller said reluctantly, “another organization will crawl out from under a rock to fill the void. It’s a sad state of affairs, but true. Human nature, I suppose.”
“Maybe so, but I still want to see every last one of those scumbags pay. That’s human nature, too.”
CHAPTER 62
June 4
STEAK SIZZLED ON THE gas grill, popping and hissing as it broiled to juicy perfection. Bill wobbled, leaning on one crutch, flipping the two T-bones onto their raw side before slamming the lid back down on the grill and flopping awkwardly into his outdoor lounge chair. He flipped a pass to Carli, the football making a lazy arc through the air to his daughter, who caught it and rifled a pass back immediately, like Tom Brady finding the open receiver.
To Bill and Sandra’s amazement, Carli had shown virtually no lingering ill effects from the twenty-eight hour ordeal she suffered at the hands of the now-dead I-90 Killer. Bill guessed it was due to the fact that she had been able to fight back rather than being helplessly victimized. And saving the lives of both herself and her father, while escaping relatively unscathed, couldn’t have hurt either.
The point, though, was that his little girl, his only child, was not going to be permanently crippled, either emotionally or physically, and for that Bill would be eternally grateful. A psychologist who had examined her informed them she might suffer nightmares for months or even years to come, but so far—if Carli was to be believed—that had not been the case. Bill believed her.
He reached up to catch the football one-handed, wrenching his injured arm, and nearly falling backward out of his chair onto the lawn, when a plain-blue Chevrolet Caprice turned into the apartment parking lot. Gravel crunched under the tires as the driver pulled the vehicle into an empty space and killed the engine.
Bill lofted the football toward the vehicle, and its driver leapt out of the car and caught it on the fly like the tight end he had once been. Instead of passing it back, though, Mike Miller tucked the ball into the crook of his arm and carried it toward Bill and Carli, stopping in front of them with a grin. “I was afraid to pass it to you. Don’t want to get sued for knocking you onto your back and busting your stitches while I’m on duty,” he explained.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bill shot back. “I took on two psychopaths with guns, remember? I can handle one Feeb.”
“Remember? How could I forget? The entire Bureau will have to sit through lectures and training films about your little adventure for years.”
“Hey, don’t forget about me!” Carli chimed in. “I helped, too.” She bounded up behind Miller and wrenched the football out of his arms.
“Care to join us for dinner?” Bill asked. “I just happen to have an extra steak in the fridge upstairs. It might take me a while to get it with these crutches, but maybe my hero, the young lady who pulled my butt out of the fire, would be willing to handle that chore for me.”
“That would be great!” Carli enthused. “Join us! It will only take a second to get the third steak, and we just started cooking, really!”
Bill laughed. His daughter’s attraction to the agent was obvious, both to him as well as to Miller, and he waited a moment, enjoying the man’s obvious discomfort. Finally, he said, “You know, Carli, Agent Miller just told us he was still on duty. He probably only has a couple of minutes to spare.”
“Yes!” Miller agreed. “Just a couple of minutes. Maybe another time, though,” he added quickly when he saw Carli’s dejected expression.
“So, what can we do for you?” Bill asked, knowing already what the answer would be.
“I thought you might like an update on the case.”
“Yeah, we would. Shoot. No, wait, let me rephrase that. I don’t think I like that expression anymore. Let’s try this one: Go ahead.”
Miller laughed. “Remember I told you we had a very young-looking agent from the Albany Field Office who was going to be our decoy during the exchange?”
“Of course,” Bill and Carli answered in unison.
“Well, Agent Adkins played the part of the teenage damsel in distress perfectly.” Carli playfully slapped at his arm and he ducked out of harm’s way. “She acted completely helpless. Nothing at all like Carli,” he added as he dodged another body blow.
“That’s more like it,” she sniffed indignantly.