“It was my fault,” she said, her flat voice reflecting the bone-deep fatigue that had taken over her mind and body.
“You were a kid.”
“I was fourteen.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Old enough.”
Not a single sound gave away his presence, but under the door she could see his muscular calves covered in curly blond hair, white crew socks, and worn Sauconys. “If you had gotten in the way, he might have killed you too.”
Maybe that would have been better. Better than going through life knowing she’d failed the one person who had cared about her. She rubbed her ribs. “He tried. I was a witness after all.”
Scott swore under his breath. “Valerie.” His voice was deep and serious and sad. He let out a long sigh. “I hate to do this now, but we need to go.”
That got her attention. Wallowing in ancient history only put her at risk at a time when she needed to be alert.
She opened the stall door. Scott stood next to the sink with her flowered tote bag over one shoulder and the black duffle over the other. She might have laughed if his expression weren’t so dark and her own emotions weren’t already frayed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think someone’s watching us.”
The news was like a slap to the face. “How?”
He shook his head. “No idea, but I’ve seen the same guy twice in two different outfits.”
“You’re sure?” Not that she doubted his skills, but it was easy to get paranoid when your picture was on the front page of every newspaper. Below the fold, because a terrorist bombing in Syria had stolen the headlines, but she could hardly celebrate something so horrific.
“Same shoes, same watch,” Scott said, matter of factly. “It’s a common mistake. People change their hair, hats, glasses, shirts, but rarely think about shoes or other accessories. Once that registered, I looked more closely at his face.”
Jeez. “Do you have a photographic memory or something?”
“No, just observation training.” He waved her toward the door as she stepped up to the sink to wash her shaking hands. “Finish up, we need to move. This could be nothing, he could be watching someone else, robbing the place, who knows. But I’m not willing to take a chance.” When she was done, he handed her the flowered bag, adjusted the duffle strap across his body so his hands were free, and said, “Your laptop’s inside.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded. “Act normal. We’re not leaving in a hurry, just leaving because we’re ready.”
She took a deep breath and got her bearings, while inside she tried to beat down the nerves running roughshod through her veins. “You mean normal like you being in the women’s bathroom? Again.”
His lips twitched. “Apparently, that’s how we roll.”
Following him through the doorway, she said, “I’m sorry I ran out.”
“Don’t sweat it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You were trying to help. I appreciate that.”
He nodded without meeting her gaze—probably because,hello, they had more important things to worry about—and surveyed the small anteroom that housed a drinking fountain and community bulletin board. He did the same for the café and bookstore beyond. “Let’s go.”
She knew better than to look around too much. Still, she couldn’t help but scan for the shoes. It would be better if Nike Man didn’t know Scott had spotted him, though he’d surely be suspicious at the timing of their departure. And they still needed to playact for the rest of the crowd. The last thing they wanted was a bunch of people taking notice and calling the police.
Scott took her hand—something she was getting dangerously used to—and they strolled through the stacks of books. She inhaled the soothing scent of binding glue and paper. It brought back memories of long summers in grade school spent reading in the back seat of Papá’s car while he sat surveillance on a target company or person. Once, those had been good memories.
They passed the bins of impulse-buy crap near the registers and sauntered out the front door into the fog-tempered sunlight. Salty, cool air filled her nostrils, seagulls swooped and squawked overhead, and for one desperate, futile moment she tried to convince herself that they were just a happy couple out shopping.Be the lie, her papá always said.Own it.
The breeze brought goosebumps to her bare arms as they reached the white van, with its already-fading window paint and weathered stickers. “We’re definitely going to have to ditch this now.”
“After we lose this guy.” He knelt down and looked under the rear bumper, running his hands along the grimy metal. “Keep an eye out, will you?” he asked, moving his inspection along the perimeter of the van. “I want to make sure we didn’t pick up a tracker.”
Or worse? She shivered. “Do you think he was FBI undercover, checking out a tip or something?” she asked. If they hadn’t been followed, how else would someone have found them?
