Noble Intentions: Season Three (3 page)

Jack stopped in front of the smoke
tinted glass door, caught sight of his reflection. Wrinkled blue striped
button-up shirt partially tucked into his matching wrinkled khakis. He’d taken
his jacket off during the walk to the hotel and it was draped over his forearm.
His brown hair was matted on the left side, a relic from his nap during the
flight.

He became aware of the fact that
while he couldn’t see inside, anyone in the hotel’s lobby could see him. He
pulled on the brass door handle, walked through the lobby, stopped in front of
the check-in counter. A young man squatted on a stool in front of a computer
monitor. He didn’t acknowledge Jack’s presence. Jack cleared his throat a few
times, and the man responded by saying, “Be right with you,” without looking
up.

Sure you will
.

He watched the man for a moment.
The guy’s skinny fingers danced across a dusty black keyboard. The white lettering
on the black keys was all but faded. After it became apparent that
right
with you
in fact meant
whenever the hell I feel like it
, Jack turned
away from the counter and found an empty seat nearby. Not just any seat,
though. He couldn’t have his back to the hotel’s entrance. That would afford
someone the opportunity to get the drop on him. Likewise, he couldn’t face the
entrance, leaving himself exposed to anyone entering the lobby from the
elevators.

And he didn’t want to be facing
away from the man behind the counter when the guy finally deemed Jack worthy of
his attention.

So he sat down in a high-back blue
fabric chair. It was rigid and uncomfortable, which was fine, as he felt drowsy
from the flight and his adventure getting from the airport to the hotel. If the
chair had been soft, he might have dozed off.

His position in the lobby allowed
him to monitor the entrance, elevators, and desk with nothing more than a
slight turn of his head. The sidewalk in front of the hotel was busy, but no
one who passed alarmed him. Tourists and locals alike, none deemed immediate
threats. An elderly couple entered the hotel and shuffled toward the reception
area. Jack looked at the guy behind the counter. The clerk looked up for a
fraction of a second, like he had when Jack entered. Again the clerk’s eyes
returned to his screen. But this time his arms jerked up and down in a quick
motion, then he stepped to the side. He had a smile plastered across his narrow
face.

“How can I help you?” the clerk
addressed the elderly couple.

Jack shook his head. Did he come
across as such an ignorant American that he wasn’t worthy of the same
attention? Whatever. No time to dwell on it.

He heard a ding, turned his head,
saw brass plated elevator doors slide open.

Jack moved his head slightly, moved
his eyes more, brought his right hand up and rubbed the side of his face,
shielding it from whoever stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby.

The guy was tall, handsome, dark
hair, two or three days’ worth of stubble on his lean, broad face. He wore what
appeared to be a designer suit, custom tailored. White pinstripes knifed
through dark blue fabric. Most would figure the guy to be a millionaire on
vacation. Not Jack. Because while most stop at the rugged good looks and custom
suit, Jack’s eyes moved to the shoes. And the shoes this guy wore were those of
a working man. Expensive? Yes. But these shoes were designed to get the guy
from point A to point B and everywhere in between no matter the circumstances.
Mud and rain? No problem. Off road? No problem. Hop a few fences? Again, no
problem. Kick a few heads? Now that’s what they were made for.

And they had to look good, too.

Jack noted that the guy bore a
resemblance to the man he saw in the taxi line at Heathrow.

The guy pulled out his cell phone,
turned away from the lobby.

Jack rose, slowly so as not to draw
any attention. He moved to the corner of the room and positioned himself near
the machine that dispensed free coffee to hotel guests. A fake ficus provided
extra cover. The man was out of his view, but he knew not for long. The only
areas beyond the elevator lobby were two halls that led to additional rooms,
the pool and the gym. The guy had a room already, and he was overdressed for
the pool or the gym.

The man entered the lobby, cell
phone in his left hand, held up to the side of his head, blocking his view of
Jack. Still, Jack didn’t like where he had positioned himself in relation to
the man. It would have been better if he had moved toward the front doors and
perhaps gone outside.

