Never Go Home
Page 23
The land of abandoned luggage, she thought.
Ten minutes later the man from the terminal still had not arrived. She took one final glance around. Two-thirds of the faces had changed over. That was fine with her. The fewer people around to remember her standing there, the better.
It was the middle of June, not even officially summer yet. But when she stepped outside, it felt like North Carolina in August. The temperature was over ninety, as was the humidity. By the time she found the parking garage, the bottom half of her shirt was in danger of sticking to her back. It grew worse in the garage. Airflow was non-existent. The structure reeked of exhaust and gas fumes.
Some idiot honked his horn in tune with a song. Or perhaps he was just a jerk. The sound echoed off the floors and walls and ceiling. The car drove past her. The young man behind the wheel looked over at her and winked. Although her first instinct had been to extend a gesture toward him, Clarissa ignored the guy. There was no point in getting involved in something that could result in her being arrested, especially while using an identity that could have been compromised without her knowledge.
She found the stairs and walked down one flight. The air felt thicker on the third level. It smelled worse. The front of her head ached, and she felt nauseous.
“Keep it together,” she told herself. “A little further is all.”
The last row was visible from where she stood. Rather than following the road to the left or right then back, she cut through the middle, sidestepping between cars whose owners who were incapable of parking in the middle of a spot.
She reached the last row, pulled the key from her pocket and pressed the alarm. A silver Infiniti G Coupe chirped and screamed and honked and flashed in response. She mashed the lock and unlock buttons with her thumb until the car went silent.
“Not bad, Sinclair,” she muttered, approaching the vehicle from the driver’s side.
She pressed the ignition button on the key. The engine roared to life. She hoped the air conditioning had been left on full blast. She turned to the side in front of the car and shuffled to the door. Voices and laughter and footsteps echoed throughout the concrete structure. She glanced around while pulling the door open and sliding into the driver’s seat. The leather seat and steering wheel felt cool. The vents piped ice-cold air out. She felt the ends of her hair lift and blow in the artificial breeze. The radio had been left on a local classic rock station. She didn’t bother to change it. The navigation unit had a destination pre-programmed. She pressed buttons in an attempt to pan out or display a list of the directions.
She was interrupted before she could figure it out.
Chapter Two
Clarissa jumped at the sound of knuckles rapping against the passenger side window. Her head jerked to the right. She saw the handsome stubbled face from the terminal. The man smiled and pointed toward the door lock. She felt along the armrest with her left hand and located the window and lock controls. She glanced down, pressed the unlock button.
The man stepped back. The door swung open. He stuck his left leg in, lowered himself into the seat, then dragged his right leg in and shut the door. His cologne blew past her. She hadn’t noticed it in the terminal.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You can call me Beck,” he said.
“That your first name or last name?”
“Who says it’s my name at all?” The right side of his mouth lifted upward. A small dimple formed under his cheek.
“Then you can call me Sally,” she said.
His smile broadened. “You should know it doesn’t work that way, Clarissa. If you were sent to meet me, you know you would have been provided with all the necessary information. Think about it for a moment. What would he have told you about me?”
“At a minimum, your name,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Go on.”
“Possibly any combination of birth date, social, current and former addresses, recent operations to assess threat and experience level. Perhaps he’d include any living family members in case the target was uncooperative.”
“And maybe even the names of those who are closer than family?”
She nodded. “Good thing I don’t have any of those.”
Beck grabbed his seatbelt and pulled it across his chest. It locked with a solid click.
“I only know your name, Ms. Abbot. The rest of your secrets are safe with you, and Sinclair.”
She reached for the shifter. Her hand brushed his. She pulled back like a crocodile had lunged out of the water at her.
This drew a laugh from Beck. “If I were here to kill you, you wouldn’t be driving this car, Ms. Abbot.” He made a show out of lifting his hand and dropping it on his lap. “That better?”
Clarissa said nothing. With her left hand, she lowered her sunglasses, fixing them on the bridge of her nose. She made a fist around the shifter with her other hand, slammed it into first and peeled out of the parking spot, while spinning the wheel to the left. She expected the maneuver to be met with calls for her to be careful with Beck’s vehicle.
He had no reaction.
She slammed the brakes at the end of the aisle. People fifteen feet away jumped and sprinted away from her.
Still, Beck said and did nothing.
Clarissa rolled her eyes. Otherwise, she showed no outward reaction to his failure to display any reaction. She turned right and remained under the speed limit until she reached the exit. Beck extended his hand in front of her. A twenty dangled from his fingertips. She passed the money onto a woman reading a book inside a bulletproof enclosure. The woman never made eye contact. Clarissa collected the change, set it in between her and Beck, and followed the curved ramp. The guided navigation spat out directions. She followed them to I-90 and the Ted Williams Tunnel.
The tunnel was close to a half-mile long. A sign hung at the entrance and said, “No passing,” in all caps and bold, black letters. She ignored the warning. She took advantage of every break in the double wide line of cars, weaving left to right to left again. She glanced at Beck. His eyes were closed.
