BooksBarbecue
Back The Newcomer Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgments
  69. Also by Mary Kay Andrews
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

“About like you’d expect. Somehow, she’s managing to hold it together, probably for Maya’s sake.”

She saw Wingfield emerge from the bathroom and head for the counter. He paced the restaurant, leaned against a high-top table, pulled out his phone, and made a call.

“I don’t like this,” Vikki muttered. “He’s in there making a call.”

“So are you,” Joe pointed out.

“He doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m out here basking in my own stupidity, waiting for a mocha grande.”

Wingfield ended the call, put his phone in his pocket, and walked over to the counter, where the barista handed him his order. He swiped a credit card, pocketed it, and turned to leave.

“Son of a bitch,” Vikki said.

“What?”

“He totally stiffed me and didn’t get my coffee order. Okay, that’s it. He’s a dead man.”

She ended the call and shot Wingfield an annoyed glance as he slid into the front seat.

“Hey, thanks for that awesome coffee you were gonna buy me.”

“Sorry,” he said, in a tone they both knew was meant to convey that he was completely not sorry. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s get going, okay? We’re booked on a four o’clock flight back to New York. Juliette wants to get Maya on a strict schedule right away, so that she’ll adapt better.”

Vikki backed the car out of the slot and headed for the Starbucks exit. She saw the silver Volvo slowly back out of a slot at the far end of the lot.

“What’s your fiancée think about helping raise another woman’s kid? Especially one with all kinds of emotional problems?”

“Juliette’s cool with it. She wants us to have kids of our own. Someday. In the meantime, Maya loves her. Calls her JuJu.”

“Cute,” Vikki said.

52

AS SOON AS JOE ENDED the call with the FBI agent, Letty cocked her head and looked at him. “You’re such a liar.”

“What?”

They were in her motel unit. Joe was eating potato chips, shoving one after another into his mouth and chewing noisily. He looked like any other typical Florida beach bum—faded T-shirt, loud orange board shorts, Teva sandals, Ray-Bans—albeit a beach bum with a badge in his pocket and a holstered nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson pistol clipped to his waist and obscured by his T-shirt.

Letty was dressed in the disguise Ava had helped her assemble. Big floppy hat, oversize sunglasses, a flowing poncho-type beach cover-up that brushed her kneecaps.