by L. T. Ryan
“Why?”
“Because.” Jack paused, searching for the right words. “You need plausible deniability on your side in the event someone asks you questions about me.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes, shook her head, looked away. Jack caught a glimpse of the anger in her eyes reflected in the window.
He returned his attention to the vehicle tailing them. The car had closed the gap and now paced them from two car lengths.
“Pick it up,” Jack said.
“I can’t go any faster. One more ticket and I’ll have my licensed revoked.”
“That car catches up to us and you might have your life revoked.”
This garnered a frightened reaction from Hannah, but Jack ignored it.
The vehicle tailing them jerked to the left and sped up. Jack cursed under his breath. Hannah slumped down in her seat until her head was below the window. Fear or street smarts? Within seconds the two cars were side by side. The other vehicle’s windows were tinted. Jack couldn’t tell how many people were inside the car. He knew there were at least two, so he planned for a third.
Jack reached inside his coat. There was no gun there, though. Not even a holster. He couldn’t travel with a weapon. In years past, he’d have had someone meet him at the airport who would have provided him with a pistol at the very least. In some cases he was able to leave from a government installation, which allowed him to travel with a weapon hidden in the false bottom of a bag or suitcase. This time he’d have to wait until one of Dottie’s people met him. He had no idea when that would occur. Certainly not in time to deal with the men following him.
For a few minutes it felt as if the two cars were standing still. Then, the black sedan pulled away and exited the highway.
“You can sit up,” Jack told Hannah. “They’re gone.”
“Can you tell me who they were?”
“No.”
“If my life’s in danger I’d like to know who it might be. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t know.”
Hannah righted herself in her seat and said, “You can get off at the next exit.”
“Stop a few blocks short of her building,” Jack added.
Five minutes later the driver pulled the cab to the curb. Hannah jumped out. Jack pulled out his wallet, handed the driver three ten pound notes, exited the cab.
“What are you doing?” Hannah asked.
“Walking you home.”
She crossed her arms, arched her back. “I’m starting to think I would have been better off letting creepy Kyle drive me home.”
So that was his name.
“I’m thinking the same,” Jack said. “But he didn’t, I did. And I need to make sure you get home OK.”
She studied him for a moment. “My building has a doorman. He’s bigger than you. Try to come in and I’ll have him kick your ass.”
Jack smiled. He liked the girl’s attitude. “Sounds good to me.”
Jack didn’t have the layout of London committed to memory, but he knew they were in close proximity to Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park. The only reason he knew this was because he saw a sign saying so before they exited the highway.
“This looks like an expensive area,” he said.
“It is.”
“How’s a college girl afford to live in a place like this?”
She smiled. “Well, for one, I live in a tiny little apartment. It’s like a master bedroom converted into an apartment. One room has everything. And the family I work for pays for it.”
“Who do you work for?”
She turned her head slightly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“OK, question withdrawn,” Jack said. “I know where you live, though. I could just follow you.”
She stopped, turned toward Jack, grabbed his arm. “That’s not funny, Jack. Seriously, don’t you even think about following me or popping in on the family I work for when I’m there.”
Jack raised his hands in mock defense. “Don’t worry. The moment you step into your building is the last time you’ll ever see me.”
“Is it?”
Jack nodded. “It is.”
She pointed and said, “That’s it right there.”
“Where’s the doorman?”
“I lied.” She smiled. “Going to walk me the rest of the way?”
“I think you got it.”
She extended her hand. “Bye, Jack.”
He watched her climb up a set of concrete stairs stained by years of exposure. She pulled out her keys, entered the building without looking back. Jack lingered for several minutes. The air was mild and the breeze light. He scanned the street and surrounding houses, ensuring that no one was watching him or Hannah’s building. He’d provided the world with enough collateral damage and didn’t want to add Hannah to that list.
After half an hour, he decided it was OK to leave. He pulled out his cell phone, turned on the GPS, punched his hotel’s name into the search field. He was staying at the Plaza, other side of Westminster Bridge. A fancy place, but his choices had been limited. The distance to the hotel was less than two miles. Jack decided to walk.
CHAPTER 3
The man Hannah knew as Jack Noble lingered outside her building for close to thirty minutes. What were his intentions? She didn’t think he meant her harm. He’d seemed overly protective in the taxi line, in the car, and after they got out. But the sight of him out there freaked her out a bit. Although he seemed to be watching the street and other buildings, not hers.
She considered calling for assistance. After all, her employer had some muscle behind her, and she had always said that if Hannah found herself in a bind, just call.
Hannah didn’t call, though.
Jack had been nice enough on the plane, and he had a face that seemed familiar to her. She didn’t know him, but he made her feel at ease. Not an easy thing to do around always anxious Hannah. She laughed at her description of herself. Her father had always said she had a high motor. But she knew there was something else. Feelings that she repressed. Thoughts she hid from others. Always calm on the outside with a fake smile plastered on her face.
