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“Great! I’ll just need your driver’s license and a credit card.”
Lizzy bit her bottom lip. Her picture might have been shown on TV by now. Maybe not. Would they bother with breaking news for a stolen car and a car chase? Would they show her driver’s license picture? Had she even been identified yet? Fortunately there was no television in the tiny lobby, and even if there had been, Cindy didn’t look as if she’d care much about the news. Soap operas, maybe, or reruns of game shows.
“Cash,” she replied, digging for her wallet. “I don’t have a credit card.”
Cindy paused, wrinkled her nose. “The owner says there has to be a credit card on record, in case of damages to the room.”
Lizzy paused, as if considering the problem rather than dismissing it. “I can give you an extra deposit,” she finally said. She didn’t want to spend more money than necessary, so she said, “Twenty dollars? Thirty? When I check out in the morning you could inspect the room and give the deposit back, so I’m okay with doing that.” Meaning she didn’t intend to be doing anything that could possibly damage anything in the old building.
“Well … that might be all right. I’ll just need your driver’s license.”
This was the really tricky part. Lizzy tensed and put an anxious expression on her face. “I—uh—I’d really like to not have my name on the record.”
Cindy immediately shook her head and sighed. “We don’t do that. Sorry.”
Lizzy let her lower lip tremble. “I understand. I just … it’s my husband. I can’t let him find me. I have a way out of town, and once I’m away from D.C. I think I’ll be safe, but … but that won’t happen until tomorrow.”
Cindy’s blue eyes got big. “Husband?”
Lizzy nodded. She let her real fear and anxiety show through.
“You could call the cops …”
She gave a bitter laugh. “He’s a city politician. He knows … too many people. I can’t trust the police.” And wasn’t that the truth, she thought wryly.
Cindy looked at her computer, pursed her lips, and sighed again. Lizzy was already wondering where she could try next—she couldn’t go much farther—when the woman said, “Maybe … 107 isn’t rentable right now because the last person who stayed there punched a hole in the wall and pulled the towel rack right out of the wall, and the damages haven’t been repaired yet. I could put you there, for one night. Just one,” she repeated, shaking a finger for emphasis.
“Oh, God, that’d be great! Thank you!” Lizzy said fervently, opening her wallet and taking care to keep it turned so Cindy couldn’t see the credit cards in their slots. Before she could pull out any cash, though, Cindy said, “Nah, keep it.”
Lizzy raised her eyebrows slightly as she looked across the counter.
“My mom’s second husband was a real asshole. I get it.”
It was a symptom of her fatigue that her eyes burned with tears at the young woman’s kindness. In spite of that, she pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and pushed it across the counter. She didn’t trust loyalty she hadn’t bought, didn’t want to owe anyone anything. “Thanks, but take it.” She wiped her eyes and managed a weak smile. “It’s his money, anyway. I’d like to spread it around while I can.”
Cindy shrugged and took the hundred. It would probably go into her own pocket, which was okay; her job likely paid minimum wage, and every buck counted. She slid a key card across to Lizzy, who slipped it into her pocket as she gave the clerk another thank-you smile and headed out the door.
She was nowhere near home free, but she had a place to spend the night, and that was more than she’d had five minutes ago.
Anger wasn’t a new emotion for Felice, but control was essential in her job and it had been a very long time since she’d allowed herself to show much emotion at all. Normally that wasn’t a problem; right now, though, her temper was so white hot
and intense she could barely contain herself, and it kept bubbling dangerously close to the surface. She had to appear as if nothing had gone wrong; she had to smile at her secretary as she walked out of her office—it was always a tight smile, but a smile nonetheless—and nod to the guard at the gate as she drove out of the parking lot. She ignored everyone in between.
Son of a bitch! How could something so simple go so wrong? All she’d gotten was an innocuous text on her burner cell: The project failed. She didn’t get the details, and that was what she needed to know asap. She couldn’t think everything had gone wrong, so what portion of it had failed? Lizette would have been the easy part; the odds were the team put on Xavier had failed, and getting him had been the most important task. She’d strongly emphasized that, requested very good people. Now, if the worst-case scenario had come true, a very angry Xavier was on the loose and hunting.
It struck her how vulnerable she was right now, driving home alone, unprotected. She had defensive driving skills, but her handgun was at home. Her normal job didn’t require firearms. Even if she had it with her now, if Xavier came after her, her only chance of survival would be sheer luck. Felice didn’t trust luck. She trusted control, meticulous planning, and preparation.
She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stick to the speed limit. She needed to get home as fast as possible, but a delay if she got stopped for speeding would cost her more time than this relatively slow speed. She needed to make a call, and she didn’t dare do so if there was even the most remote chance that anyone would overhear. Her home, office, and car were swept often for bugs, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she could speak freely anywhere in this town, especially now.
She’d been pleased with the planning and preparation. The plan had evidently fallen apart in execution, though. Damn it! She’d been assured that only top-notch people would be used. Evidently, instead of the A-Team, she’d gotten the B-Team—and “B” stood for “Bozos.”
Despite her tension, she reached home without incident. Still, the tight feeling between her shoulder blades didn’t ease until she had parked in the garage and lowered the door. Even then, she carefully examined every corner of the garage before she got out of the car. She knew what Xavier was capable of, and she didn’t take anything for granted. When she unlocked the door and entered, the alarm system began its warning beep; she punched in the code, relocked the door, then went straight to the den and got her weapon from the desk drawer. She checked every room in the house before she dared let her guard down. Until this was over, she’d have to be very careful.
Then she retrieved the burner cell phone from her purse. She’d have to get a new one; they were intended for one-time use—hence the term “burner,” though of course sloppy people disobeyed that protocol all the time. She’d never thought she would be one of those people, but she didn’t have time to get a new phone and she needed to know exactly what had happened.
She took both the gun and the phone into her bathroom. She turned on the water in the whirlpool tub, then flipped the switch that activated the modern rock-and-water feature in the corner. Normally the sound of the rushing water was very soothing to her, but now she didn’t notice it other than as a means to an end. When the tub was full enough, she turned on the whirlpool motor. She stood between the tub and the waterfall; anyone who was trying to listen in would have a hell of a time trying to make out words over the white noise.
She made the call. When her contact answered she said tersely, “What happened?”
