“We just haven’t decided the best way for you to distract him without raising too much suspicion,” Valerie said.
Scott nodded. “Or how to keep him busy long enough for Valerie to find the drive and get out.”
Tara could do this. In the last few months, she’d faced down men with guns, the intrusive press, and her lying ex. One security guard should be a piece of cake. The fact that she was aiding fugitives was irrelevant. She was already on the hook for helping them.
And Scott was a trusted friend.
“When is shift change?” She smiled. “I have an idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Chantilly, VA
Thursday, 6:27 p.m.
JUST BEFORE SIX-THIRTY THAT evening, Valerie hid behind one of the evergreen hedges that wrapped around the Aggressor office building. It was strange to be back at the place where this had all started, back where she wasn’t welcome anymore. Anger surged through her and she took a deep, slow breath to calm herself.
There were three cars in the front parking lot, a large black truck, a red Corvette, and a blue Passat that she knew belonged to Harry, the computer operator who’d been working when she finally hacked Westgate. The only cars in the back lot were Aggressor work vehicles. So, she probably didn’t have to worry about running into Vishnu in accounting, or anyone else besides the guards and Harry.
As if they weren’t enough to worry about.
Less than twenty yards away, Tara parked a noisy brown Celica with dents that dated back to Bill Clinton’s presidency in the fire lane in front of the entrance. Magnetic signs on the car’s side doors read DELIA’S CATERING, and a gray plastic cover obscured the license plate.
Valerie had no idea how she had procured the signs on such short notice.
Tara exited the car dressed in black chinos, tennies, and a thick jacket with a red scarf around her neck. Her sleek hair was mostly hidden under a baseball cap that would block her face from the surveillance cameras, and black eyeliner had been applied with a heavy hand, making her look somewhere between sixteen and twenty.
She jogged across the concrete pad and rapped on the glass. On weekends and holidays, an employee badge was required just to open the doors.
Garth’s deep, jovial voice carried to Valerie’s hiding spot. “You lost?”
“No, I have a delivery. Thanksgiving dinner for you guys from—” Tara squinted at a clipboard “—Meseret? Did I say that right?”
“Uh, yeah.” He sounded surprised and maybe a bit wary. “Seriously?”
“There’s a message,” Tara said as she flipped to another page on her clipboard and angled it to see in the light. She was good at this. “Thanks for working on your holiday. We appreciate you.” Her high-pitched voice telegraphed casual boredom. “From Duncan Hollowell and everyone at Aggressor.”
“Huh. Hey, Rog. Mr. H’s secretary sent us a turkey dinner.”
Roger’s reply was muffled, but sounded positive.
“There’s a ton of food,” Tara called through the doorway with a thousand-watt smile. “You have nothing to worry about.”
In the bright light coming from inside, Valerie could see Tara’s gaze track Roger’s movement toward the elevators. Perfect. He was going on rounds now and would be gone for about fifteen minutes. Valerie and Scott had watched the guards through the plate-glass front window for hours earlier in the day to verify that their routine hadn’t changed since she worked there. The men were pretty consistent.
Now the tricky part.
“Hang on,” Tara said to Garth. “I’ll get your stuff.”
She returned to the car and tossed the clipboard onto the front seat. With the turn of a key, she opened the hatchback and withdrew a foil-covered metal tray, one of several she’d promised to return to the catering company on behalf of the women’s shelter. Instead, she was going to have to replace them.
Steam rose above the tray, thick like smoke in the cold air. Garth had stepped outside to hold the door for her. He looked around, resting his other hand on the gun at his hip, his body rigid with alertness—and probably from the cold, since he wore no jacket.
Tara executed the fall so beautifully that even Valerie didn’t see it coming, and she’d been waiting for it.
“Oof,” Tara uttered as she landed on her hands and knees on the concrete. The metal tray lay upside down a couple feet in front of her, oozing a beige goop. “Oh, shit,” she said, her voice shaky and tearful.
Damn, she was good. Valerie couldn’t have done it better herself.
