“But you had to talk to that secretary this afternoon to reach Dan. Maybe she overheard the conversation.”
He swung his head to stare at her without really seeing her, no doubt mentally weighing the suggestion that the chief’s assistant factored into this betrayal.
He shrugged. “I don’t see it but maybe. What it tells me is we can’t talk to anyone. We’re on our own until Dan reaches out to us.” The gate agent called their flight, but Clay held her arm, waiting until all of the passengers were on board before moving Cassidy to the portal. His head never stopped pivoting.
• • •
The hum of the engines and the sheer terror of the day combined to defeat her efforts to stay awake. She woke at Clay’s gentle urging, sleepily realizing her head nestled on his shoulder.
Clay retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment and locked his hand on her shoulder while they moved single file down the narrow aisle and off the plane. At this hour, well after midnight, the airport was relatively empty.
“What are we going to do?” she asked when Clay reached for her hand.
“Let’s get a room for the night. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow we’ll rent a car and drive south.”
“I hate to remind you, but it’s already tomorrow. Will we drive to the police station or return to your apartment?”
Her heart tugged when she looked at the dark circles ringing his eyes and their muted hue. He looked tired and confused, like a lost little boy.
“We can’t go to either of those places, honey. We are nomads at the moment. I hope Dan figures out how to communicate with us. I’m too tired to think rationally about what to do next. Tired isn’t good, it will make me sloppy. We’ll decide later, okay?”
She offered her best reassuring smile. “That’s fine, Clay. We’ll figure something out.”
Clay slept until almost eleven, waking to discover Cassidy bent over her laptop, her fingers tapping the keyboard. He watched her, smiling at the wrinkles on her forehead as she concentrated.
“Hey you, hi,” he whispered, stretching the kinks from his back and legs.
She rewarded him with a bright smile. “Hi yourself. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
He shook his head. She had showered and put on clean clothes. Her face shined with the little bit of makeup she wore and her spiked hair framed her face. The complimentary newspaper lay in sections on the floor. “What are you looking at that makes you frown like that?”
She flashed a confident smile. “I’m plotting our next move. Or at least trying to figure out some options.”
Clay sat up, threw his legs over the side of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh? What’d you come up with?”
Her eyes gleamed as she reported the different flights they could take from Cleveland to Phoenix, consulting notes she’d written on the hotel tablet. She’d also mapped out several driving routes, in the event Clay opted for ground travel. With all that had happened and gone wrong, she wasn’t giving up the fight. She was ready to start another journey with him into the unknown.
He admitted a new admiration for her. He’d asked her to trust him and she did, unconditionally.
“Of course, none of that could matter if Dan says we should return to the police station,” she said, reining his thoughts back in to the moment. “But I haven’t heard your phone vibrate.”
He checked his cell phone for messages. Nothing.
“I’ll shower and we can discuss our options while we get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Twenty minutes later, he stood before the full-length mirror tucking his Polo shirt into his jeans. Sleep and the hot water worked wonders. His thoughts were clearer and he was centered again. Cassidy reached for the room service menu.
“Why don’t you go blond for me and we’ll go downstairs to the hotel restaurant?”
Her eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning opening a new toy. She jumped from the loveseat and retrieved the wig from the desk. Dutifully she added the glasses, turned with her palms spread wide, and grinned. “Ready.”
“Is this a good idea?” she asked when the elevator doors closed and they started their descent.
Clay shrugged. “Well, by now I suspect they know we weren’t on that plane to Arizona. The advantage we have is that they aren’t looking for Clay and Eliza Kinge, so they shouldn’t be able to track us here. To our disadvantage, we don’t know what is happening at home, so we can’t go back there yet. I have a mind to just chill here for a day or two or until Dan can get word to us.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I wish I knew, hon.”
“Can’t you call Maggie? After all, you are her brother.”
“No. Dan will make contact when it’s safe.”
He waited until they were seated and had ordered lunch before continuing. “Cass, do you know how to shoot?”
