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Turning away, she headed back to Connor.
“He’s got a map open,” she hissed. “He’s looking at routes in and out from a particular house. I’ve got some of the footage on my phone. That’s all I can see, but it seems suspicious to me?”
“To me, too. Let’s go and find out.”
Connor headed toward the man.
But, as Connor neared him, Boyd Langdon looked up in alarm. She saw him take in Connor’s intent, and his eye contact, and that FBI badge on his jacket.
It was too late for Cami to wish that she’d taken off her cap and gone in first and got close to him so as not to arouse his suspicions. Because Boyd leaped frantically to his feet. With a shove, he flung the table over in Connor’s direction. It landed on the floor with a crash, blocking his way. The glass shattered on the floor and beer sluiced across it in a foamy fountain.
And then, Boyd was gone, hot-footing it through the basement bar and disappearing through a side door that Cami hadn't even seen.
“Quick!” But now, the panicked rush of people who were trying to move away from the upended table and the smashed glass, were causing a problem. From somewhere, a woman shrieked, and that triggered other anxious cries from the customers. People obviously thought a fight had started. Maybe it wasn’t the first time, she wondered briefly. Maybe fights did break out down here in this basement bar, and it was a rougher place than she’d first thought.
At any rate, it took them way too long to struggle through the press of people and to get to that almost invisible doorway in the black painted wall.
Connor was on the phone again.
“We need a trace again. Quick!” he snapped out. But Cami wasn’t holding out much hope for that. Because if Boyd had been paranoid enough to run the moment he saw the FBI approaching him, he would also be smart enough to turn off his phone to avoid being tracked.
She needed to outthink him. Not the easiest thing to do in a place that he knew well, his local neighborhood bar, and that she'd never been in before. But, as Connor burst through the door, heading in the direction of the exit, Cami decided that the best route for her to take would be to go the other way. Upstairs.
Just in case, he was trying to outwit the FBI. After all, where was there for him to go if he ran out? Home? Nope, that wouldn't wash. He'd know they would track him, and he seemed to have been at the bar alone. No friends could rally round and help him, and if he called a cab, he’d need his phone.
So, Cami was going to assume that he’d shut off his phone and that he’d fled the way that they wouldn’t expect – upstairs.
And this time, as she ran, she peeled off her FBI cap and jacket so that all he’d see would be a woman with an edgy hairstyle, a stylish steel gray top, and a coat tied around her waist. That wouldn’t spook him, and he wouldn't run. He hadn't even seen her when they’d first approached him. All his attention had been on Connor.
Cami pounded up the flights of stairs. She decided to go all the way to the top. Maybe he’d figured that truly was the last place they’d look for him.
Exiting the bar, she saw that the top area was a games floor. There were all sorts of games in progress. A few pool tables were set up along the side of the room, and she immediately heard the clacking sound of pool cues. There were dart boards in the corner, and in the center of the room, card tables were set up – poker and blackjack.
Had he sat down at one of the games? That would require icy cold nerves, Cami thought, but maybe he possessed them. In which case, knocking over the table downstairs and making a run for it would have been a calculated move.
Cami sidled around the room, looking carefully, keeping an ear out for the soft buzzing of her phone that would mean Connor had cornered him. But there was no call, so Connor was still looking. Was that Boyd, at the poker table over there, that guy with the black baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes?
That wasn’t him, but as she reached the table, her heart skipped a couple of beats, because Boyd Langdon was next to the man she’d noticed. He was slouched so low in his chair, with his shoulders hunched, that he looked half his height. And he’d pulled his jacket’s hood up. It effectively covered the hair, and it made him all but unrecognizable.
With her pulse pounding, Cami sat down at the table. She now needed to urgently alert Connor to his whereabouts. But that wasn’t going to be easy, because the dealer, glancing at her with a sharp but unsuspicious gaze, said, “Phones to be turned off and visible at the table, please.”
The phones were all on the table, face down. And she was going to have to do the same. Clearly, no collusion or unfair practices were going to be allowed here.
“I’d like some chips, please,” she said, buying time, not daring to look at Boyd.
“How much?”
Her heart sped up. She didn’t have much.
“Twenty dollars,” she said. It was all she had. But, while getting out her wallet with her left hand, and putting it on the table, she was sending the quickest message ever to Connor, on her cellphone, with her right.
“Upstairs. Poker table.”
Then, hoping it had gone through, she took her chips and turned her phone off and placed it on the table. Time to play the game for all she was worth. Her job, now, was to keep Boyd’s attention on the game for long enough that Connor could get here.
And that was not going to be easy. Slumped down he might be, but she saw that he was tense, braced on his feet, and clearly ready to run again. If Connor came in from the basement stairway entrance, which was on his right, then he could get up and bolt out of the other door before Connor had crossed the room.
Unless she could distract him.
