Britt stood in her mom’s warm embrace that smelled like homeand felt like safety, for a good two or three seconds. Then tears rushed to her eyes and emotion cinched her throat. Appalled, she jerked away and went to the sink to run the burn under cold water.
“Honey,” Mom said, “let me help you—”
“I can do it myself.”
“All right, but let me take another look at that—”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” She felt her chin trembling, so she ducked her head and stuffed down the tears.
The burn hurt. Really hurt.
But Britt said nothing more about it.
Instead, she’d continued baking the cake as if her arm wasn’t smarting viciously. As if everything was as right as rain.
In the end, Zander agreed to visit Ricardo with Britt.
His agreement had little to do with his desire to pick Ricardo’s brain regarding Frank’s past and everything to do with his refusal to allow Britt to meet Ricardo alone.
“Left here,” she instructed him. “The GPS says we’re just five minutes away from Ricardo’s house.”
He steered his Jeep left.
“Then right there.” She pointed. “Then your first left.”
He cut a quick glance in her direction.
When he’d pulled up at the Hackberry Lane Cottages at eight a.m., an hour and a half ago, Britt had been waiting for him in the parking lot. A hiking backpack slumped at her feet. Her hair poured over one shoulder. She’d chosen a long ivory T-shirt, black jeans, and a short black jacket for today’s road trip.
This was the first time they’d seen each other since she’d come to his room at the Inn at Bradfordwood after her birthday party on Thursday. He’d been spoiling for a fight that night, fixated on the fact that the two of them were shut inside a room dominated by a bed. He’d admitted to her that he was lonely. It was a miracle that he’d managed to stop there, that he hadn’t said anything unforgivably stupid.
He’d filled Friday and Saturday with writing. Running. Time spent with Carolyn. He’d talked with his brother, and they’d decided that Zander would fly out in a couple of weeks to see him.
Daniel had encouraged Zander to set aside his expectations where Britt was concerned, accept that they had no future as a couple, and open his mind to new people.
Zander had heard everything Daniel had to say. More than that, he’d agreed with the principle. But now that he had Britt to himself for the next several hours, he didn’t want to waste time setting aside expectations or accepting that they had no future or opening his mind to new people. He only wanted to enjoy every minute alone with her.
“This neighborhood is fancier than I expected for an ex-con,” Britt said.
The homes testified to an earlier, more tasteful time. Each had been carefully restored and stood on a roomy parcel of land.
“If Ricardo was Frank’s accomplice in the Triple Play,” Zander said, “he’s a rich man thanks to the painting he stole.”
“You think he’d still be rich from that thirty-five years later?”
“If you sell a Picasso on the black market and invest the money well, you can live large for a very long time.”
“If he was living large off Triple Play earnings then why did he steal Ming dynasty figurines?”
“Good question.”
“Ricardo’s house should be coming up on the right. Yep, that’s it. Number fourteen fifty-six.” White-painted brick and black shutters marked the structure’s exterior.
Zander slowed, then parked two houses down. They’d decided to stake out Ricardo’s home until they saw him leave. Then they’d follow him to his destination, which would, hopefully, be a populated place where they could speak with him safely.
Britt leaned nearer her window. “There’s someone outside. Do you see that man kneeling in the flower bed?”
“I do.”