She gasped and clutched her hands to her throat. “No. I don’t like guns.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If you live with a cop, you have to learn to live with guns. Guns don’t kill, irrational people with guns do.”
“That’s a political debate.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t blame the car for a fatal traffic accident, do you?”
She lowered her gaze to the tabletop.
“Ever handle a gun?”
Her head snapped up and she shook it, wide-eyed. “As long as I stay with you, why would I need one?”
“As much as I’m enjoying this time with you, ignoring the circumstances of course, I can’t be with you every minute. Right now, if you need to use the ladies room, you have to walk to the front of this restaurant and out of my sight.”
“You could come with me.”
He smiled at her quick solution. It was the first time he’d done that in days. They were running for their lives and she still could make him smile, like a bright ray of sunshine after a long, gray winter. He hoped they could get through this and he could look forward to her sunshine every day.
“And call attention to both of us while I stand outside the bathroom door? I don’t think so.”
“Well then, I’ll just hold it.” Now he laughed out loud.
“I have a better idea. I have a small pistol in my briefcase. We’ll go over the basics of firearm safety and shooting when we get back to the room. I want you to know how to use it in case of an emergency.”
She swallowed so hard her Adam’s apple jumped. “Are you going to make me carry it?”
“Not right away.” Their meals arrived and the conversation ceased.
• • •
After lunch, she convinced Clay to send their dirty clothes to the hotel laundry, paying extra to have them ready by noon the next day. Now, she sat beside him on the bed, their thighs touching, her right arm rubbing against the muscles in his left arm as he explained the mechanics of the black mini-Glock .40-caliber pistol. He handled it like a feather, but clutched in her hand, her biceps strained to keep it level.
“Lock your wrist.”
She did, using her other hand to level the weapon. Sleek and cold in her grip, she couldn’t imagine actually aiming and firing the way Clay was demonstrating now.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes.”
No. She concentrated on the nausea, willing her lunch to stay down, forcing herself to stay at his side, focusing her eyes on the weapon without really seeing, silently praying that she would never, ever have to do what he was explaining.
But what if that son of a bitch Tony DelMorrie stood before her, the man who had virtually ruined her life? If he stood in front of her threatening Clay’s life or terrorizing Maggie and Jack, or if he screamed that he would end hers like he did the day she fled the convenience station? Could she pull the trigger then? She’d resolved that he wouldn’t push her around anymore, that he wouldn’t keep her in the dark. She reminded herself that enough was enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and envisioned Amber, smiling, laughing, wiping sandwich sauce from her lips. Her heart tugged.
“Cassidy, answer me.”
Instead, she raised the unloaded gun to the window, balanced her right hand in her left palm in a steady grip, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The decisive click cut through the anxiety in the room.
“Don’t worry Clay.” She inhaled, renewing her resolve. “If I have to, I will.”
• • •
The little shit had better be kidding. “What do you mean you lost her? You’re shittin’ me, right?”
Johnny Tanzini imagined Mittens squirming on the other end of the phone. He shoulda known better than to leave this kind of job to the manboy and some sweaty goombah he didn’t know.
“Our info was solid, Boss. But they didn’t get off the plane. Maybe she got sick or somethin’. Tony says he got eyes on every flight settin’ down in Arizona, and we got our guys watchin’ every plane coming back here.”
“Yeah, well, Tony has been followin’ her all over the freakin’ United States and he ain’t caught her yet. I don’t put much stock in his abilities.”
“I hear ya, Boss. I know you ain’t happy, but look at it this way: they ain’t got no place to go but back home. That’s where we control the situation. No fuckin’ pansies from the West Coast interferin’.”
“I hear ya. But I ain’t whackin’ a cop, you hear me? Just her. She’s the target. You kill a cop, we’ll have every freakin’ police agency all over us, includin’ the legit businesses. He’s off limits. Tell me you understand, Mittens. Tell me you ain’t gonna fuck this up.”
“I hear ya, Boss. Just her in the crosshairs. Got it.”
