Money to Burn

“But you were spying,” I said.

‘“Spying’ has such a negative co

“Is that why McVee wanted you dead?”

“That was only the begi

She suddenly stopped, and the expression on her face alarmed me.

“Ivy?”

“Holy shit,” she said.

“What?”

She was staring out the window into the parking lot. “Your driver.”

“Nick?” I said as I turned and looked. His Chevy was about a hundred feet away, parked beneath a tree. The sun was setting and the streetlights had just flicked on; their glare at dusk made the weblike crack in the windshield all the more evident. Nick’s head was facedown on the steering wheel.

“They got him,” said Ivy.

56

IAN BURN ENTERED THE EMERGENCY ROOM THROUGH THE AMBULANCE entrance. No one stopped him. He figured Cantella and Ivy were keeping an eye on the main entrance to the ER. By entering from the other side, where access was restricted, he would catch them off guard. He started down a maze of sterile corridors, guided by the signs marked WAITING ROOM. Ironic.

He couldn’t wait to get there.

Cantella’s limo driver had been a good source of information over the past few weeks. The tip about Cantella’s true destination had been Nick’s best yet. And his last. In an operation this big, Burn never kept people around after they were no longer needed. That held true even for the little guys-especially the little guys. It was always the housekeeper, the limo driver, or the bartender who ratted you out and sent you to prison. Nick had served his purpose and needed to go-though the cracked windshield and brain splatter were regrettable. His 9 mm Glock pistol had been too much firepower for such a close-range shot.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?”

It was an elderly hospital volunteer. Nobody policed the halls of the “authorized perso

Burn ignored her, picking up his pace. He had no time for delays. Six months of tracking Ivy Layton had taught him plenty about the way her mind worked. She felt safe in public places, and probably the last thing she expected was for Ian Burn to walk into a crowded waiting room and start shooting. It was a risky maneuver, even for Burn, but acting contrary to a target’s expectations was the key to success in his business. Reporting back to Kyle McVee that Ivy Layton had slipped away again was not an option.

The gray-haired hospital volunteer came after him.

“Sir, this area is restricted.”

He knocked her to the floor and pushed through the double doors that led to the ER waiting room. The old woman’s scream turned heads and robbed Burn of the element of surprise, sending Ivy and Cantella ru

In the shower of shiny glass pellets just beyond the exit, Ivy Layton-Vanessa-fell to the sidewalk.

57

THE SIGHT OF IVY GOING DOWN HIT ME LIKE HOT SHRAPNEL.

One moment we were ru

Her Kevlar had changed everything.

Ivy’s trench coat looked ordinary, but the lining was body armor. She’d worn it every spring for the past four years, and when the threat level went from orange to red, she practically lived in it. She’d removed it only for our embrace. Thank God she’d put it back on before Burn had burst into the waiting room and started shooting.

“Roll!” she shouted.

I dived to the ground and did exactly as told, landing on the grass at full speed and rolling like a log down a hill. I heard more shots from Burn and noticed two or three miniature explosions of dirt as we rolled toward a tree. We were safely behind the massive oak’s trunk when Ivy pulled a gun from her jacket and fired two quick shots back toward the emergency room.

“There are people in there!” I said.

“I’m hitting the roof, but Burn doesn’t know that. Now run!”

She pivoted and fired two more shots from the other side of the tree trunk. I’d never seen her with a handgun, but she had obviously gotten serious training.

“Run!” she told me.

“Where?”

“Get with Eric. He’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

I heard sirens in the distance. The police were on the way.

“If we’re still here when the cops arrive,” said Ivy, “they’ll arrest both of us. We’re sitting ducks in jail.”

I didn’t have an answer to that.

She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face toward hers. “I’ll run to the left,” she said. “You run right. I’ll find you. I promise.”

I was thinking of that trip in the Bahamas four years earlier, when she’d promised I would never regret our decision to ditch the Saxton Silvers crowd and charter a sailboat.

“I can’t-”

She silenced me with a kiss-and I hoped it wasn’t good-bye for good.

“Take my cell,” she said, pressing it into my hand. “McVee’s techies haven’t compromised it yet with their spyware. Speed-dial number one is my mother. Call her, and hook up with her and Eric. Then keep it on. I will call you. I promise.”

There was that word again-promise.

Then she turned, ran, and fired two more diversion shots toward the hospital as she disappeared into the dark shadows beneath the canopy of sprawling oaks. Burn returned fire in her direction. I ran the opposite way, clutching Ivy’s cell.

I knew that Ivy wanted me to clear the area as quickly as possible, and the sirens told me that the police were getting close. But I needed to check on Nick. I zigzagged between parked cars until I came upon the Chevy. The driver’s-side door was unlocked, and when I opened it, Nick’s slumped body fell out of the front seat and onto the pavement.

I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of such a horrible, bloody mess at the base of his skull. There was another gaping hole in his forehead-a through-and-through bullet wound was what my years of watching CSI on television had taught me. No doubt about it, Nick was gone.

With blood splatter everywhere-the seat, the steering wheel, the dash, the cracked windshield-I couldn’t have taken the car even if the thought had come to me. The truth is, it never even crossed my mind. Adrenaline took over, and I didn’t even slam the door shut. I turned and ran like an Olympian, crossing the parking lot in seconds, determined not to be chased down by Burn, the police, or anyone else who might be in pursuit. Block after block, I just kept going, heading away from River Road and major thoroughfares. Dusk had turned to night by the time I found a pay phone-I didn’t want the call traced to the cell Ivy had given me-and I stopped on the sidewalk outside a deli to dial 911.