Jack began to walk away. Hannah moved to the other side of the room where she had a better viewing angle of the street. He’d been standing in plain view for all that time. Surely he knew it, too. There was nothing to stop him from walking half a block and waiting for her to leave her apartment.
So she was back to calling for assistance. Then his words came back to her.
Plausible deniability.
Forget everything about him, she told herself. That’s what he wanted. That’s what she would do. Calling would have the opposite effect. It would indicate that she did know something about him, and the look in his eyes when he said those words let her know that was not what she wanted.
Perhaps if she were older she would have treated the situation differently. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t.
The thoughts of Jack faded away and Hannah turned her attention to the stack of mail on the triangular wooden table next to the white door stained and chipped from decades of neglect.
The envelope on top was from her college. She slid her finger under the flap at the corner and opened it. The glue held, the envelope tore. She spread the opening, pulled out a letter printed on heavy stock ivory colored paper. It was folded in thirds, smelled like tree bark. She shook the letter open, read the contents to herself.
The letter did not contain the news she had hoped for.
Hannah fell back against the door. A few tiny chips of dried white paint fell to the floor like springtime flurries. Her eyes watered. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
This can’t be happening.
Hannah brought her arm up and stared at the letter. The black lettering looked wet and raised. A handsome message despite the bad news it contained. Once again, she read the words that shattered her dream. The message had not changed. She’d lost her scholarship, partly due to lack
of funding, and also due to her lack of attendance. She’d had no trouble acing her subjects, despite the classes she missed. The only reason she was not in attendance was because her employer needed her around a bit more than usual last semester. And while the scholarship helped, so did the funds her boss paid her. Without both, she could not afford college in London.
She slammed her free hand into the door. More paint chips fell and gathered together on the ground. A pile of snow that would never melt. She wiped the tears from her eyes, cleared her throat. “Enough feeling sorry for yourself,” she said. “Nothing happens for those who stand idly by, watching life race past.”
Hannah decided that she’d go see Ms. Carslisle and ask if she could take on extra duties. Being a nanny to Mia was nearly a full time job, but there were other things she could do in the house. Ms. Carlisle had taken a liking to Hannah. That had been obvious from the beginning. The woman had mentioned a few times that she’d like Hannah to be around more. What would be the harm in asking? Besides, without the scholarship money, she couldn’t afford school this semester. She’d have the extra time available. Extra work would allow her to save more.
Tired, partially defeated, but hopeful, Hannah retired to her single bed in the far corner of the room. She pulled back the pale blue down comforter and crawled onto the mattress where an intoxicating sleep overcame her.
CHAPTER 4
Jack stopped in front of the smoke tinted glass door, caught sight of his reflection. Wrinkled blue striped button-up shirt partially tucked into his matching wrinkled khakis. He’d taken his jacket off during the walk to the hotel and it was draped over his forearm. His brown hair was matted on the left side, a relic from his nap during the flight.
He became aware of the fact that while he couldn’t see inside, anyone in the hotel’s lobby could see him. He pulled on the brass door handle, walked through the lobby, stopped in front of the check-in counter. A young man squatted on a stool in front of a computer monitor. He didn’t acknowledge Jack’s presence. Jack cleared his throat a few times, and the man responded by saying, “Be right with you,” without looking up.
Sure you will.
He watched the man for a moment. The guy’s skinny fingers danced across a dusty black keyboard. The white lettering on the black keys was all but faded. After it became apparent that right with you in fact meant whenever the hell I feel like it, Jack turned away from the counter and found an empty seat nearby. Not just any seat, though. He couldn’t have his back to the hotel’s entrance. That would afford someone the opportunity to get the drop on him. Likewise, he couldn’t face the entrance, leaving himself exposed to anyone entering the lobby from the elevators.
And he didn’t want to be facing away from the man behind the counter when the guy finally deemed Jack worthy of his attention.
So he sat down in a high-back blue fabric chair. It was rigid and uncomfortable, which was fine, as he felt drowsy from the flight and his adventure getting from the airport to the hotel. If the chair had been soft, he might have dozed off.
His position in the lobby allowed him to monitor the entrance, elevators, and desk with nothing more than a slight turn of his head. The sidewalk in front of the hotel was busy, but no one who passed alarmed him. Tourists and locals alike, none deemed immediate threats. An elderly couple entered the hotel and shuffled toward the reception area. Jack looked at the guy behind the counter. The clerk looked up for a fraction of a second, like he had when Jack entered. Again the clerk’s eyes returned to his screen. But this time his arms jerked up and down in a quick motion, then he stepped to the side. He had a smile plastered across his narrow face.
“How can I help you?” the clerk addressed the elderly couple.
Jack shook his head. Did he come across as such an ignorant American that he wasn’t worthy of the same attention? Whatever. No time to dwell on it.
He heard a ding, turned his head, saw brass plated elevator doors slide open.
Jack moved his head slightly, moved his eyes more, brought his right hand up and rubbed the side of his face, shielding it from whoever stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby.
