The Target
Page 126

Had it been Gunther who killed Dickerson? Or had Mason hired local talent for just this one assignment? Now that he'd had a second or two to think about it, he wasn't at all surprised. He didn't say anything. Why bother? What was there to say anyway?
"Now Emma doesn't have to be afraid, nor do you or Molly. I will expect the three of you here for Thanksgiving. That's my favorite holiday. No one expects extravagant gifts, just a great meal, which Miles always delivers."
"Yes," Ramsey said. "We'll be there." Slowly, he placed the phone back in the receiver. He looked at Molly and shook his head. She frowned a moment, then he knew she understood. She made a big deal out of yawning. "I'm ready to fold my tent. How about you, Em?"
"I'm sleepy too, Mama. What did Grandpa want, Ramsey?"
"He wanted to make sure we were all right. Nothing more."
"He was nice to call," Emma said, kissed Ramsey, and let her mother tuck her in.
Ramsey leaned back and closed his eyes. His shoulder was hurting like the devil. His fingertips tingled. His head ached. Now this. Molly leaned down to kiss him. He whispered, "He had Dickerson killed. What am I supposed to do?"
"Tell McPherson the truth. It won't matter, you know it won't. No one will ever take down my father. In fact I'll bet my father wants you to tell the cops. He's probably laughing right now, imagining it."
He suspected she was right. He called out, "Good night, Emma. Sleep well. You too, Molly."
It was all over, Ramsey thought, as he walked up the stairs of their San Francisco home, Emma at his side. All over. He was thinking about Dickerson's mother in Duluth. She had paid for his cremation. Ramsey had actually gone, Savich with him, just to be sure, just to see the man before he was reduced to gray silt.
"Mama's asleep," Emma said. "She was really tired. I don't think she slept well last night."
That was true enough. He hadn't either. Emma had said she'd wanted to sleep in her own room, which was the reason neither of them had slept much. It was odd, but he'd missed her cuddling against them, at least in the morning he had.
"I hope she's not still asleep," Ramsey said. "I want to see her smile. She's done a lot of that since we got back home yesterday."
He stood in the doorway of their bedroom. Emma had left him, running down to her bedroom to fetch one of her toys. Molly was lying on her side, her back to him. She was wearing only a pair of white panties that were high cut on the sides. Her bottom leg was straight, the top leg was slightly bent. There wasn't a more seductive pose for a woman. He swallowed. Her hair was a glorious mess, tangled over a beautiful expanse of white flesh that made him want to walk right over there and begin kissing her back, starting at the base of her neck downward, until he could pull her panties away. They'd made love three times the previous night. He suspected there would have been a fourth time this morning, but Emma had had other plans.
"Mama kicked off the blanket," Emma said matter-of-factly beside him. She walked to the bed and gently raised the blanket to cover her mother. Molly stirred. She fell over onto her back and opened her eyes.
"Emma," she said, and raised her hand to cup her daughter's face. "Have you been taking care of Ramsey?"
"Yes, Mama. He's a lot better. He promised his shoulder only hurt a little bit. The best thing is he's not worried about me anymore."
"Emma, I'll worry about you until you're ninety years old. Now if we could just get rid of the press then everything would be fine and dandy," Ramsey said. "I'd really like to take you guys down to meet all the people in my office. We've also got a dynamite view." He sighed. "But you can bet the press is hanging out there." He walked to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Molly's nose. "You have a good sleep?"
She gave him a long lazy look that made him start to get hard again. "Yeah, no bad dreams, just oblivion. It's nice for a change. I'd best call my mom before it gets too late in Italy. She was concerned about Emma, and I promised."
Later in the kitchen, Molly put through the call, while Ramsey stood at the counter chopping some carrots and broccoli. Emma was setting the table.
Molly smiled into the phone, balancing it between her neck and shoulder as she stole a carrot. "Yes, Mom. How are you?"
"Fine, dear. Is everything all right?"
Molly told her, in a highly edited version, how the man had been captured. She finally told her that he'd been murdered in the hospital.