The Watched Girl

by Rachel Rust

  I wanted to say no, I wanted to demand answers. But my mind was already fighting through a cloud of exhaustion. Nothing made sense, and nothing was going to make any more sense the longer I was awake and fatigued. I needed sleep.

  “All right, fine.” I’d give them one night. One night in a hotel paid for by Uncle Sam. But after some sleep, I was going to demand answers … and food and a ride to my house.

  We pulled up to the back of a large downtown hotel, The Cartwright. Han handed me a bag from the front seat.

  “Put these on.”

  Inside the bag was a pair of black slacks, black boots, and a pink polo with The Cartwright stitched in gold above the left breast. “Seriously? I need to change clothes again?”

  “Yes,” Thatcher said. She moved the rearview mirror out of respect so that she couldn’t see into the backseat. Han stayed facing forward. Eddie turned and looked out the window, but there wasn’t going to be nearly as much privacy here as there had been on the plane.

  I kicked off the brown boots and carefully undid the belt with the gun, placing it next to Eddie. I then traded the khakis for the black slacks, which were skinny cut and a bit too baggy. After slipping my feet into the black boots, I removed the FBI ball cap and slipped the FBI shirt off.

  Common sense told me there was probably some kind of reflection in the glass near Eddie. Maybe he could see me—a warped mirrored vision of me—in my black bra, with my stomach, shoulders, and cleavage exposed. I pulled the pink polo on, and tucked the extra length into the pants.

  “I’m good.”

  Eddie turned and inspected the outfit and then chuckled at my hair.

  “Am I supposed to take the wig off?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  With pleasure, I yanked it off and untwisted my black-brown hair from its messy bun. The long dark locks spilled over my shoulder.

  “Better,” Eddie said. But he didn’t seem to mean better in that the wig was ugly and had to be removed. It’s as though he meant better because he liked my natural hair. My stomach somersaulted. Despite the aloofness he had with me on the phone two days ago, maybe he really did care about me like I had hoped. Maybe he really was the same guy who had kissed me on that gravel road.

  Thatcher handed me a pair of dark-brown, thick-rimmed glasses. I put them on. The lenses were plain glass, so my 20/20 vision wasn’t distorted, thankfully.

  “Go inside,” Thatcher said. “A man named Marco will be there to meet you. He’ll give you instructions.”

  I waited for more information but got none. My fingers unlatched the car door, and I stared at the black Employees Only door a few feet away.

  “Go,” Eddie whispered. “I’ll meet up with you in a little while. I promise.”

  With those words, I took a deep breath and left the car. The employee’s entrance lead into a small white hallway. On the left was a locker room. To the right a breakroom with small tables, a countertop with a microwave, and an old white refrigerator humming loudly. I took a few more steps, hearing noises … voices, clinking dishes, and rushing water. The kitchen.

  The Cartwright was not only a large hotel, but it was also home to The Tavern Green, the steakhouse my dad had suggested for my birthday dinner next week.

  I forced my dad out of my mind. Right now I needed logic, not emotions.

  I peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Several men and women dressed in white yelled things at one another while hurriedly moving here and there, getting plates ready to go out. Occasionally, a man or woman dressed in black came in through the swinging door on the far side, grabbed plates and left again.

  There was so much noise and commotion that I didn’t see the man next to me until he spoke.

  “I am Marco. You are Delilah?”

  I whipped around to face him. A tall Hispanic man, probably in his fifties, with hair that was a fifty-fifty blend of black and white.

  “I am Marco,” he repeated. “You are Delilah?”

  My words stuck in my throat. Delilah was my ex-stepmother, and I had used her name as an alias two weeks ago while at the drug dealer’s house with Eddie. With a shake of my head and a slight laugh, I realized only Eddie would have come up with this plan—to keep my identity as hidden as possible by using my only alias. The alias he had been a part of.

  “Yes, I’m Delilah,” I said.