The guy stopped at the front desk,
turned his back toward the lobby.

Jack saw that as his opportunity.
He started toward the front of the lobby, clutching his cell phone in his right
hand and holding it up to his face. When he reached the half-way point between
the coffee machine and the doors, he heard the man speak, his accent British.

“Jack Noble.”

He’d been expecting it, but was not
ready for it. Jack turned his head to the right. The clerk shifted his stare
from the man in the custom suit to Jack. The guy in the suit started to look
over his shoulder. The guy didn’t move. He wasn’t speaking
to
Jack. He’d
been asking about him.

Jack diverted his eyes forward,
placed his hand on the door, heard the guy say, “Who was that?”

Jack assumed the man was referring
to him. He didn’t wait to hear the clerk’s response. His feet hit the sidewalk
and he turned right, crossed the street diagonally and pushed through the first
door he came to. As he stepped inside, a burst of warm air barreled down on
him. The beads of sweat on his forehead evaporated. He didn’t take the time to
assess his surroundings. Instead, he turned, took two steps to his right and
positioned himself behind a sequined covered mannequin next to the tinted
glass.

“Can I help you?” The voice was
female, British, cold.

Jack shifted his gaze to the left.
He saw the woman’s reflection hovering in the window. She was thin and
middle-aged and beyond that he didn’t care. He noticed that she was standing
next to a rack of evening gowns. His eyes darted left and right. The place was
a designer women’s clothing shop. That explained the overbearing smell of
perfume.

“I said,
can I help you
?”
She arched an eyebrow.

“I’ll be out of your way in a
moment,” Jack said.

“If you aren’t going to buy
something, please leave,” the woman said.

Jack glanced back at her to drive
his earlier response home. She flinched at his glare. He spun his head around
in time to see the hotel lobby door opening. The man in the suit stepped
outside, looked left, then right, turned in the direction of the latter, stayed
on the other side of the street. The man’s eyes moved methodically, square by
square.

Jack cursed under his breath. He
was dealing with a professional. He took two steps back, hoped that would
reduce the chance of him being seen from the outside.

“It’s tinted and mirrored,” the
woman said. “He can’t see you.”

“That’s gotta be a bitch for window
shoppers,” Jack said.

She forced a rhetorical laugh. “I
don’t want them. They dirty up my shop. Serious buyers only. Which you obviously
are not. So as soon as your little friend is out of sight, get out of my
place.”

British hospitality
.

“Yes, ma’am.” A moment later he
added, “Any chance you have a back door?”

“No.” She aimed a pale thin finger
toward the front door.

Jack waited until the man in the
suit passed by, then he left the store. Cool spring air, a mixture of cherry
blossom and exhaust, greeted him once again. The remaining dampness on his
forehead grew cold. He paced the guy across the street, staying far enough back
that he could get away should a chase ensue.

The man stopped in front of a place
called Libby’s, went inside. From where Jack stood, there looked to be a menu
taped to the outside of the window next to the front door. Jack waited a
minute, then crossed the street and continued toward the restaurant. He stopped
when he reached the corner. The smell of wood smoke enveloped the building.
Jack cupped his hands to his face and pressed against the glass.

Four people dining at a table next
to the window flinched when they noticed him peering in at them. They stared
up, mouths agape, eyes narrowed.

Jack shrugged, offered a
half-smile, returned to scanning the room. Where had the guy gone? The place
was dimly lit. It offered some sense of privacy despite the wide open layout of
the place. Rows of tables with nothing separating them from one another. He
spotted the man, twenty feet in front of him, seated at the bar. The guy seemed
confident. He wasn’t constantly checking over his shoulders or looking around
the room. He laid in wait, looking helpless and limp. The same way some of the
most lethal predators on the planet act.

“What the bloody hell are you
doing?”

Jack jerked back, whipped his head
to the left. He’d dismissed the portly man in the black pants and white
button-up shirt heading toward him.

“Well?” the guy said.

“Looking for my brother,” Jack
said.

“Well you’re scaring the piss outta
my customers. So either come inside and have a drink and a bite to eat, or beat
it.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder.

