Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

“Jack,” said Lindsey.

She had appeared behind Nina and crossed in front of her to reach Barrett. She wore the regal and slightly forced smile of a homecoming queen and if she felt any anxiety over seeing her husband conversing with Nina and me, there was no sign of it that I could detect.

Barrett’s eyelids pricked up like an animal’s ears when he heard his wife’s voice, and he reached for her the way a child might reach for a butterfly. He took her hand, nodded toward me, and announced, “Look who I found.”

“McKenzie,” Lindsey said and kissed my cheek. “But I saw him first. We danced together earlier.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Barrett said. “Danced awfully close, I thought.” To me, he added, “You’ll be getting a call from the Minnesota Department of Revenue in the morning.”

“Hey,” I said. “Look at the time. We should be going.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Nina told me. “We’re going to dance.”

“Forgive me,” said Barrett. “Lindsey, this is Nina Truhler.”

“Nina, I enjoyed your performance very much,” Lindsey told her as they shook hands.

“Thank you,” said Nina.

“What a lovely gown.”

“You’re very kind.”

“I’m also very tired,” said Lindsey. “Excuse me, but we’re heading home.”

“We are?” said Barrett.

“Jack,” Lindsey said. “You made me promise to drag you home before midnight no matter how much fun you were having.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re flying to Washington in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s dance.”

Lindsey turned to Nina and me.

“You kids,” she said. “I bet you could dance until they rolled up the floor, go out for a nightcap, maybe a moonlit walk . . .”

“Hummida, hummida,” I said.

“And still get up at the crack of dawn and be fresh as a daisy.” She turned back to her husband. “Remember when you could do that?”

“Are you calling me old?”

Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest.

Barrett sighed. “Message received,” he said. “Good night, Nina. McKenzie. And hey,” he added, looking first at Nina and then glancing at me, “do the right thing.”

I felt my body stiffen at the phrase and then go soft as I watched John and Lindsey Barrett disappear down the corridor beyond the bandstand. It can’t be, my trusted voice announced. There is just no way. Followed by, What the hell is going on?

“Mac, are you okay?”

I took Nina’s arm and pulled her close. She rested her head against my shoulder.

“Mac?”

“I’m okay. A little dizzy. I had some bad chardonnay before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The orchestra returned to the stage and Nina asked, “Would you care to dance?”

“Yes,” I told her.

And we did, until they rolled up the floor.

At 1:15 A.M. it was actually warmer in the parking lot of the International Market Square than it had been when we arrived, such was the weather in Minnesota. My arm was around Nina’s waist and her arm was curled around mine, and we walked slowly and silently as lovers do toward my Audi. We had arrived late, so the car was parked in the farthest, darkest corner of the lot. The lot had been plowed down to the asphalt and the heels of Nina’s boots made nice clicking sounds as we walked.

I was escorting Nina to the passenger door, car keys in hand, when a voice called out.

“McKenzie.”

We stopped in front of the car. I edged Nina behind me, shielding her with my body.

“Who is it?”

“Is that your girl? Nice.” The voice came from out of the darkness between the two SUVs parked directly in front of me. It was masculine. Disguised. Unsettling.

“What do you want?”

“To give you a warning. To give you both a warning.”

“What’s that?”

“There is nowhere you can run that I can’t follow. There is nowhere you can hide that I can’t find you.”

“You’re telling me this—why?” I moved my thumb over the key chain.

“Barrett cannot be allowed to run for the U.S. Senate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

I pressed the red panic button on my key chain. Immediately, a loud, piercing alarm reverberated across the parking lot. The Audi’s headlights flashed on and off, illuminating the space between the two cars. The man standing there brought his arm up to guard his face. It wasn’t necessary. His face was encased in sheer nylon and I couldn’t make out his features. He screamed an obscenity and started running in the opposite direction. He was wearing a brown leather coat instead of the blue jacket worn by my assailant on the skyway. I watched him hit the street, turn right, and disappear down the block.

I wonder who he works for?

I turned around and embraced Nina. I searched her face for a suggestion of fear or anger, but there was none.

She said, “Governor Barrett is running for the Senate?” over the noise of the car alarm.

“Shhh. It’s supposed to be a secret.”