  Marco held out a small tray. On top of it sat a circular metal lid, covering what I assumed was a plate of food underneath. “Top floor, suite 801.”

  “Oh … okay,” I said, taking the tray, hoping I could manage to carry it without dumping someone’s meal on the floor.

  “Through the left door. Elevators are on the right. Suite 801.”

  “Thanks.” The left door brought me out of the sterile, noisy kitchen, into a darker hallway. The hard floor of the kitchen gave way to soft, padded carpet with loops of reds and golds. The walls were a gold-colored wallpaper, adorned with red and yellow décor. The chandeliers overhead were simple and elegant, and not too large for the space. Two gold-colored elevator doors were on the right, just as Marco had said they’d be.

  I pressed the up button and waited. When the doors sprang open, I was relieved to find the elevator empty. The fewer people I encountered, the more secure I felt.

  The elevator ascended toward the eighth floor, and I wondered what was behind the door of Suite 801. Or rather, who was behind that door. I trusted Eddie. Thatcher seemed nice. Han was a douche, but two out of three weren’t bad odds. Eddie and Thatcher wouldn’t send me into harm’s way. Right?

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The eighth floor also had red and gold décor, but the carpet was a muted beige, intersected by sawtooth-patterned stripes. I stepped out and looked both ways down the short hallway. There were only two suites on this floor. Suite 801 was to the left and had a set of double doors.

  I stepped up, and with a trembling hand, knocked twice.

  Chapter Eleven

  The suite door opened, and staring back at me was a short, chubby guy with black hair and glasses, wearing a white t-shirt that had what looked like a pizza sauce stain near the center of his belly. I doubled-checked the number on the door to make sure I had come to the right room.

  Yep. Suite 801.

  The portly guy smiled. “Come on in, Delilah,” he said with a wide gesture of his hand.

  I stepped in and turned to hand him the platter. He plucked the metal lid off the plate. The only thing on the stark white dinnerware was a small black flash drive. He stepped to the side, revealing a woman—another woman about my size with a long black-brown wig. She wore the same black pants and pink Cartwright polo as I had on. Yet another person to trade places with.

  “I’ll take those,” she said, pointing to the glasses on my face. I handed them over, and she put them on. “And I’ll take that.” She nodded to the platter in my hands. I handed it to her, and she exited the suite. I heard the elevator ding a few seconds later.

  “Who was that?”

  “An agent,” the chubby guy said. “Just be glad they gave you a uniform. That agent had to come up inside a maid’s cart so no one would see her.”

  My nose wrinkled at the thought. I pointed to the flash drive in his hand. “What’s that?”

  He tossed it in the air and re-caught it, with a smug smile. “That, my dear, is not really something I can tell you about. But…” He walked past me with a nod of his head to follow. I did. Sure, I had no idea who he was, why I was in that room, or what the hell was going on … but I followed because I was curious. And because how dangerous could an overweight, pizza-stained guy really be?

  He led me through the suite’s large foyer, through a central living room space, and into an adjoining bedroom which had tables and computers lined up against all free wall space. On the far side of the room sat another guy in front of a computer with headphones on, clicking away on his keyboard and watching his screens intently.

  The chubby guy turned and held both arms out with a
wide grin, “Welcome to the lair.”

  “The lair?”

  He laughed and then held out a hand. “Special Agent Toby McCoy, FBI.”

  FBI? I scanned his portly body. Really? I knocked away all snotty thoughts and shook his hand. “I’m…”

  “Natalie Mancini,” he finished for me. Then he laughed again and waved a hand at me. “I know who you really are, no worries. Besides”—he sat in front of the computer closest to the door—“I’ve been watching you since you arrived downstairs.”

  “Watching me?”

  His fingers flitted around the keyboard and the computer screen flicked on, showing a grainy security feed of me standing in the hotel’s kitchen, taking the platter from Marco, and then a long, boring video of me riding up the elevator.

  “That’s creepy,” I said.

  “That’s the twenty-first century,” he replied. “Don’t want to be seen? Don’t leave your house.”

