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She hung up the phone.
“Your pulse is elevated, Casey,” Yoda announced. “And your breathing is labored. You are distressed.”
“Yes, Yoda, I am.” Casey was trying to keep her emotions in check.
“What the hell just happened?” Ryan demanded, coming to his feet and walking over to Casey. “You look sick. What did Sharp tell you?”
Casey met his questioning gaze with her sober one. “Get the team together. Call an emergency meeting. Glen Fisher escaped today.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Suzanne took the most indirect route possible, leaving her Manhattan apartment the instant she heard from Glen. He’d called her as soon as he and Jack got on the road and were driving south. His instructions were to wear a turtleneck shirt, grab the red wig and be on the move.
By the time the police received word of Glen’s escape, Suzanne would be too far away to tail. Of course, this would be the one and only time she’d get to see him—until they vanished for good. It would be too risky to make this trip once her apartment was under surveillance. As it was, she’d return today to a waiting team of law enforcement officials, who’d be firing questions at her.
Glen had prepared her for all of them.
Suzanne glanced at her watch. Even with time on her side, she’d taken mass transit and taxis in a roundabout route that finally landed her at the motel where Glen was staying. Jack would probably still be there, talking over the outstanding details of whatever they needed to take care of before they were done.
She didn’t want to know what those details were.
She just wanted the normal life she’d always dreamed of having.
She paid the taxi driver and walked through the motel parking lot, stopping at Room 8.
Two quick knocks. “It’s me,” she said in a subdued tone.
An instant later, the inside lock turned and the door opened just enough to allow her to squeeze through.
She barely noticed Jack, who greeted her with a grunt. Her eyes were fixed on the man sitting at the wooden desk with photos and notes spread out in front of him.
“Glen.” She rushed over and put her arms around him. “Are you all right?”
“Just fine.” He rose, pulled her against him and gave her a hard, demanding kiss. “You brought the wig?”
“It’s here in my tote bag.” Suzanne patted the bag that was draped over her shoulder, and let it slide to the floor.
“Good.” Glen shot a brief glance at Jack. “Make yourself scarce for an hour. Pick up some food. We haven’t eaten all day.”
“No problem.” Jack didn’t look surprised. He looked bored. “I’ll see you then.” He scooped up his jacket and left.
Glen gripped Suzanne’s shoulders, his thumbs biting into the hollows of her chest.
She winced, but said nothing.
“Put on the wig,” he commanded. “Then get undressed and get into bed. We have a lot of time to make up for.”
* * *
Jack took an extra fifteen minutes away from the motel just to be on the safe side. Glen had been on edge all day. It was like walking on eggshells—something Jack was not in the mood for. With any luck, a good lay would have put him in better spirits.
He knocked once, and waited for Suzanne’s r
esponse. She called out for him to come in. She sounded hoarse. He wasn’t surprised.
He turned his key in the door and walked in.
Glen was back at the desk where he’d been earlier, poring over the photos Jack had taken. Suzanne was curled up tightly on the bed, her fingers wrapped around the turtleneck collar of her shirt. She was trembling.
