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He didn’t disabuse her of that, either.
“Need help with that, ma’am?”
Laura turned, ready to accept the kind offer of assistance. But when she saw Griff Burkett, her smile froze in place as her eyes filled with alarm. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted the large box she was carrying out of her arms, which seemed to have gone boneless at the sight of him. “Where were you taking this?”
She continued to gape at him.
“You keep looking at me like that, you’re going to attract attention,” he said. “Where were you taking the box?”
“To my car.” She nodded in the direction of the reserved spaces in the executive parking lot, not too far from the employee entrance from which she had emerged. She glanced around nervously. Rows of cars baked beneath the blazing sun, but there was no one else around, which was why she’d been carrying the box in the first place.
The building that housed the corporate offices of SunSouth Airlines was one of Dallas’s famed contemporary structures, built basically of glass held together by a framework of steel. So anyone looking out from this side of the building had an unrestricted view of the parking lot and could see her with him, possibly even recognize him.
However, if he hadn’t been this close, she probably couldn’t have identified him herself. He’d altered his appearance with a baseball cap and sunglasses. He had on a faded T-shirt that was nearly thread-bare, knee-length shorts with a ragged hem, and sneakers instead of cowboy boots. But his height and the width of his shoulders were impossible to disguise, although he attempted to by walking in a slouch.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“I know it’s against the rules.”
“Foster would—”
“Go apeshit, I know. But it was important that I see you.”
“You could have called.”
“Would you have taken the call?”
Probably not, she thought. “Okay, you’re here. What’s so urgent? Are you backing out?”
He stopped, turned to her. “Do you want me to?”
“You left saying you didn’t need this shit, remember?”
“And you reminded me how much I do.”
They looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously remembered how vulnerable they were to being seen together and resumed walking in the direction of the reserved spaces.
“Which one’s yours?”
“The black BMW.”
“Hit the trunk button.”
She juggled her keys, depressed the button, and the lid of her trunk automatically opened. He lowered the cumbersome box and placed it inside. “What’s in here? For being so bulky, it’s light.”
“An airplane model. I’m taking it home.”
“To Speakman? I notice he didn’t come to work today.”
He was still bent at the waist, fiddling with the box. To a casual observer it would have looked as though he was situating it in the trunk to prevent damage during transport.
“How do you know that?”
“Because that first parking slot has his name stenciled on it, and it’s empty. I know he wasn’t here earlier because I’ve been staked out across the street—”
“Staked out?”
