Runaway (21 page)

Peet looked serious again. “Honestly, this isn’t a good thing, you know. Are you in love with her? She lives in London, for God’s sake. What do you even know about her?”

She wasn’t about to tell Peet that in London, Catherine had a lover who still thought everything was fine. Jan knew Peet well enough to know she’d not approve of Catherine sleeping with Jan when she was already in a relationship. In truth, it wasn’t high on Jan’s list of things she liked about Catherine.

“Peet, please. Let me figure this all out on my own, okay? I’m a big girl.”

Peet snorted.

“And I’m sorry that she treated you badly on the Michigan thing. Let’s just say she felt some urgency to find me and that’s the best thing she could come up with.”

“Did you get any work done up there? Or were you just dealing with Catherine’s sense of urgency?”

“We worked plenty, and she knows what she’s doing. She took a guy down in the woods like he was a scarecrow.”

Jan filled Peet in on what they’d discovered during their trip. They returned to their desks and Jan pulled out a folder with the papers rescued from David Conlon’s trash.

“We need to finish going through these to see if there’s anything we missed last night. I sped through them, but I did pick up some listing sheets for property in Idaho. One of these may be the place they’re headed to.”

“Why don’t we call an agent out there and see what’s closed recently?”

“I’ll do that. I need you to contact the Harringtons and let them know what’s happening. We’re going to need to go to Idaho.”

“Who is ‘we’? Would that be you and me, or you and Catherine?”

Jan paused. “How much does it matter to you?”

“As long as I know I have a job here, I’m willing to do what the boss says. I just want to be dealt with straight up.”

“Understood. We’ll leave it to her then.”

Peet looked pensive. “But don’t trust her completely with everything, Jan. Like your heart, for instance. You’ve only known her a couple days.”

Vivian sashayed up to their desks and handed them each a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Peet asked.

“As part of the new regime’s assumption of power,” Vivian said, “we’re all required to undergo a new background check. You have to fill that out and get it back to me by tomorrow.”

Jan stared at the questionnaire in front of her. “What the fuck? Why don’t they just look at all our files?”

“I have a background check from not that long ago,” Peet said. “Why do they need new ones?”

“Listen, in case you two don’t realize it yet, Global Chartered Security is a top-drawer firm. It’s not like our provincial, pea brain of a company can be trusted to have checked out our people properly.”

“What a pain in the ass,” Peet said. She picked up a pen as she looked the form over.

“What happens if we don’t do it?” Jan asked.

“That they were very clear on. I just heard it from Engstrom herself. If you don’t comply with the background check, or the background check turns up something hinky, you’re out. She says it’s about their insurance coverage.”

Vivian looked at Jan and patted her cheek. “Don’t be so worried. They probably won’t turn up that drug ring you run on your off time. Have fun, girls.”

She sashayed away.

This was bad news. By the time Jan started as a security guard at Titan when she was twenty years old, she’d gathered enough documents and references supporting her identity as Jan Roberts that she could easily pass the scrutiny of Titan’s background check on her. But that was almost twenty years ago. And GCS would certainly have a more rigorous routine check, powered by the Internet and their own vast resources. They would discover that as far as Jan Roberts goes, there was no there there.

Peet was calmly filling out her form. She didn’t have anything to worry about. She was a straight-laced wife and mother, albeit a big, dykey one. She was a former homicide detective with ribbons on her dress uniform. She was generous of spirit because she had plenty to give. Jan felt mean and desperate; the tenuous hold she had on bringing Catherine into her life, bringing something in that could glue her together and make her a vessel and not so much of a sieve; that would all slide away as soon as she filled out the damn form and the drill started spinning down into her past. She felt like a house of cards with someone’s finger about to give a little push.

