Glass Houses (19 page)

Rupert’s heart pounded sickeningly.

“Where is he now?” Winston whispered.

With studied nonchalance, Rupert glanced up. The policeman was having a discussion with a barefoot gentleman about the finer points of the law relating to urinating in public.

“
All clear,” Rupert said.
“
He’s got more important matters to deal with than us now. We haven’t done anything, anyway.”

“A hit man’s the thing,” Winston said, his eyes unusually sharp over his lenses. “Tonight if we can arrange it. But no guns. Let’s have them forced off the road and into the water somewhere. They’ll drown, and no one will know the reason. We’ll be in the all-clear.”

“Clear,” Rupert said. “We’re not talking about a blitz. That’s amazing, Winston.”

Winston smiled and said, “Thank you. I think it’s rather good.”

“But we’ll still have to get our hands on the photos and checks, won’t we?”

“The water will probably ruin them.”

“Mmm,” Rupert said. “Can’t have that, can we? I think we’re back to a gun.”

“Strangling’s what
I
really have in mind,” Winston said. Really, he wasn’t accustomed to figuring out how to kill people. These things invariably got out of hand, and he liked predictability. “I was only testing you to see if you were concentrating. You weren’t.”

Once more Rupert opted for moderate restraint. “The boyfriend is a strapping young detective. That much we do know. But we’re going to be able to strangle him?”

“No. We’ll get a really strong hit man.”

“Hit man equals bullets, equals guns.”

“Sex!” Winston laughed and clapped his hands together. “Of course, sex. It’s always involved, and men will be men.”

“Meaning?” Rupert asked.

Winston sighed loudly. “Why do I have to spell out every tiny point for you? We’ll save the money for the hit man.
You
can get them while they’re, you know,
doing
it.”

Rupert sniggered.
“
Moving targets might not be that easy.
”

“You’re disgusting,” Winston said. “You wait for the moment.
The
moment. Make it look like a murder-suicide.”

“When?”

Little wonder Rupert was so fond of rat-like creatures, Winston thought, they shared similar IQs. “They’ll get tired,” he said, trying for patience because Rupert showed signs of having one of his rare attacks of stubborn resistance. “Tired and ho
rn
y and they’ll go to a motel. It’ll probably happen tonight, even if it’s late.”

“Where will it happen?”

“When they’re in bed!”

Rupert turned his mottled purple nose in Winston’s direction, assumed his best attempt at a superior sneer, and said,
“
I meant
where
will this motel be? Which state? On which road? Where, dammit? We can’t just drive around the countryside looking for them, not in America.”

“Hardly.” Winston ran a finger beneath his collar and stretched his neck. “What do you think I am? A fool? We’d better call that number Lemon gave us.”

Rupert crossed his arms.

“We don’t have a choice,” Winston pointed out. “He said he’ll be waiting to hear from us.”

“I know we don’t have any choice, but he’s up to no good. I know you never liked Hill, but I’d rather deal with him than Lemon.”

Winston raised his hand to land another slap on Rupert’s head, but thought better of it. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say t
hat, Rupert. Call the number.”

With a very bad feeling, Rupert located the cell phone they’d acquired at Fats Lemon’s insistence and slowly punched in the number the detective had told them to call.

“Yeah,” Lemon said as if from an outer space location.

“
Hello, this is Rupert Fish. You told me to ring this number and get directions.”

There was the slightest pause before another voice said, “Yes, love. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear your voice.
You’re finally going to understand what I’ve been through and how much you mean to me. Where are you?”

Rupert’s left hand had turned numb on the wheel. He pressed the mouthpiece against his jacket and said,
“It’s Kitty.”

F
ourteen

“
M
aking conversation with strangers isn’t easy,” Olivia said, breaking a silence that had lasted a long, long time.

Aiden’s posture at the wheel was mostly relaxed, but by the pale dashboard light, she could see signs of fatigue in his frown. Occasionally he shifted position and rolled his head from side to side.

Evidently he didn’t have any opinion on the ease of conversation with someone you didn’t know.

“This is Indiana, right?” she said. It was, but the total quiet was making her desperate for a topic.

“Has been for some time,” Aiden said, checking his rearview mirror.

“We’ve been on the road around fourteen hours? You’ve been driving that long?”

“I like driving.”

“So do I. Please let me take a turn and you can rest.”

Aiden laughed, and she didn’t think it was meant to be a grateful laugh. Since they’d left New York, the only stops they’d made had been at what he called “rest stops,” where travelers didn’t rest. Th
ey used the bathroom and got “fr
ee” coffee from a stall where Aiden said you always paid more
than you would anywhere else because it was a donation. Olivia hadn’t worked out what the donations were for, but she’d appreciated even the worst coffee and shop-bought biscuits.

“I really am a good driver, Aiden. I got my license when I was seventeen—on my first try—which isn’t what usually happens in England. And I’ve been driving ever since. Even Mummy says I’m what she calls
passable.
Mummy isn’t big on praise.”

