'Okay. Well, I didn't really think you were dead. I just didn't think you'd come back. After me. I thought that was sort of... unprofessional.'
'Really? My counselor at Wichita said I was too goal-oriented. I decided this one time, I'd forget the goal, which was to hide, and just let it all out. Express myself. For a friend. In her memory.'
'That was thoughtful of you,' Lucas said. 'I'll tell you what...' And he laughed again.
'What?'
'We had fifteen people looking for you at her funeral.'
'Really? I was a thousand miles away.' But she was pleased.
'We didn't want to take the chance. It was like a Chinese fire drill out there, cops scrambling all over the place, trying to stay out of sight, TV guys taking pictures of them... Big scopes. Hiding in poison ivy... I wore a Kevlar outfit that was so goddamn hot I almost died of heat stroke.'
'That's flattering, anyway.' She sighed, and said, 'Well, I gotta go. I've got so much to do.'
'Heading out to where? Costa Rica, Mexico, Chile? Those are the top three guesses,' Lucas said.
'Not bad, but they should have included the coast of Venezuela - lot of Americanos down there, everything's cheap. Life is easy...'
'I'll tell them.'
'Do that. Gotta run,' she said. And just before she hung up, 'I'm faster than you.'
'No way, sweetheart.'
She laughed, a light, southern-belle sound. Her laughter was cut by the click of the phone going down.
Somewhere in Philadelphia, Lucas thought, right at this minute; getting into an unremarkable car, headed for an obscure destination. Number One on the most-wanted list.
Number One with a bullet.
The End
John Sandford, Certain Prey
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