by Lisa Hughey
I realized I hadn’t heard anything for at least a minute. The range on our transmission equipment was limited, so Jordan could be out of contact in certain areas of the store.
He hadn’t passed the big plate glass window since he’d gone inside. I wondered what Katerina was waiting for. She’d been in the store far longer than the average customer.
The old man put down his phone and started the car.
I thought about the flyer. Our only lead was the disconnected phone--a virtual dead end.
The flyer itself was basically a bust.
Unless we could figure out the significance of the message. Without any context we were screwed.
Suddenly the sound filtered in, Jordan must be in range again.
“Contact is leaving. I’m going to follow.” Worry wrapped around my lungs like Houdini’s straight jacket. “Keep your eye open for pinstripe. I don’t like that he still hasn’t reappeared.”
It was really starting to bother me. Maybe the guy just couldn’t decide what to have for dinner. But maybe the reason was something more sinister. I had to hope he wasn’t following us.
Jordan was six three of brawny muscles and hard attitude...he could handle any situation that came his way. Except the situation was most likely my fault. And that didn’t stop the guilt.
I still hadn't seen Jordan. I had to trust that he was still following Katerina. He’d been warned about pinstripe. I scooted over to the driver’s seat. I’d put the fake stomach padding back, which seemed silly, but even a little change could throw off surveillance for a much needed few seconds. I twisted the key. The engine coughed and then turned over.
I called Jordan’s cell, but the call went straight to voice mail, so I left a message about the car of the old man who took the flyer.
“Older car, Ford Taurus, dark blue, again, four door, Maryland license plate, can’t get a read on the plate number.” Something dark obscured the last two characters on the plate, upping my suspicion factor and sending my senses buzzing.
Not the car from earlier...at least, I didn’t think so.
I tried to put it together: The old man takes down her flyer, doesn't go inside, and his license plate is obscured. The clues were adding up, except...to what?
I dialed his cell again and finally connected with Jordan. He’d heard my dialogue. He just hadn’t been in a position to answer. “Guy’s old enough to be Katerina's grandfather.”
“Maybe it is her grandfather.”
I shook my head in denial. “Nope. I have pictures of the grandparents. He was a big bull of a man with a neck as thick as my thigh.”
“As people age, they get smaller.”
“No way. Too big of a difference. Anyway, her grandfather is dead.”
“Okay.” Jordan thought for a minute. “How did her grandparents die?”
“Drowned, boat lost, bodies never recovered.”
“Dead end.”
The radio switched to local news.
I shifted in the seat, waiting for the guy to move.
The stretchy waistband, pressing at my waist, shouldn’t have bothered my stomach, but somehow the material felt constricting. I’d been wearing the fake rolls of fat when I’d put the garment on and then the skirt fit fine.
Suddenly I had to get the elastic off my belly button. I shoved the waistband down around my hips, and the feeling of relief was instantaneous.
The old man left, driving slowly, car rumbling softly. He tooled through the parking lot, not glancing left or right. In the dusk, his car became like fog, wispy and insubstantial.
I held back, waiting until he stopped at the light before moving toward the exit of the parking lot, trying to stay off his radar.
But our white rental car--thank you, Thea, who’d clearly never been trained in how to be unobtrusive--with New York plates was definitely noticeable.
At the traffic light, he flipped on his left turn signal. When the arrow turned green, he puttered along turning left onto the main road. I followed, keeping one car between us, hoping I was wrong about his next move.
Shit. Sure enough, at the first main road, he went left again. The car between us went straight, and suddenly I was even more visible. If he went left again, I was so screwed.
I glanced in the rear view mirror. Okay, make that doubly screwed.
Two cars back was a dark sedan.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dusk had disappeared into full on dark, so I couldn’t positively identify the sedan behind me as the car that followed us earlier.
But I sure didn’t like the coincidence.
The dark sedan hadn’t been in the Giant parking lot. If they were following us, they’d picked me up on the first turn. The old man went left again, two streets past the grocery store. I had to go right. I had no choice, as the old man would make me otherwise.
The pattern was standard vehicle surveillance detection, a series of lefts, or rights, to check for followers.
At the next street, I zipped right and zoomed away from the old man. In my rear view mirror, I picked up visual again, watching him drive the opposite way and turn left again. The dark sedan behind me had gone straight, but if I was correct, and he was following me, he would turn right one more street down, and pick me up again.
I turned right, and then right again, hoping I’d come out on the same street as the old man and be heading toward him.
I was hoping the dark sedan in my rear view for a second time tonight had been a coincidence.
A whole lot of hope going on.
Of course my luck wasn’t that good. I wouldn’t be buying a lottery ticket this week.
One thing went my way as the old man and I came out on the same street, heading toward each other. The multi-turns had delivered us to the road behind the Giant. I assumed, with some trepidation, he intended to stop there. I drove sedately by him as he turned into the loading dock area of the adjacent drug store.