  I looked around the room. Five computers in all. A large printer of some sort. Other technical gear and cords in a mess on the large king-size bed in the middle. “This is some sort of hub for you FBI guys?”

  “You could call it that,” Toby said, switching the screen back to a video feed of the hotel’s front lobby. “We’re sort of the backbone of the whole operation here, we keep everyone updated on…”

  As he explained the technical aspects of his job, the suite doors opened and Eddie and Han walked in.

  “Toby, don’t bore her to death,” Eddie said. “We just saved her.”

  “My job is anything but boring. And I’m sorry, but I think I saved her ass. Not you two.”

  “Oh that’s right,” Han said, slumping down into a chair near the bed. “You’re the one who put his life at risk walking into that lumber warehouse in Wyoming.”

  “And how did you know where to find her?” Toby asked, and then immediately answered his own question with, “Because of me. So you’re welcome.”

  I glanced from Toby to Han to Eddie. “How did you guys find me?”

  Toby giggled and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Check it out.”

  His fingers hit the keyboard once again and brought up another security feed. This one was in broad daylight, at the mall. The black van was near the top of the screen. The camera angle into the parking lot told me the camera was attached to the mall itself. The black van obscured any sighting of me, but I knew exactly what was happening on the other side of the vehicle. I was being abducted and thrown into the van by Brandon and the gruff man.

  Toby clicked a few more buttons. The van had been caught by traffic surveillance cameras leaving Rapid City, heading west on I-90. It was seen again by cameras leaving the interstate east of Buffalo, Wyoming. A satellite feed had picked it up as it headed down the highway away from the interstate, down the gravel road where it had come to a stop by a large building. The lumber warehouse where I had been taped to the pole and greeted by the mysterious man with the Eastern European accent.

  I wanted to hug Toby. I wanted to slam into him, tackle him to ground, and bear hug him like I’d never hugged anyone before. He was right. Maybe Eddie and Han had been the ones to do the leg work, but if not for Toby, there would have been no rescue. Toby found my location. And I loved him and his pizza stain for it.

  Except one question remained.

  “Why did they take me in broad daylight at a busy place like the mall?” I asked. “Why not at night, at my own house or something?”

  “Because these guys are good,” Toby said. “It doesn’t really matter where they take someone. They disappear.”

  “But you found me.”

  Toby smiled. “They’re good, but we’re better.”

  “And modest,” I said, making him laugh.

  Eddie produced a small first-aid kit from the bathroom and had me sit on the edge of the bed next. He took my hands in his, one at a time, gently pressing antiseptic wipes on the raw skin around my wrists. The pain made me wince, but it was muted by the comforting touch of his hands.

  “What now?” I asked once Eddie finished. “How long do I have to hang out here before I can go home?”

  Toby spun around, back to his computer screen, avoiding the question. Eddie and Han exchanged a long look before Eddie motioned for me to follow him. I followed him through the living room area and to another door on the far side. He opened it, revealing yet another bedroom. Identical to the one we had just left, except there was no Toby and no computers. Only a bed, a desk, and a TV.

  “This is where you’ll be staying,” Eddie said.

  I took a cautious step inside. To the right was a bathroom. To the left, a patio door leading to a balcony. I headed toward it.

  “Stop,” Eddie said.

  “Why?” I asked, fingers on the balcony door handle.

  “You can’t go out there. Keep the door closed. We can’t chance anyone seeing you here.”

  I motioned out the bedroom door. “Anyone who can hack into the hotel’s video feed saw me come up here. You think a pink Cartwright polo shirt disguises me?”

  “No, but that’s why we had our other agent go back down pretending to be you, with the platter, wearing the same clothes and glasses. An employee of the hotel came up, and then left. Which means there is no more you up here. You left. You’re no longer in this suite.”

  “Then why did you and that Han guy get to walk in with no disguises, like it’s no big deal? People obviously saw you.”