Aiden was coming to like the sound of Olivia’s voice. Soft and a little husky, she spoke clearly and the accent pleased him. She didn’t chatter, or hadn’t for some time until now, and she was polite—even when he wasn’t. Also, given their extraordinary situation, she was calmer than should be expected of her.

“I’m sure you drive well. The truth is, I’m a lousy passenger.”

“That’s an excuse,” Olivia said. “You need a break.”

“I wouldn’t get it with you driving on the side of the road you’re not used to.”

“We’re on motorways. What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference.”

Boswell stood on the back seat and rested his head on her shoulder. She hugged his massive neck. “There’s hardly anything on the road, Aiden. Please change places and get some sleep.”

“No, you’re not driving.”

She watched stars in a black sky, and the dim shapes of sparse trees, the occasional glint of water in some small lake. “There’s no way you can just keep driving like this. You’ll fall asleep at the wheel, or starve, whichever comes first.”

“I’ll take another apple.”

“They’re all gone. So is the cheese. There’s no food left, except for a jar of something called pimento spread.”

“That can be tossed at the next opportunity.” He glanced at her, but didn’t smile.

Olivia’s stomach did a little flip. It flipped every time he looked at her, or she looked at him, or thought about him—which was all the time. All of which didn’t mean anything. Not really. She was justifiably aware of him because regardless of everything that pointed to him being trustworthy, she had no proof that he wasn’t part of some terrible plot perhaps the same plot that had brought her here in the first place.

If Mummy and Daddy ever found out what she was doing, they would never again allow her to as much as protest when they questioned her common sense. They would feel fully justified in adding to their ode to Theo’s brilliance and bemoaning the mystery of producing so accomplished a son while their daughter was an incompetent nincompoop.

“Are you sleeping?” Aiden whispered.

“No,” she said sharply. “Just thinking.”

“I was afraid of that. I think it’s dangerous for you to do too much thinking. Keep your eyes peeled for an eats sign.”

“A neat sign?”

“Eats.
An
eats
sign—for a place where you can eat. Diner, or something. You gotta be starving. You’ve given just about everything we had to me. We’ll stop and get some hot coffee and some food.”

She didn’t fool herself into thinking the only reason he would stop was to feed her, but she’d enjoy thinking it was part of his motive. And she salivated at the prospect of food.

Ahead a signboard gleamed and Olivia leaned forward, pulling out her glasses and cramming them on just in time. “The next exit,” she said, not caring that she sounded ridiculously excited. “What luck. Can you believe it? You asked, and here we are. Food and lodgings and services, it says.
Ust
erbee.
That’s the town. Population
…
That can’t be right. Population, eighty-seven?”

“Real metropolis,” Aiden said. He still got a kick out of the little, almost-forgotten towns across the country, although tonight, or this morning as it was now, he wasn’t getting pleasure out of too much. “Let’s do it. We’re both hungry and you have to be so tired, you’re punchy. You haven’t had much sleep in several days. You’ll feel better once I feed you. Pray the local eatery isn’t closed.”

The lights were on at
Dierdre
’
s Want To?,
set all alone in the middle of a large, lonely parking lot. Shutters covered the bottom halves of the windows, but there was movement inside. A swaying neon sign over the door advertised, “Cozy Cabins For Rent.” Ranged around the edges of the area were the dim forms of clapboard huts with steeply sloped roofs. The advertised lodgings, probably. The absence of any cars outside these suggested zero occupancy.

Aiden parked, got out, and stretched. The air delivered a cold blow, reminding him that his feet were bare inside his sandals and the jacket was too threadbare to be much protection against the weather.

Olivia wore the cotton sweater and linen jacket. Unwilling as he was to accept complete responsibility for t
his all-but-
helpless foreign woman, he did feel that responsibility. The heater in the Rover was one of the things that hadn’t been brought up to full function. Geez, a little more planning and there could have been blankets and a pillow in there for her. She had to have more clothes—and so did he. Nothing could be done about that till morning, when he’d make sure they found a small town with some sort of store.

“Come on, Boswell,” he heard Olivia say. “Let’s go over here and attend to things. Good boy. Such a good boy.”

He turned and saw her trotting, albeit stiffly and with Boss at her side, toward a dark area. He didn’t want her off anywhere on her own, not even with the dog, and he followed at a distance, flexing his shoulders as he went.

More compliments were showered on his no-good canine before Olivia headed back toward Aiden.

Olivia saw something move. She stood still and reached for Boswell’s collar. “It’s all right, boy,” she told him. “I’ll take care of you.” A big shadow blocked out the light from the cafe. The shadow moved toward her.

Aiden’s shout of laughter brought enough relief to turn her knees rubbery. “Just me,” he said. “You’re going to take care of Boss? That’s cute. You’re cute. Come on, let’s eat. And don’t wander off without me again—not even a short distance.”

She didn’t argue with him or try to explain that she was only reacting out of shock, and he shouldn’t shock her in future because she’d been known to become unpredictable under such circumstances.

“Aiden,” she said, catching up. “We’re in a real fix, aren’t we?”