I checked my six, three, then nine, but no dark sedan caught my eye. Maybe my luck was turning.
But I didn’t think so.
I glanced back at the loading dock. Katerina Wolfe hovered in the shadows beside a set of steps leading up to a back entrance. The old guy was going to pick her up.
I pulled alongside the curb across the street and turned off my lights.
Suddenly, in my earpiece, the static crackled and surprised me.
Jordan was back. “I see you. Circle around and pick me up in front.”
“Not a good idea.” I briefly filled him in on the sedan. “You ever see pinstripe?”
“No.”
“Maybe they were following Katerina, not us.” Had to throw that out there, except....
“If they were following Katerina, they’d found us too. Dammit.” Jordan swore.
“Or they were following you,” I said softly.
Silence greeted that statement.
I tightened my hands on the cold polymer steering wheel, fisting my fingers as if I could keep the worry clenched inside. Jordan was holding back, but I didn’t know if it had anything to do with me and this current situation, or if it was none of my business.
I needed to know.
“It’s possible,” he said finally as if saying it out loud gave the idea some cred.
The why of it would have to wait.
“The key is to hang back and see if the sedan follows them...or waits for us.” The sedan had one person in the car, the driver.
“I’ll drive around the block one more time.” But I waited, observing Katerina’s movements.
She headed toward the old guy’s car, staying to the shadows. She’d put on a ball cap embroidered with ‘Life is Good’ and pulled the bill low enough to conceal most of her face.
“What the hell is Katerina Wolfe doing?” Had our meeting earlier spooked her...or was something else happening?
We couldn’t take the chance the sedan was following her and that the driver would notice us. Rock meet hard place. That whole ‘Wanted’ thing hang
ing over my head sure cramped our options.
If the sedan was hanging back, waiting for us, they’d be able to pick up our white car at the next intersection.
“We don’t need to follow them. I’ve got her covered.”
“How?” We’d been out of contact off and on since he went into the store.
“Put a tracker on her purse.”
“You had a tracker with you?” I said skeptically. He worked for a think tank, he didn’t do field work anymore. At least, not as far as I knew.
An uncomfortable silence blanketed the sound waves. “I’ve been looking for you. It seemed as if you didn’t want to be found. So if I did find you...I didn’t want to lose you again.”
No wonder the silence was uncomfortable.
Jordan’s cell rang.
“Let me take this.” He diverted his attention to whomever was on the other end of his call.
I went back to watching the car and Katerina. She ducked into the old man’s car quickly, and he did a three point turn. They were going to come out the back lot, right by my car. I could duck down, but now I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Katerina Wolfe knew something.
Her behavior in the last half hour was textbook clandestine.
I was tired of lurking in the shadows. I wanted action. I wanted resolution. Wanted some movement.
Vaguely I could hear Jordan trying to calm someone down.
The radio switched to local news.
“And now in an important update,” the announcer paused for dramatic effect, “Staci Grant, local woman and alleged terrorist sympathizer has been spotted in the District of Columbia by a former student.”
Shit. Knew it was coming, hoped I had a little more time.
“Our station was able to speak exclusively with the witness whose name we are withholding for his protection."
The reported asked, “How did Staci Grant seem?”
“Yeah, uh, she looked a little, uh, beat up.” It was Matthew Cho.
No shit. I was a little beat up. I’d be a hell of a lot more beat up if the ‘authorities’ got a hold of me.
“Did she threaten you in any way?”
“Uh, no.” Matthew stumbled through his answer. “She, uh, said she’d be teaching in the spring.”
“What kind of a teacher was she?”
This is the kind of question they always ask, and the neighbor always says, they were quiet and kept to themselves... except for those dead bodies in the basement.
“She was...is a great teacher,” Matthew responded to the leading question fiercely.
“Did she seem agitated or menacing?"
“No, she just seemed like she had someplace to be. She looked at her watch a few times.”
“What made you come forward?”
“Well, I saw the news,” Matthew said. “Ms. Grant would have told me to go for it. I’m sure they’ve made some sort of mistake. She would never do the things they’re accusing her of.”
The reporter cut Matthew off, probably hustling him away from the microphone. Matthew’s viewpoint didn’t make for sensational sound bites.
“Authorities are actively searching airports, bus and train stations, any transportation exits out of the city, but with the few hours between when she was seen and when the contact was reported, she could be anywhere. Authorities would not answer speculation about why she would still be in the D.C. area. She has no strong ties here and allegedly has far reaching and unlimited resources.
For a picture of the fugitive, check out our website.”
I thunked my head on the steering wheel. Ow.
“If you see her, you are advised to call this number immediately but do not, repeat, do not approach her. She is still considered armed and dangerous.”
Great. Now I’m freaking public enemy number one?
The adrenaline that had kept me upright and jazzed since we left Jordan’s mother and aunt’s house suddenly drop kicked me. Exhaustion so extreme I could barely keep my eyes open swept over me, drowning me in sheer fatigue. I yawned so hard and wide, I could have swallowed our entire rental car.
