Part 27 (1/2)
”How do you think that's going to go?” John rubbed his cheek against Genna's.
”I don't know. Julianne is going to be one very confused little girl. She wants her mother, but she won't want to believe what her father did. She won't want to believe he lied about everything. I feel so sorry for her. For her and for Mara.” She sighed, her heart heavy again. The past weeks had worn her out more completely than even she had realized.
”Can we go home now, John? I just want to go home. . . .”
Miranda had been watching Will's face for much of their drive to the prison from Landry's farm. It had been a quiet drive. Very quiet. Miranda couldn't remember the last time Will had had so little to say. So a few miles back, she began to study his expression. When she realized that merely staring was not going to shed any light on his silence, she decided to resort to interrogation.
”So, I guess you're thinking about what you're going to say to Giordano.”
”No. I figured you'd do most of the talking,” he said without looking at her.
”Why would you figure that?”
”Because you usually do.” He pulled into the left lane. ”Most of the talking, that is.”
”Should I be insulted by that?”
”Does the truth hurt?”
Miranda watched for the sly smile that generally accompanied such a remark. When no smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, she tried another tactic.
”Wonder how Genna's doing. Wonder if they've landed yet.”
”I guess we'll find out soon enough.”
”Aren't you at all concerned about how all this is going to play out? I mean, with Julianne having been gone for seven years, thinking her mother was dead. . . .”
Will shrugged. ”I have no clue what's going to happen. The only thing I know for certain is that Annie will be there to help keep things from getting out of hand. Hopefully she can keep things on the right track.”
”That's all you have to say on the subject?”
”Why speculate? We'll find out soon enough what's going on, since we'll head to Mara's right from the prison.”
”Do you think John's right?”
”He usually is.”
”So you think Jules is going to come for Julianne?”
”I think someone is. We can only hope it's Jules.”
”You think Prescott would send someone else for her?”
”I think Prescott has got to be feeling a bit tense right about now. As far as we know, no one has left the Valley of the Angels who didn't leave at the reverend's command to go into a situation he controlled. Now, he has to be worried about where Julianne might be, just what she knows about his operation, and who she might be talking to.”
”You don't think old nutbar Jules would let anyone do his work for him, do you?”
She waited for him to respond. When he did not, she leaned over and grabbed her bag from the floor. She rummaged around for a minute, then held up a tin of mints.
”Want one?” She offered the box to him.
”No, thanks.”
She dropped the box back into her bag, then took out her cell phone. She checked for messages.
”Message from John, Jayne is on her way to Mara's, with Mara and Julianne . . . she and Aidan will be there until we arrive.” Miranda paraphrased John's message. ”How do you think Julianne will react when she realizes that her mother is involved with another man? Mara and Aidan are inseparable.”
”Guess we'll find out soon enough.”
”And a message from . . . huh, no message.” She hit a b.u.t.ton 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 b.u.t.ton, 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 pa.s.sed, 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 pa.s.s. ”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 winds.h.i.+eld. ”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.