Unless he was overreacting, which he didn’t tend to do, they were in something more than a “real fix.” “We’re going to be careful,” he told her. “If you can put some faith in my experience, I’ll try not to let you down. And we’re going to get help from a guy who is the best, absolutely the best.”

“Chris Talon?”

“Yep.” Although he’d watched the road behind them all day and into the night, he’d seen no sign of anyone who might be following, and they hadn’t been buzzed by any aircraft. But he’d never had a stronger sensation of being followed.
“
It was a good idea to stop. We both need to stretch our legs. Bring your bag. If it seems okay, I’ll take a look at those shots of yours.”

With Boss stationed outside the door of Want To?, Aiden automatically rested a hand at O
li
via’s waist when they entered the diner.

She shouldn’t like the warmth of his hand so much. She absolutely should not have unbalanced thoughts about preferring this, being with him even under dangerous circumstances, to the quiet existence she’d always lived.

“Whoa!” The shout came from a tall, extremely thin man in a white shirt and trousers, white apron, with a round whitepaper hat on the back of a head of thick black hair. His face was deeply lined, and his brows overhung dark eyes. “You two just took ten years off a fella’s life. What the Sam Hill you doin’ in the middle of nowhere at this time of night?”

“Sign on the highway says you’re expecting us.” Aiden pulled Olivia to his side. “We’re just passing through. Been driving a long time. Any chance of some hot coffee and whatever you’ve got to fill two empty stomachs?”

“
Wait till Dierdre hears about this,
”
the man said. He laced
his hands around the handle of the broom he’d been using. “She’s goin’ to be so bummed out she missed ya. Don’t get no one out here at night. Almost never. Except for when people wants a cabin. Daytime is different. But those folks don’t want to come back here this time of night. Too lonely. Come on over and take a booth. Make yourselves comfortable. I’m Cal, Dierdre’s boyfriend.”

By Olivia’s calculations, despite a pretty good dye job on his hair and eyebrows, Cal must be pushing seventy. She’d really like to see Dierdre. Aiden led her to the booth Cal indicated and waited until she was seated before slipping in opposite.

Cal went to the counter, returned, and plopped down two glasses of water, two mugs, and a palmful of small cream containers. He filled the mugs with coffee. He’d carried everything in his two large hands and finished by pulling several packets of crackers from a pocket in his apron and tossing them on the table. “You’re probably peckish,” he said. “Nibble on those to get you going.”

The menus were under his arms. These he spread, one before each of them, with some ceremony. “How long you been driving?”

“Fourteen, almost fifteen hours,” Olivia told him.

“Yeah.” He closed the menus again and removed them. “You look it. Both of you. Got some of the best black bean chili you ever had the honor to get a whiff of. I’ll start you off with that. Stick it to your insides. Then we’ll talk about givin’ you some choices. Mebbe.”

He left them, and Aiden rubbed the heels
of his hands into his eyes. “
You meet the craziest g
ood people out in the sticks.”

Olivia said, “Yes, and the nicest,” and felt them run out of things to say.

She had that slightly tousled thing about her again. Soft and sleepy. Aiden hadn’t seen darker eyes that he remembered, or eyes that had the same mix of brilliance and innocence. Not that she was dumb. No, sir, not this woman. Just out of her depth and walking on quicksand, foreign quicksand.

Irritation had swept at him in eddies ever since he’d met her at JFK, but they’d gotten farther apart. The initial instinct to encourage her to make the trip, and to want to meet her, still bemused him. For a man who avoided personal attachments, his behavior had been over the top. Still was.

He liked being with her.

Kissing her hadn’t been a chore. The thought was dangerous. It brought him close to laughing and awakened the sexy reaction he already knew she could arouse in him.

Olivia opened a packet of crackers and ate one. His five o’clock shadow was darker than she’d have expected given his light hair. His eyes were on her. She checked her mouth for crumbs.

Ice clinked and she glanced up. He drank water, looking down at her over the glass.

She really liked the single gold earring he wore in his left ear. Strange, since she usually disapproved of such things.

They made jokes about Americans having perfect teeth. She didn’t find anything funny about Aiden’s teeth, or his mouth. She had t
he sensation that she felt his li
ps on hers again, and rolled her own together, capturing that touch.

He put down the glass and ran a forefinger around the rim. He turned his face aside and bowed his head. Then he looked sideways at her through his spiky lashes.

Olivia drew short breaths. Lean and long, tough-cut but sensitive, his features weren’t classic but they went together in a way that scrambled every sensible thought she might have had.

Again he looked away, and again his brilliant blue gaze returned like some sort of seek-and-destroy weapon.

She couldn’t keep on looking at his face.

Without the jacket, his shoulders bulged beneath his soft denim shirt. There was a suggestion of hair at the open neck. He’d rolled back his cuffs over forearms she’d like to touch. His hands were all male, broad across the prominent knuckles, the backs covered with a tracing of bronzed hair—and scars
that had to have a story. They were expressive hands, as well as capable.