Inside Out

46

Sean waited five minutes, then descended from the Learjet to watch the Citation carrying Winter Massey lift off. She kept the plane in sight until it was a speck in the Virginia sky. She had met very few men of Winter Massey's equal. Now he was out of the equation, and she felt both sorry and relieved.

She realized her hands were shaking. She had never been more surprised than when Winter said that Dylan had been involved with-had crossed-Sam Manelli. No wonder Dylan had wanted to keep her in the dark. No wonder the killers found them. If only she had known, she would never have joined Dylan on Rook Island. Dylan was lucky-he obviously had died fast.

She scanned the base as if memorizing the positions of the vehicles, the men and women who dotted the landscape. She spotted Archer in the command tent and stiffened. Manelli's name meant everything was different now and everybody had to be evaluated anew. She knew better than anyone that when it came to his influence, his money, anybody could be an enemy.

A female deputy strode from the Gulfstream toward the Lear. Her boxy body looked hard and her face, beneath the USMS cap's visor, rigid. “I'd like you to get inside the plane, Mrs. Devlin, and remain there until further notice,” she ordered.

“I just came out.”

“It's a security matter.”

“If you can explain how I might be in danger here, I'll consider your request.”

“If you do what I say, we'll get along just fine.”

Not a chance. “Could you please tell your boss, Director Shapiro, I want to have a word with him?”

“The chief marshal is busy. Tell me what you want and I'll relay the message.” It seemed to be an effort for the deputy to keep her voice even and pleasant.

“Tell Chief Marshal Shapiro that I will be leaving now. I'd like my things removed from the jet and I want someone to drive me to the closest airport or bus station.”

Sean went back inside the Lear. Through the window she could see the woman speaking with two male deputies, one of whom went into the Gulfstream. A few seconds later, Shapiro left the G-II and headed her way, just as she had expected.

“You want to leave?” he asked her.

“I intend to,” she corrected.

“We'll need to work some things out first. We need to consider what's best for you. We're going to request some psychological help so you can deal with what you have been through. We certainly owe you that.”

“First, I never asked to be involved, but now that my husband is dead I assume I am no longer needed to keep him occupied. I haven't committed any crime and I don't have any information to give anybody. I have no intention of remaining here in this horrible place while people pick through that pile of rubble. And I won't spend another instant in the company of ‘our lady of the perpetual sneer' out there. If you will call me a cab, or have one of those policemen drive me out, I can take charge of my own life from now on.”

“You don't even know where you are,” he protested.

“I assume wherever we are is connected somehow to roads which lead to towns and eventually to a commercial airport. At this point I'd hitchhike before I'd stay here in this cracker box another ten minutes.”

“I'll take you back to Washington within the hour. And if Deputy Munsen isn't to your liking, I'll replace her.”

I doubt your deputy is to anyone's liking, except the man who sells her steroids, she thought.

“Mrs. Devlin, you are our guest. We feel a responsibility for you and we will do everything we can to make you comfortable. I'll have your bags moved to my plane,” he said solicitously, hoping to appease her.

“Sir,” she replied, “I have not yet been comfortable being your guest. I just want my life back. And a stiff drink.”

Shapiro lifted her briefcase. “If you will follow me,” he said, “the United States Marshals Service will make every effort to oblige you.”

Two minutes later Sean was seated in the Gulfstream holding a scotch on the rocks. She swiveled the chair, looked out, and caught Deputy Munsen staring up at her sourly from the tarmac. Sean touched her glass to the window and smiled.