Jack placed his hands on the window
and pressed his face to the glass. The man in the suit rose from his barstool
and walked toward the back of the restaurant.

“I’m going in,” Jack said. He
pushed past the portly man and pulled the door open. “Where’s your restroom?”

“Loo’s in the back.”

Jack moved cautiously through the
restaurant, concerned that the guy in the suit might not be the only person in
the place looking for him. The restaurant could have been a designated spot to
meet should things fall through.

Glances were cast his way. None
lingered. They almost immediately returned to their plates or their drinks or
their lunch mates.

It took Jack less than ten seconds
to cross the length of the room. He entered a dimly lit corridor, stopped in
front of the men’s room door, pushed it open. Warm light flooded the hall,
carrying with it the floral smell of chemical air freshener.

Jack stepped in, unarmed, cautious.

The guy in the suit stood in front
of a urinal, his back to Jack.

Jack stopped.

“Help you with something?” the guy
said in a British accent.

Jack said nothing, took a quiet
step forward.

“I’d caution you not to go any
further. I’m armed.”

Jack ignored the warning, took
another two steps, reassured by the belief that the man would conclude the task
at hand. Only then would the guy reach for his gun and turn around. In that
time span, Jack could close the distance and neutralize the guy.

He was wrong.

The man in the suit whipped around
in a half-circle, pistol drawn, grin on his face.

“Hello, Jack.”

Jack stood four feet away from the
man in the dark suit. His heart raced. His muscles tensed. His stomach was in
his throat. The guy had his pistol out, but his aim was off and he was
unbalanced. The guy’s position opened up a window of opportunity for attack,
albeit a small one. Jack did not hesitate. Years of training and finely tuned
instincts took over. He turned to the side, lunged forward. His right arm
neutralized the threat of the gun. His left fist neutralized the threat of the
man.

In two seconds the fight was over.

Jack retrieved the pistol. He
leaned over the man, slapped the guy across the face. When the guy didn’t come
to, he slapped him again.

The man groaned. His eyelids
fluttered open, eyes focused on the bright lights behind Jack’s head, then rolled
back, replaced by bloodshot whites.

“Who are you?” Jack said.

The guy moaned, refocused his eyes,
said nothing.

“Answer me,” Jack demanded.

The man cleared his throat.
“Slater. Leon Slater.”

“What do you want with me, Leon?
Why were you waiting for me in the hotel?”

Leon shook his head.

“That was you at the airport,
wasn’t it?”

Leon nodded.

“Why?” Jack said. “No one knows I’m
in England.”

“You’re wrong.” Leon scooted back
and propped himself up on his elbows. His head lingered below the base of a
stained urinal.

Jack rose, offered his hand to
Leon, helped the man to his feet. “How’s that?”

“You traveled over here under your
own bloody name. You don’t think the moment they scanned your passport every
damn agency in the U.K. became aware of your presence?”

The point was a good one and gave
Jack reason to pause. Of course he had been worried about it, but his name had
been cleared. He wasn’t wanted in the U.K. for anything. And he figured if
something was going to happen, it would have been at customs, and a quick call
to Frank would have fixed it.

“I’m retired,” Jack said. “Hadn’t
really thought about it. How’d you get to the airport so fast if they’d only
recently flagged me?”

“We knew your flight plans. Dottie
insisted I come meet you and escort you in case someone else tried to get to
you first.”

“Dottie?” Jack hadn’t considered
that Leon was there to meet him and escort him to Dottie’s place.

“Yeah,” Leon said. “I work for her.
Anyway, you took off in a damn hurry and you were in the cab with the girl. I
figured it best to reach out to you later.”

Jack walked over to the bay of
sinks, ran the hot water, splashed a handful across his face. “Why’d you draw
your gun on me?”

“I was offering the gun to you.”
Leon patted his left side, close to his underarm. “My piece is holstered right
here. I knew you’d be unarmed and thought you might appreciate a weapon. Didn’t
you think it funny I wasn’t aiming at you?”