They emerged from the tunnel. Though there were no clouds, the sky looked anything but blue. Hazy smog filled the space between the horizon and the sun, which glared from overhead. The air blowing through the vents, while cold, smelled like an ashtray that hadn’t been emptied in a week. The car appeared to be new. Didn’t it come with some kind of filter to protect against poor air quality?
“Beck?” she said.
He lifted his chin from his chest and turned his head toward her. “Yeah?”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever that GPS tells us to go.”
She glanced at the LCD screen. A number was fixed to the upper right corner. Four hundred thirty-five miles to go. In her head, Clarissa pictured the eastern seaboard. That distance would put them close to Philadelphia or D.C., if she continued south. The tension in her muscles slipped away like a dying man’s last breath. Sinclair wouldn’t bring her home if he were going to kill her. He might have her arrested, but not terminated.
Why not have her fly directly to Reagan or Dulles?
She glanced to her right. Beck had his head down and eyes closed again. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Either he’d fallen asleep, or he was deeply relaxed. Either way, he didn’t pose an immediate threat to her. She wondered whether he knew the reason for them to travel together. Perhaps the man lived in the Boston area. Or maybe it was a mutual dependence thing. She knew she could drive herself crazy trying to figure it out. She worked through possible reasons and explanations, but none of them reached a conclusion she deemed plausible. And none of it mattered. The only one who truly knew was Sinclair.
And there was little chance he’d tell her until he had to.
If he had to.
They continued southwest. The sun continued its westward trajectory. It would be hours before its light no longer benefited them. The longest day of the year was close. Only a week a
way.
Three hours into a seven hour drive, Beck woke. He lifted his arms over his head and twisted at the waist. Something popped in his back or his shoulders.
“Pull over at the next exit,” he said.
“There’s nothing at the next one,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“The sign on the side of the interstate had nothing under gas, food and lodging. It’ll be a waste to pull over if you need any of those three things.”
“Okay, take the following exit, then.”
They passed the off-ramp to nothing. She crossed into the right hand lane in advance of the next one. The sign indicated there were multiple gas stations there. He could get a drink or food or use the restroom. Whatever it was he needed.
She studied the cars behind them. So far, there hadn’t been a single one that paced her. That didn’t mean anything, though. An experienced team would use five or six different vehicles, changing places often. Possibly even having the drivers switch out cars along the way. There was no guarantee of a pattern, other than the people behind the wheel. She’d been on the lookout for a certain type of person. The problem was, between Boston and New York, half the drivers on the road matched that type. Even halfway to Philadelphia, at least four out of every ten cars had someone who fit the profile in her head.
So she let it go and watched for a constant tail.
She pulled off the interstate, made a right at a blinking red light. They had a choice between three different gas stations. She turned left into the first one they encountered. This way, she wouldn’t have to cross traffic to drive back to the interstate. The gas gauge read half-full. She pulled up to a pump, got out, reached for the hose. A man wearing greasy blue coveralls trotted over. He waved his arms and whistled and yelled at her to stop.
Beck had stepped out of the car. He looked at her from across the roof.
“We’re in New Jersey, Clarissa. You can’t pump your gas here. If you touch that hose, you’ll be in violation of a state Supreme Court ruling that dates back to 1951.”
She’d driven through the state enough to know this, yet it escaped her mind. When was the last time she’d stopped for gas in Jersey?
The man smiled as he placed himself between her and the gas pump, like he guarded an endangered species. She lifted her hands and backed up. Looking to her left, she noticed Beck stepping into the convenience store. She decided to join him inside and grab a cup of coffee.
A bell dinged when she pulled the door open. Three people stood in line, staring straight ahead. None of them appeared to be with one another. Clarissa walked behind them, taking note of the largest of the three, a man wearing a Mets t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He was big, but out of shape. His gut protruded over his waist. She deemed him not much of a threat, and moved on.
She found the coffee maker in the back corner. The brew in the pot looked old and smelled stale. The odor lingered in her nose even after she took a step back. She imagined the bottom quarter of the pot was thick sludge.
Beck emerged from a hallway and walked up to her.
“High octane,” he said, wincing at the sight of the coffee.
“I think I’ll pass,” she said, looking toward the cooler. “Grab a soda instead.”
He followed her to the fridge, then the register. They stood next to each other. The appearance of a couple again. It worked, she figured. He used the change from the parking garage and another twenty to pay for two drinks, a bag of sunflower seeds and the gas.
Outside, he asked, “Want me to drive?”
“I got it.” She detested the idea of giving up control of the vehicle. At least behind the wheel she had the option of running. She wasn’t armed. Neither was he, best she could tell. The only thing he could do was hit her. And if she pushed the gas to eighty or so miles per hour, he’d be less inclined to lay a hand on her.
They took their seats in the Infiniti. She turned the key in the ignition. The LCD screen lit up. It calculated their route time and distance. A little over three hours to go.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Other Books
Excerpt
Table of Contents
Quick Links
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue (Noble Intentions Season Four Chapter 1
Other Books by L.T. Ryan
Excerpt
Table of Contents