Page 147 of Unruly

“Catherine will know where my stuff is. She’ll know what to look for.”

Cross hung up the call. Keeping one eye on the team of dogs and handlers maybe fifty feet away, he gathered the only things that would help him in the woods. A pocket knife under the seat. The lighter in the cup holder. And the phone in his lap.

The fake documents were just that … fake. They weren’t going to lead to him, and even the images used had been altered just enough to fit the disguise he liked to use during runs. A fake, sandy blond wig, and blue eye contacts that he covered with a pair of aviator sunglasses when he drove. He never ever took the sunglasses off. Should he need to stop for diesel, he only used stations that allowed him to pay at the pump. He didn’t take his sunglasses off, and only exited the truck with a ball cap on and a hoodie pulled over it.

Now or never.

Cross leaned over and opened the passenger door as he unbuckled his seat belt. He slid across the seats with the items in his pockets. He didn’t even think to grab his jacket in the back bed of the truck.

He hit the ground running. Dog barks and human shouts echoed at his back as he darted into the tree line.

The large, black wide-brimmed sunhat kept Catherine’s face hidden from view as a knock echoed on the door of the Hilton hotel room. She couldn’t very well use the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons.

Suspicion for her guest would be very bad.

Without moving away from her position at the window overlooking the pools down below, Catherine said, “It’s open.”

Raspier than her voice usually was. Softer than how she normally spoke. Careful with each word. The cigar she had half-smoked just a few minutes before helped her along with the slight voice change, although now she had the worst taste in her mouth.

And her lungs burned like hell.

Worth it.

For now.

Catherine didn’t turn to greet the guest that entered the hotel room. She kept her back turned to the woman while she sat on her chaise, and people-watched. The spaghetti strap, black dress was only visibly from the back, and she had been careful to curl her brown waves into a style she was not known to wear.

Nothing about her—from behind, anyway—was immediately recognizable.

She had been careful about this. All of it was planned to the smallest detail.

Catherine could not afford for one thing to go wrong at the moment. She had one job to do today, and she planned on doing it right.

The room door clicked shut, and then the audible slide of the lock fell into place as well. Apparently, the woman could follow directions she was given.

Too bad she hadn’t followed them before.

“Oh, I assumed I was meeting a man today,” the woman said from behind Catherine.

“No.”

“I was told—”

“I’m sure you can understand why I might want my identity to be layered a bit for my … protection,” Catherine said quietly.

Even she was a little surprised at how the sound of her voice changed with a couple of things to help it along. As long as she was mindful to speak at a level she usually didn’t, everything should be okay.

Besides, she had never actually had a face to face with Evira Masters.

Never once.

Catrina had always been particularly careful with her girls, and how she handled them. She only allowed meetings between her and one girl at a time. She rarely shared info about other girls with another one. When she did call a meeting between several, it was over faster than someone could blink, and Catrina did not allow them to linger.

For good reason, Catherine knew.

Her mother did not want the girls getting their own ideas about business. Frankly, it wasn’t good practice.

“The delicate nature of this arrangement I intend to make with you needs to be kept quiet at all times,” Catherine said as Evira’s footsteps clicked across the hardwood, coming closer. “It is the utmost importance to me.”