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“If I were running their side, I’d want to keep it small and tight, maybe three, four max. We’ll see soon enough.” Savich drove for three blocks, then slowed to turn onto Southby, which fronted the High Point Mall. Savich said, “He’s there, still hanging back.”
As Savich drove the Honda toward the Macy’s, the anchor store at the north end of the mall, Olivia felt her heart begin to thud. She was both excited and terrified. Today it would all end. And she prayed.
Savich parked the Honda halfway down a lane in the open parking lot, thirty yards from the Macy’s entrance. He said, “Olivia, we both know this is dangerous since we don’t even know all the players. No, let me finish. I know you’re a pro, you understand the risks. If the worst happens and we lose you, the tracker you’re wearing will at least let us know where you are. It’s good for another twenty-six hours.” He lightly touched his hand to hers. “Know I’d come for you. Are you ready?”
“More than ready, Dillon, let’s go. I want this over with.”
They walked together, heads down against the wind, and stood in front of a window a moment, Olivia pointing to a pair of running shoes. Savich paused and looked again, just as Gay would. He saw nothing, made a big deal of gesturing her into the store. Once inside, Savich’s cell played Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower.” He listened, then ended the call. “Davis has the Chrysler van four cars away from the Honda. Two men, one driving, the other in the back seat. Both men are looking at us, not moving.”
They rode the escalator to the second floor, to the lingerie department, a place no man would go unless he had a gun to his head. Savich took a seat in one of the two chairs thoughtfully placed nearby for waiting men and looked long-suffering. He saw women carrying shopping bags, heard their voices, some laughter. One woman paused, sent him a little wave. He answered his cell twice. Ten minutes later, Olivia walked out with a Macy’s bag. “Underwear and flannel pajamas, in case they want to look,” she said, patted the bag.
They took the escalator back down, walked through a cloud of perfume spritzed on a customer by a saleswoman in towering heels and bright red lipstick. They stepped out into the frigid cold and walked quickly toward Gay’s Honda. Nearly there, and Savich stopped cold, felt around his neck, looked chagrined. He raised his voice. “Olivia, I left my scarf in the store. Get in the car and lock it, turn on the heater, I’ll be right back.” He looked around the parking lot again, nodded, saw the two men in the Chrysler had slid down so the van looked empty. He whispered to Olivia, “Showtime,” turned, and headed back toward Macy’s at a fast trot.
