Nora Roberts - Remember When

He'd send Laine a postcard. She'd understand. The kid knew how the game was played.

He strolled the walkway first, scanning faces, looking for marks, looking for cops. Places like this always gave him itchy fingers. Malls, shopping centers, little packs of stores where people breezed in and out with their cash and credit cards so handy.

Day after day. The straights buying their puppy chow and greeting cards, sold to them by other straights.

What was the point?

Places like this made him want to fall on his knees and give thanks for the life he led-right before he helped himself to some of that cash, some of those credit cards and made tracks to anywhere else.

He wandered into a Subway, bought a ham and cheese with hot pepper sauce to give himself more time to scope out the area. He washed it down with another big shot of cold caffeine, used the facilities.

Satisfied, he crossed to the Mail Boxes, Etc., strolled to the lockers, slid in his key.

Come to Papa, he thought, and opened the door.

He made a sound, something similar to a duck being punched in the belly, and snagged the only contents of the locker. A piece of notepaper with a one-line message.

Hi, Jack. Look behind you.

He spun around, one meaty fist already balled.

"Take a swing, I'll deck you," Max told him conversationally. "Think about running, consider that I'm younger and faster. You'll just embarrass yourself."

"You son of a bitch." He had to wheeze it, but even that had a couple of heads turning in their direction. "Double-crossing son of a bitch."

"Pots calling kettles only proves pots lack imagination. Keys." He held out a hand. "Laine's car keys."

In disgust, Jack slapped them into Max's hand. "You got what you came for."

"So far. Why don't we talk in the car? Don't make me haul you out," he said quietly. "We'd not only cause a scene that might bring the cops in on this, but Laine wouldn't like it."

"You don't give two damns about her."

"You're right, I don't. I give a hell of a lot more than that, which is why I'm not turning your sorry ass over to the cops. You've got one chance, O'Hara, and you've got it because of her. In the car."

Running occurred to him. But he knew his limitations. And if he ran, there was no chance to recoup the diamonds. He walked back out with Max, then settled himself in the passenger seat. Max took the driver's seat, set his briefcase on his lap.

"Here's the way it's going to be. You're sticking to me like gum on the bottom of my shoe. We're catching a flight to Columbus."

"What the-"

"Shut up, Jack. I've got a lead to check, and until I'm done, you and me, we're Siamese twins."

"She told you. My own flesh and blood. She told you where I had the stash."

"Yeah, she did. She told me because she loves me, and she believes-convinced herself to believe-you'd keep your end and bring them in. Because she loves you. Me, I don't love you, Jack, and I figure you had other plans for this."

Opening his briefcase, Max took out a ceramic piggy bank. "I've got to give you points for the sense of the ridiculous. Me, you and the pig, we're going to Columbus, then heading back to Maryland. And I'm going to give you that chance. That one chance to deserve Laine. You're going to give her this." He tapped the pig, then put it away. "Just as if you'd planned to all along."

"Who says I didn't?"

"I do. You had fucking dollar signs in your eyes when you opened that locker.

Let's show a little respect for each other here. My client wants the stones returned. I want my fee. Laine wants you safe. We're going to make all that happen." He started the car. "You finish this out, I'll see that your slate's wiped clean on this. You ditch me, you hurt Laine, and I'll hunt you down like I would a rabid dog. You'll be my goddamn life's work. That's a promise, Jack."

"You're not bullshitting. I know when a man's bullshitting. Son of a gun."

Jack's grin spread wide and bright as he leaned over to embrace Max. "Welcome to the family."

"Briefcase is locked, Jack." Max pulled back, then set the briefcase out of reach in the back.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Jack said cheerfully, and settled back for the ride.

***

In his cabin, Crew selected a shirt the color of eggplant. He'd ditched the mustache, replacing it with a soul patch he thought suited the sleek, chestnut-hued ponytail. He wanted an arty look for this trip. He selected a pair of round-lensed sunglasses from his supply and studied the effect.

It was probably unnecessary to go to such trouble, but he did enjoy a good costume.

Everything was ready for company. He smiled as he looked around the cabin.

Rustic, certainly, but he doubted Ms. Tavish would complain about the accommodations. He didn't plan on her staying for long.

He hooked the little.22 on the back of his belt, covered it with a hip-length black jacket. Anything else he might need was in the bag he slung on his shoulder before he strode out of the cabin.

He thought he might have a bite to eat before he had his date with the attractive Ms. Tavish. He might be too busy to dine that evening.

***

"I did the legwork," Jack said as he and Max had a beer in the airport bar.

"Courted Myers for months. Now, I'll admit, I never dreamed of a score that big. Was thinking small, taking a couple of briefkes, clearing a couple hundred thousand each. Then Crew came into it."

Jack shook his head, sipped through the foam. "For all his faults, that's a man who thinks big."

"Faults being he's a cold-blooded killer."

Frowning, Jack dug his big hand into a bowl of nuts. "Biggest mistake of my life, and I'm not ashamed to admit I've made a few, was hooking up with a man like Crew. He suckered me in, no question. I got dazzled by the idea of all those rocks. All those pretty, shiny rocks. He had the know-it-all for something like that, the vision. I had the connections. Poor Myers. I'm the one who brought him in, played him. He had a gambling problem, you know."

"Yeah."

"Far as I can see, any gambling's a problem. House is always going to win, so it's better to be the house. Gamblers are either rich people who don't give a shit if they lose, or suckers who actually think they can win. Myers was a sucker, word go. Had himself in deep, and with some nudging from me he was in deeper. He saw this as his way out."

Jack drank more beer. "Guess it was. Anyway, the deal went down smooth enough.

Quick, clean. Had to figure they'd cop to Myers, but he was supposed to go straight under. Nobody was to know where anybody else was heading. Willy and me drove right out of the city, I dumped the pig in AC, and we dumped Willy's in a locker in Delaware. Got ourselves a nice hotel room in Virginia, had a fine meal, a couple bottles of champagne. Good time," he said, and toasted with his glass.

"Heard about Myers on CNN. Willy loved CNN. Tried to tell ourselves it was because of the gambling, but we knew. Switched cars, drove to North Carolina.

Willy was spooked. Hell, we were both spooked, but he was nervous as a whore in church. Wanted to light out, just forget it all and head for the hills. I talked him down from that. Goddamn it."

He studied his beer, then lifted it and drank deep. "I'd lead Crew off, and he'd double back, get his share, take it to Laine. She could put him up for a little while. I thought he'd be safe. Thought they both would."

"But he knew about her. Crew."

"I got pictures of her in my wallet."

He drew it out and flipped it open.

Max saw photos of a newborn with a bright thatch of red hair and skin as white as cream, and an expression on her little face that seemed to say, "What the hell am I doing here?"

There were several of Laine as a child, all bright hair and eyes, who from the grin had obviously figured out what she was doing here. Then of the nubile teenager, pretty and dignified in her graduation shot. Of Laine wearing cutoffs and a skinny top, laughing as she stood in the blue surf of what Max deduced was Barbados.