Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

get this over with.”
    “The answer’s no. I don’t trust you. Your friend’s an ex-cop and the airport’s dirty with Feds.”
    “I’m not working with them.”
    “I don’t believe you. This conversation’s over.”
    “Wait,” I said. “You need that cash. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have bothered to take Jeannie.”
    She didn’t answer. But, she didn’t hang up, either.
    “You’ll get half when I get the kids, the other half when we’re away, safe. Deliver them, and disappear.”
    “It’s a set-up.”
    “It’s not.” I paused. “You’ll manage the logistics. I’ll do it however you want, whenever you want.”
    I steeled myself.
    “How will I get the second half?”
    “I’ll put it in a locker somewhere and give you the key. When I’m away safe with the kids, I’ll tell you where the locker is.”
    “Maybe you won’t. You could get the kids and then keep the other half.”
    “And you could come empty handed, take the first half, and kill me.”
    She was silent.
    “Are we doing this or not?”
    “We’ll see,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
    I took the elevator to the first floor and walked to the E.R. waiting room, feeling enveloped in a surreal dream. Annette was alive. ALIVE! If I could pull this off, I’d see her soon. Jeannie was in the chairs, squeezed between a nodding sleeper and a stooped old man in an army cap.
    “Where’s Richard?” I asked as I walked toward her.
    “He left. Said he’d take a cab to work, had plenty to do. He was glad to loan the car so you could go give your statement.”
    I was relieved the car had been a non-issue, but also mildly disappointed Richard had left me so easily.
    Jeannie seemed to read my mind. “You’re in capable hands, honey. Don’t worry.”
    I forced a smile. “Capable if I need a make-over.”
    “I wasn’t talking about me.”
    “Who, then?”
    She leaned to peer around me. I turned and followed her gaze. Vince was feeding a bill to a Coke machine down the hall. Even from a distance, I could tell he was tired. He was no less handsome for it, though.
    I spun back to Jeannie.
    “What’s he doing here?”
    “I might have called him.”
    “How? I don’t even know his number.”
    “I got that for you at David’s apartment. You’re welcome.”
    “I should kill you.”
    The old man next to her chuckled. “Don’t do that,” he said. “She tells good jokes. Kind you can’t take home to mama.” He chuckled again.
    I leveled a stare at Jeannie.
    Vince walked up beside me, open soda can in hand. I was too humiliated to look at him. The desk attendant saved me. She called my name.
    “About damn time,” Jeannie said, loud enough for all to hear. “You want some moral support back there, hon’?”
    Despite my irritation, her offer sounded good. I nodded.
    She looked from me to Vince. “Take good care of my girl.”
    The old man smacked his knee and laughed again.
    ***
    “Jeannie told me what Trish did to your family,” Vince said quietly. We’d been left in my examination area—basically a curtain-lined cubicle with a paper-covered table. “Nothing I’ve thought to say could possibly be appropriate.”
    He sat on a stool and let his hands fall loosely into his lap. The grief in his eyes spoke volumes. He understood what Trish had taken. Whether he was sorrier for my loss or for his cousin’s part in it, I couldn’t guess, but I wanted to collapse in his arms.
    I dropped my head. “I’m sorry I thought you could have been part of that.”
    He stood and crossed the narrow space between the stool and my spot on the exam table. He was wearing the same cologne I remembered from our walk on the beach, something nautical and fresh. I almost trembled when he placed a hand over mine.
    “Thank you for coming here,” I added. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”
    The drape swished open and a nurse pushed in a wheeled cart with assorted, sterile-looking tools on top. Vince gave my hand a press and leaned in so only I could hear.
    “You haven’t seen the last of me.” He brushed my cheek so softly I thought I might have imagined it, then maneuvered out of the way so the nurse could prep my leg.
    Twenty minutes later, I’d been stitched and dosed with painkillers and antibiotics. We were waiting for the nurse to return with my prescription when I heard my name bandied somewhere beyond the curtain. It was Jeannie.
    An instant later, she slipped into my exam area and whisked my shoes from the