Jordan clicked his attention back to me. “Get out of the car.”
“What?”
The airwaves buzzed with his impatience. “Get out of that car.”
His sense of urgency finally penetrated the hazy fog of my brain.
“What’s wrong?” I fumbled with the seat belt, my reflexes sluggish.
“That was Thea.”
Had she had a crisis of conscience? “She turned me in?”
“No. They came to her.”
My brain started firing on all pistons.
There was no way to connect Thea and me. But if you connected Thea to Jordan, then Jordan to me, suddenly that degree of separation was gone. It also meant Jordan’s name was no longer a secret.
“They were following you.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” His voice was grim.
“And they know about your relationship with Thea.”
“Apparently so.”
“And examined her credit card charges.” Dammit.
Jordan shot out the back of the Giant, a small paper bag in his hand, and headed for me.
I dragged my body out of the car, grabbing Jordan’s duffel and my backpack bag as I went. No time to wipe down the car.
Katerina and the old man had just turned out of the parking lot onto the street where I was parked.
Jordan loped down the stairs of the loading dock as another car turned into the parking lot at the far end.
I’m not sure what made me look. Instinct. Survival.
Shit. The dark sedan was back.
Staying in one place too long had cost us, and the sedan had come searching.
The car’s headlights speared through the evening, highlighting Jordan’s face. Panic thundered through my body, adrenaline ramping up my heartbeat. Suddenly I was wide awake.
The car with Katerina slowed down as they drove toward me and our rental, the bill of her cap swiveling back and forth as she processed Jordan on one side of the street and me coming out of the car on the other.
I pulled my weapon out and stepped in front of their car, and prayed they wouldn’t mow me down. Fortunately they weren’t going fast, and fortunately the old man had a conscience.
Through the windshield, I could see Katerina’s mouth moving rapidly, telling the old man to keep going.
The old man shook his head violently and slowed to a creep.
Jordan interpreted immediately and went for the back door handle, yanking open their car door as I rounded the side. He slid in and jerked me inside.
My impulse was to curl my arms over my stomach. “Drive.”
“What makes you think we’re taking you anywhere?” Katerina snarled.
I started to wave my weapon, but the threat was unnecessary.
“You want to be seen with us?” Jordan asked calmly.
“No!”
Jordan gestured to the car in the parking lot, where the driver had slowed down to watch our drama unfold. Pinstripe came running out the back door of the grocery store.
Knew I’d been right about him being in the damn store too long. Wished I’d been wrong.
“Then get the hell out of here.” Jordan snapped. “Or we’re all fucked.”
Katerina said, “You’re going to regret this.”
She had no idea.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The old man took off with a peal worthy of a NASCAR driver coming out of pit row and gunning for first place.
He took the corner at fifty. Jordan slammed into me as I hit the car door.
I grunted. The pain from my still sensitive left arm zinged through my body. Stars waterfalled, blurring my vision, and reality faded into a dizzy whir.
Jordan steadied me. “You okay?” The solid heat of his body, the hard flex of his bicep against my back anchored me firmly back to him.
<
br /> I nodded, swallowing a groan.
Jordan handed me a crumpled bag, a grease spot already blossoming on the brown paper. The scent of a smashed cinnamon roll hit my nose. My mouth watered as I ripped open the bag.
We barreled down the mostly residential street with no headlights in the rearview mirror. At least not yet.
The sedan had to pick up pinstripe and maneuver out of the parking lot. They could also have a team surveillance set up. In that case we should be looking for the other car.
After eating half the pastry, I stopped, licked my fingers and figured we should get down to it. “Why the prearranged signal?”
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” I wanted to know who the old man was. I still wasn’t sure we shouldn’t have bolted in our own car. But chances were a BOLO was already in place.
“Fuck. You.”
Succinctly put.
“Why not try for civility?” the old man spoke.
“Yeah.” I mocked. “Try being civil.”
“Do you have any idea what will happen to me if I’m connected with you in any way?” She jammed the heels of her hands against her eye sockets, like a little kid who doesn’t want to see.
“Hmmm. You’ll be put on the news as Public Enemy number Twelve. Spots One through Ten are covered by the FBI and I’ve pretty much locked up Eleven.”
“I won’t be able to protect my son,” she gritted out. “Total FUBAR.”
The old man swerved right again. I stifled a groan as I slid into Jordan, banging my shin with another sharp jab of pain.
“Buckle up,” Jordan said calmly, ignoring us both as he stared out the back window. “We need to pool resources and talk.”
He was right. But I’d admit it only grudgingly.
“Can they run your plate?” I asked the old man since Katerina hadn’t done more than growl at me.
“Most common sedan purchased in the United States, and it’s possible the license plate might be obscured a bit.” The old man rubbed a hand over his whiskered smile.
“I’ll keep watch while you talk,” Jordan said, his voice a deep rumble.
Katerina whipped around to glare at Jordan. “You were following me in the store?”