  “We’ve been here for a while. It’s no secret that the FBI is here. We take a lot of security precautions, but we don’t have to hide.” Eddie glanced at my hand, still on the balcony door handle. “But you do.”

  My fingers slipped away from the handle. “Fine, I won’t go outside. Am I allowed to sleep on the bed? Can I use the bathroom? Or are those off limits, too?”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re tired, you need sleep.”

  “No, what I need is to wake up in my own bed and have none of this be real.”

  He didn’t reply, probably not disagreeing with my thoughts, but knowing that there was nothing he could do to magically make it so.

  “My dad’s got to be scared to death,” I said. “He’s likely called the police by now, wondering where I’m at.”

  “You’re at Camp Coyote.”

  My jaw went slack. “I’m where?”

  “Your dad and Josh think you took the job at Camp Coyote. They’re not expecting to see you back home until next month. And your manager at November, Angela, was given a very nice, hand-written note from you stating that you’re sorry you couldn’t give her a proper two weeks’ notice of your quitting, but that you had to start your new job as a camp counselor right away.”

  “How the hell do you know about Camp Coyote? And how do you know who Angela is?”

  Eddie shot me a cute, lopsided grin which made my insides twist. He didn’t reply, but I got the message. He was FBI. He knew what I had for breakfast that morning.

  He looked like a normal guy. Maybe a little more muscular than the average guy I saw hanging out at the mall, but still, an average dude. Except he wasn’t average. This wasn’t some kind of mom ‘n’ pop operation happening in this hotel suite. They weren’t kids spying on their neighbors. This was the big leagues. Eddie knew about Camp Coyote and Angela because it was his job to know.

  He probably knew everything about me right down to my shoe size, which wasn’t fair because I knew next to nothing about him. He was from Ohio. He was twenty-three. He worked for the FBI. That was the extent of my knowledge. I didn’t know when his birthday was. I didn’t know his favorite color, or his favorite food, or his parents’ names.

  And I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get to know those things about him. It wasn’t clear to me how much personal information Eddie wanted to share with me. Was he interested in me? Or was I just another person that he was responsible for as an FBI agent?

  I exhaled a long, slow breath. “I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep.�
��

  Eddie pointed to the dresser. “There are some clothes in there. Hopefully it all fits. Agent Baker gathered them. Also, there’s a toothbrush and robe and stuff in the bathroom. It’s all yours to use. And when you’re in this room, no one will bother you. We’ll all be right outside. Just promise you won’t go onto the balcony. “

  “I promise,” I said, glancing at the bedroom door. He was going to walk out, and I hated the idea of losing sight of him again. “Are you going to stay here all night?”

  He nodded. Instead of leaving the room, he stood idle, studying my face. “Are you doing all right?” he asked. “If you need to talk about what happened or—”

  I cut off his words with a wave of my hand. “I’m fine. I’m alive, right?”

  The look on his face didn’t believe me. “You’ve been through a lot, and it’s okay to admit if you’re freaked out.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “It takes more than just being alive to be fine. Did you ever make an appointment to go see that psychologist?”

  I gave him a look. “I don’t need a shrink. I’m not crazy.”

  His jaw clenched, but when he spoke his voice was kind. “All right. Well, I’ll be on the other side of the door all night. If you need anything, holler.” He paused before adding. “No matter what you say, I know you’re scared, Natalie, but we’re here to help you.”

  If you need anything … we’re here to help you. Where was he two days ago when I had called for help? Why hadn’t he been much help back then? Despite being incredibly relieved to be in his presence again, the coldness of his voice from the phone still lingered, making me question everything about him … and about us. If there even was an us.

  “I needed you two days ago,” I said, looking down at my feet.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Two days ago when I called you… I needed your help with the photos I got in the mail. But you didn’t seem very interested in hearing what I had to say. Like you didn’t want to help me.”

  Eddie gave me a confused look and then turned his hands palm up. “I talked to you, I told you to give the pictures to the police. I did help you.”