She got up and moved to the other side of the office. Maybe if she just saw Catherine’s face she’d know what to do, though her choices were limited. She could submit the form and endure an agonizing wait. Would they be able to tell that the birth certificate she had for “Jan Roberts” was one she bought from some guy in LA? It was in her file, slipped in by Junior Begala after the most cursory of glances, she was sure. Would they bother to check anything prior to age sixteen? Would they see a red flag when she couldn’t list a single relative, an emergency contact, anyone at all who could confirm she was who she said she was? She didn’t really know how vulnerable she was to exposure. It had all worked for so long without mishap.

She’d long ago checked the national databases to see if there was anything there related to a girl named Grace Anderson, her given name, one that she now barely remembered. There was no investigation into the shooting of her father that she could find, and she would have been surprised if there had been. If her father had been killed by her shot, the others in the camp might have buried him, but she doubted they would have sought justice. And if he were wounded, he wouldn’t have wanted the police contacted—either to report that his daughter was missing or that she’d shot him.

Her other option was to tell Catherine all about it. It was a thought so large and unexpected it was like a boulder dropping right in front of her. Or a bridge? Maybe it was an unexpected bridge, one that would take her somewhere she’d never been—into someone’s confidence. No other person had inspired the thought in her. Catherine did.

Jan saw Vivian back at her desk, near the conference room that Catherine had appropriated as her office. The room was empty.

“Have you seen Catherine?”

Vivian slowly turned from her computer and looked up at Jan.

“Hoping for another make out session, are we?”

Jan decided to pretend she didn’t know what Vivian was talking about. She couldn’t take the teasing just now.

“I need to talk to her about something.”

“Uh huh. Well, you’re in luck. She left about half an hour ago to go back to her hotel. Perhaps you’d care to join her there?”

“Did she say if she’d be back?”

Vivian smiled in that way that said a person both pitied and wanted to comfort you, which wasn’t in the least comforting. “Is she not keeping you up-to-date on her whereabouts, sugar? That’s rough. I’d be careful with her if I were you.”

“Why do you say that?” Jan took the bait. She wanted to know.

“She runs at a different speed than you, I think. Maybe not in your wheelhouse.”

Jan didn’t feel insulted. She thought it was probably true. “Just tell me what you know about when she’ll be back.”

“She didn’t say. She just blasted out of here and told me to reach her on her cell with anything important. I can tell you where she’s staying if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. I already know.”

“Good girl,” Vivian said as she turned to her computer. “Just be careful. And don’t forget that form I dropped off.”

*

Jan left her car with the Ritz valet and took the two elevators up to Catherine’s room. The contrast with the Pinehurst Inn wasn’t lost on her, nor the realization that the Pinehurst fit her much better than the Ritz, and the opposite was true for Catherine.

She knocked on the door to Catherine’s room.

“Who is it?” Catherine’s voice came through the thick wood door.

“It’s Jan.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a good time. May I call you?”

Jan’s heart started to sink. Something wasn’t right. She heard another muffled voice in the room, and before she could decide whether to stay or flee, the door was thrown open. Standing before her in a white Ritz bathrobe was Ellen. Jan recognized her from the photos she’d studied online, but she was more beautiful in person. Catherine stood behind her, taking Ellen’s arm and tugging her away from the door.

“Is this the new woman?” Ellen asked. She didn’t seem angry as much as contemptuous. Jan stood frozen in place as Catherine stepped closer to her. “Ellen, please. This is someone from my office. Jan, I’m very sorry. I’ll have to get back to you later.”

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Let’s let Jan in and you two can take care of your business matter.” She pulled Jan in by the arm. She felt she was being pulled into a drama she wanted no part of. She lifted her arm away from Ellen and stepped back.

“Oh, sorry,” Ellen said. “I haven’t properly introduced myself, since Catherine is apparently not going to do the honors. I’m Ellen, Catherine’s wife. Maybe you didn’t know she was married?”

Jan turned and left, striding down the long hallway as fast as she could without breaking into a trot, but not fast enough to escape the sound of Ellen’s laughter. A mad sort of laughter, as if catching Catherine with another woman was a form of triumph rather than a source of sadness or anger. Then she heard the door slam shut.

