“You’re so smart.”Tean kissed his cheek.
Some of the grumpiness in Jem’s expression eased, but he only whispered, “Get ready.”
Now Tean caught the faint scuff of a sole on concrete.It came from farther down in the garage—probably around the next turn, which was why he couldn’t see anything.He did what he should have done when they’d first reached the garage and made a more thorough assessment of the space around them.Almost every stall was occupied, most of them with luxury vehicles, and surprisingly few of the plates were from Utah.The Florida ones were rentals, he decided.Or hoped.
More importantly, the abundance of cars meant a lot of places he and Jem might take cover if they needed to.Or where someone might hide.He started scanning left and right.
Jem must have noticed, because he took Tean’s hand and squeezed.He dropped it a moment later, though, as they reached the bottom of the ramp.“Here we go,” he said.And he started around the turn.
The woman Tean had seen watching him in the bar, and who had later been hiding in their closet, was staring at a green Chevy Tahoe.She was huddled inside an overcoat of thin white wool—more fashionable than functional.She still hadn’t noticed them, and it gave Tean a chance for his first sustained look at the woman.
She was White, probably not quite to middle age yet—late thirties, maybe, but wearing it well.She had a lob of blond hair with a neon pink streak, and where her arms protruded from the overcoat’s sleeves, her wrists were thin enough for Tean to make out the bones.
“Hey there,” Jem said.“Car trouble?”
The woman spun to face them, and one hand dipped into the overcoat.She brought it out again, holding something tightly.Not a gun.Pepper spray, maybe.Or one of those cat-shaped self-defense weapons.Tean gauged the distance.Twenty feet.Maybe thirty.Jem shifted one step to the right so that he was partially in front of Tean.
“You notice that she didn’t ask who we are?”Jem said to Tean.
Tean nodded slowly.
“You startled me,” the woman said.Her voice had that low, crackly quality that Tean had heard too many times from the shows Jem occasionally watched, the ones Tean mentally grouped together asrich White ladies having drama.“Sorry about that.”With a vague motion at the Tahoe, she said, “I’m just grabbing something.”
Jem shook his head.“It’s too late for that.I’m cold.I’m tired.I’ve got a raging case of Hoffman’s Zipper Eye syndrome.”
“Hoffsted,” Tean whispered.
The glower Jem shot over his shoulder suggested maybe this didn’t actually matter.
The woman considered them for a moment.Then she said, “Do you think this is funny?”
“Not so much,” Jem said.“Start with your name.It’s too late for the bullshit.”
She didn’t say anything.
“All right,” Jem said.“We can do this the hard way.”
“River,” she said.“River Jordan.”
“Sounds made up.”
“That’s my name.”
“What are you doing here, River Jordan?”
A flicker of emotion came and went.Tean thought he knew what it was: fear.In that dry, crackly voice, she said, “Something happened to my car.”
“Ha ha,” Jem said.“Why are you following us?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“We’re past that.You tried following me after work the other night.You were watching Tean at the bar.You broke into our room.”
She shrugged.“I’m a journalist.”
“Bullshit,” Jem said.
“Look me up.”
