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“I’ll take a sandwich and a diet soda. I’d offer to stay on the bus and watch your bag, but I have to use the restroom.”
“I’ve got it.” He hitched the strap of his bag over his shoulder and stood up, swaying slightly as the bus came to a halt.
Mike ducked to look out the window past Claire, and his gut rolled as he took in the multitude of people crisscrossing in front of the station. Anybody could be out there, but the FBI hadn’t gone public with Claire’s picture yet. Maybe they were hoping to shield a sitting senator’s stepdaughter, not that the sitting senator would mind at all.
He knew a little about the perks enjoyed by politicians and their families. Jase Bennett, one of his Prospero team members, was the son of Senator Carl Bennett and used to talk about the privileges his family enjoyed.
He followed Claire down the steps of the bus and took her arm. “I’ll get some food, you hit the restroom and we’ll meet back on the bus. Fifteen minutes—don’t be late.”
He watched her head toward the ladies’ room, and then he turned the corner in the direction of the food concession. He shuffled along in line, and when he got to the counter, he ordered two sandwiches and grabbed a bottle of water, Claire’s soda and a bag of chips.
He stashed the food in his bag and lingered in the hallway outside the restrooms. He hadn’t noticed Claire going back out to the bus, but then he hadn’t been paying attention. His eye twitched, and he rubbed it. No way had anyone followed them to the airport or followed the bus. He’d double-checked and triple-checked.
Claire must’ve gotten back on the bus.
He strode outside where the bus spewed exhaust as it idled. He hopped on, and his step faltered. Their seats were still empty.
He scanned the rest of the bus and the passengers that didn’t even fill half the seats.
He cranked his head toward the driver. “Do we still have a few minutes? My wife isn’t back yet.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait for you, but not too long.” The driver tapped a clock above the windshield. “We’re on a schedule.”
“Understood.” Mike hopped off the bus, his heart slamming against his chest.
He entered the station again, swiveling his head from left to right. He jogged toward the restrooms, his bag banging against his hip.
This time he didn’t wait, he shoved open the door to the ladies’ room. A woman looked up, her brows colliding over her nose.
“This is the women’s restroom.”
He bent forward, looking under the doors of all the empty stalls. No Claire.
“Doesn’t anyone have any boundaries anymore?”
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for someone.”
“That’s what the other guy said.”
Chapter Eight
Claire stared at the barrel of the gun. She never should’ve left the ladies’ room with him. He wouldn’t have shot her with that woman in the other stall.
Would he shoot her now?
She swallowed as she glanced down the alley with the car parked at the end. He just might.
“Just keep walking, Claire, all the way to the end of the alley. It’s going to be okay. We don’t really believe you had anything to do with the assassination of the director. We want to talk, to protect you.”
Her gaze shifted from the gun to the man aiming it, dressed in faded jeans and a dark jacket zipped over a hoodie. Had the FBI changed its dress code recently?
She shook her head. “I’m not going with you. You’re going to have to shoot me here.”
A slight movement behind the man caught her attention. Mike’s face appeared in the opening of the door leading to the bus station. She quickly directed her focus back to her assailant’s face.
“Nobody wants to shoot you, Claire. Just get in the car at the end of the alley, and we’ll discuss this whole misunderstanding.”
“There’s no misunderstanding on my part. Someone, my stepfather, is setting up me and Hamid Kahn for the car bombing. Who are you? You’re not FBI.”
Mike had pushed open the door without a sound, but something must’ve alerted the man.
He spun around, but Mike had anticipated the move. He dropped into a crouch and then flew at the man, his long leg extended in front of him.