The guy was tall, handsome, dark hair, two or three days’ worth of stubble on his lean, broad face. He wore what appeared to be a designer suit, custom tailored. White pinstripes knifed through dark blue fabric. Most would figure the guy to be a millionaire on vacation. Not Jack. Because while most stop at the rugged good looks and custom suit, Jack’s eyes moved to the shoes. And the shoes this guy wore were those of a working man. Expensive? Yes. But these shoes were designed to get the guy from point A to point B and everywhere in between no matter the circumstances. Mud and rain? No problem. Off road? No problem. Hop a few fences? Again, no problem. Kick a few heads? Now that’s what they were made for.
And they had to look good, too.
Jack noted that the guy bore a resemblance to the man he saw in the taxi line at Heathrow.
The guy pulled out his cell phone, turned away from the lobby.
Jack rose, slowly so as not to draw any attention. He moved to the corner of the room and positioned himself near the machine that dispensed free coffee to hotel guests. A fake ficus provided extra cover. The man was out of his view, but he knew not for long. The only areas beyond the elevator lobby were two halls that led to additional rooms, the pool and the gym. The guy had a room already, and he was overdressed for the pool or the gym.
The man entered the lobby, cell phone in his left hand, held up to the side of his head, blocking his view of Jack. Still, Jack didn’t like where he had positioned himself in relation to the man. It would have been better if he had moved toward the front doors and perhaps gone outside.
The guy stopped at the front desk, turned his back toward the lobby.
Jack saw that as his opportunity. He started toward the front of the lobby, clutching his cell phone in his right hand and holding it up to his face. When he reached the half-way point between the coffee machine and the doors, he heard the man speak, his accent British.
“Jack Noble.”
He’d been expecting it, but was not ready for it. Jack turned his head to the right. The clerk shifted his stare from the man in the custom suit to Jack. The guy in the suit started to look over his shoulder. The guy didn’t move. He wasn’t speaking to Jack. He’d been asking about him.
Jack diverted his eyes forward, placed his hand on the door, heard the guy say, “Who was that?”
Jack assumed the man was referring to him. He didn’t wait to hear the clerk’s response. His feet hit the sidewalk and he turned right, crossed the street diagonally and pushed through the first door he came to. As he stepped inside, a burst of warm air barreled down on him. The beads of sweat on his forehead evaporated. He didn’t take the time to assess his surroundings. Instead, he turned, took two steps to his right and positioned himself behind a sequined covered mannequin next to the tinted glass.
“Can I help you?” The voice was female, British, cold.
Jack shifted his gaze to the left. He saw the woman’s reflection hovering in the window. She was thin and middle-aged and beyond that he didn’t care. He noticed that she was standing next to a rack of evening gowns. His eyes darted left and right. The place was a designer women’s clothing shop. That explained the overbearing smell of perfume.
“I said, can I help you?” She arched an eyebrow.
“I’ll be out of your way in a moment,” Jack said.
“If you aren’t going to buy something, please leave,” the woman said.
Jack glanced back at her to drive his earlier response home. She flinched at his glare. He spun his head around in time to see the hotel lobby door opening. The man in the suit stepped outside, looked left, then right, turned in the direction of the latter, stayed on the other side of the street. The man’s eyes moved methodically, square by square.
Jack cursed under his breath. He was dealing with a professional. He took two steps back, hoped that would reduce the chance of him
being seen from the outside.
“It’s tinted and mirrored,” the woman said. “He can’t see you.”
“That’s gotta be a bitch for window shoppers,” Jack said.
She forced a rhetorical laugh. “I don’t want them. They dirty up my shop. Serious buyers only. Which you obviously are not. So as soon as your little friend is out of sight, get out of my place.”
British hospitality.
“Yes, ma’am.” A moment later he added, “Any chance you have a back door?”
“No.” She aimed a pale thin finger toward the front door.
Jack waited until the man in the suit passed by, then he left the store. Cool spring air, a mixture of cherry blossom and exhaust, greeted him once again. The remaining dampness on his forehead grew cold. He paced the guy across the street, staying far enough back that he could get away should a chase ensue.
The man stopped in front of a place called Libby’s, went inside. From where Jack stood, there looked to be a menu taped to the outside of the window next to the front door. Jack waited a minute, then crossed the street and continued toward the restaurant. He stopped when he reached the corner. The smell of wood smoke enveloped the building. Jack cupped his hands to his face and pressed against the glass.
Four people dining at a table next to the window flinched when they noticed him peering in at them. They stared up, mouths agape, eyes narrowed.
Jack shrugged, offered a half-smile, returned to scanning the room. Where had the guy gone? The place was dimly lit. It offered some sense of privacy despite the wide open layout of the place. Rows of tables with nothing separating them from one another. He spotted the man, twenty feet in front of him, seated at the bar. The guy seemed confident. He wasn’t constantly checking over his shoulders or looking around the room. He laid in wait, looking helpless and limp. The same way some of the most lethal predators on the planet act.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?”