His pinging phone vibrating on the nightstand awakened them. Cassidy sat up, pulling the sheet and blanket to her shoulders. She slept in her panties and one of Clay’s T-shirts, having sent most of her clothes to the laundry. The shirt bunched around her waist.
Clay reached for his cell, which cast the only light in the darkened room, touched the screen, and smiled. He turned the screen to Cassidy.
“E.T. Go home!”
“Is it from Dan?”
Clay checked the screen. “No, it’s from Maggie. Something is still wrong. But something must be right or she wouldn’t have sent this text.”
“Are you going to answer?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
“Does it mean we go back home tomorrow?”
Clay snuggled under the covers and plopped his arm over her bare thighs, pulling himself along side of her, electrifying every nerve ending in her body. “No. It’s the code to go to the safe house.”
“Where is the safe house?”
“You’ll see tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”
“Will you stay there with me?”
He raised his head from the pillow and stared at her through the darkness. “Of course I’ll be there with you. Why would you ask that?”
She slid down into the covers, pulling them to her chin. “I keep waiting for you to turn me over to someone else, Clay. That would be the safe, smart thing to do.”
He pulled her closer, dropping his left leg over both of hers. “No one ever accused me of being smart. I’ve got too much invested in you to turn you over to someone else. You feel incredible under these covers and it’s all I can do to keep from rolling on top of you right now and making love to you. I’m not letting that go. Go to sleep, hon. It’s going to be fine now.”
• • •
Lauren shuddered when her elbows stuck to the plastic red and white checkered tablecloth. Mittens had commanded this meeting at Ron’s Ragu Room, an Italian restaurant in a section of town she never ventured to. She doubted all four wheels would be intact on her Mercedes when she returned to it. The waiter lugged a gallon jug of the house red to her table and handed her an oversized menu encased in vinyl, just as sticky as the tabletop. She ordered the rigatoni, just as Mittens specified, and an iced tea, passing on the wine. Her taste ran toward, dry, fine cabernets, not brewed-in the-backroom-by-the-barrel concoctions. Besides, she needed to keep her head clear.
She inwardly grimaced when she saw Mittens bounce in the door, nodding and shaking hands at every table, but forced a smile and pasted it on her face. He acted like a movie star greeting his fans, patting the men on the back and kissing the women on each cheek, throwing his head back to laugh loudly and too often. There was something to be said about being a big fish in a small pond, but someone needed to tell Mittens he was a minnow in a fishbowl. Definitely small time.
Surveying the food on her table, he smiled. “Whaddaya think? Ain’t it the best rigatoni you ever ate?”
She smiled, remixed the sauce-covered noodles of the untouched entrée with her fork, and nodded. “This place is fantastic. A well-kept secret.”
His head bobbed. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Automatically, a waiter brought him a tumbler of wine. Mittens drank half of it, smacked his lips, and pulled out a chair. “Let’s git down to business. Did you bring your wallet?”
She cocked her head and smirked. “Not so fast, Mittens. The last time we talked, you didn’t know where she was. I told you, no money until I see some results.”
He nodded and bobbed his head. “I know, I know, we had some complications. But that’s all changed. My source in the police department came through for me. In fact, your ex and,” he paused, glanced from side to side and cleared his throat, “your friend should be arriving at a designated location even as we speak.”
“Where?”
“Ah, I can’t reveal the exact address. But it’s what they call a safe house. Actually, it’s not too far from here.”
She leveled her gaze at him. “And do you have a plan?”
He grinned stupidly and spread his palms wide. “Of course I do. But it’s better if you don’t know the details.”
“I’m paying for the details,” Lauren snapped. “Tell me.”
The price was twenty thousand. Lauren would have gladly doubled that to extinguish Clay’s little slut. She wasn’t convinced this little man could pull it off even as she slipped Mittens a bulky envelope. “Half now. Half when I read the obituary.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, salivating as he eyed the packet but smart enough not to grab for it and gawk at its contents.
“When this is all done, why don’t you and me have a celebration dinner here together? We make a pretty good team, I think.”