*

It was only October, but already the white holiday lights were hung up and down Michigan Avenue, sparkling now as Jan drove through the rush hour traffic. The days were short. But not as short, Jan thought, as the time she seemed to be allowed to be happy. Half a day here, perhaps an overnight there. It was stripped away almost as soon as she realized how good she felt. She was being dunked in and out of happiness. She was pissed off.

Jan realized she might be a little unrealistic about how long it took to end a long-term relationship, a marriage, given her complete lack of experience at either having one or getting out of one. But the way Catherine seemed to be nearly cowering in the room behind Ellen made Jan lose heart. She felt betrayed and utterly confused. When her phone rang she checked to make sure it wasn’t Catherine before taking the call.

“It’s Natalie Towne,” the voice said. It took a moment for Jan to remember the high school teacher. The very helpful, quite good-looking high school teacher. “I’m sorry if I’m catching you at a bad time.”

“Not a bad time at all. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know if you’re at liberty to say, but I was hoping you could tell me if you’ve found Maddy. We haven’t heard a word at the school.”

Jan drove down the ramp that took her onto Lake Shore Drive and sped north with the traffic.

“It’s nice that you called. And I wish I could tell you that we have found Maddy, but we haven’t.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Her parents must be frantic.”

Jan bit her tongue. It never paid to disparage her clients, but it was sometimes very tempting.

“I think we have some leads to go on. We’re heading out to Idaho tomorrow morning to try to track her down.”

“Idaho?”

“It turns out the term paper she wrote for your class was practically a road map. We just missed her in Michigan and have reason to believe she and others are heading to Idaho.”

Natalie was quiet for a moment. “That’s astounding. I mean, I didn’t think she was really going to do anything about this living free from society thing she wrote about. She’s only sixteen.”

Jan was nearing Belmont, where she’d turn off to go to her place. Or to a bar.

“This may seem out of the blue,” Natalie said, “but could you meet for a drink by any chance?”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at home. I live in Lakeview. You live in the city, don’t you?”

“Yeah, in Lakeview.”

“Can you meet me at The Closet?” Natalie said.

The Closet was one of the oldest gay bars in the city. This put a whole new light on meeting Natalie for a drink.

“I can be there in a few minutes.”

Jan hung up and got off the Drive at Belmont and then north on Broadway, back into the heart of Boystown. All roads lead to Boystown, it seemed. And everyone was gay. She hadn’t really picked up a vibe from Natalie, had only thought she was pretty when she first met her, and a welcome distraction when she called a few minutes before. And now she was poised to be a pretty big distraction, which was just what she needed. She resolved to put Catherine out of her mind and concentrated on finding parking within hiking distance of The Closet.

The bar was half full when Jan entered. She settled onto a barstool at the end farthest from the door, away from a noisy group of young lesbians who were acting like it was two in the morning rather than six in the evening. Jan never acted like it was two in the morning, even when it was, even when she’d been their age. She was sober even when she was drunk, serious even when she joked. She thought she must be a complete drag to be around.

She saw Natalie enter and look around the bar for Jan. When Natalie spotted her she began to make her way back, stopped a couple times along the way by people—men and women—who wanted to say hello to her. She was not a drag to be around, it seemed. And she looked great—layers of clothes in fall colors, the kind of assemblage of disparate pieces that some women put together so brilliantly, and seemingly effortlessly. They knew how to tie scarves twelve different ways, all of which looked like they’d been flung carelessly around the neck and fallen into an arrangement that perfectly complimented the look and feel of what they wore. It was all well beyond Jan how any of this was possible. Catherine was the same way.

“I’m so glad you could meet me,” Natalie said. She climbed onto the stool next to Jan, deposited her bag at her feet, and shrugged out of her jacket. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why is that?” Jan asked.

The bartender came by and Natalie insisted on buying Jan a drink. She ordered beer. Natalie ordered Scotch. “Long day,” she said. She looked at Jan. “I guess I thought you might be all business and not willing to strike up anything beyond that.”

“Is that why you called? To see if I was all business?”