Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  She took a deep breath and hit the PURCHASE button. She’d never been the type of person to agonize over decisions. She figured now wasn’t the time to start.

  She had credit cards—thank goodness she’d managed to pay the balances down—and she’d rather be proactive than reactive. She’d had enough of waiting around. It was time for action.

  She printed her boarding pass and went off to shower and change into fresh clothes, feeling better and more in control. She operated better on the fly and, if nothing else, a trip to London would confuse everyone. At least she had a plan: go to London, look up the cyber crimes guy, see if he could find out what was going on with the missing money, and figure out what the Covent Garden web link meant.

  Okay, it barely qualified as a plan and details were so sketchy that they were almost non-existent, but she was spontaneous and did her best thinking on her feet. She threw some clothes in a suitcase, found her passport, and sent Helen a text, asking her to come by on her way home from work.

  When Helen arrived two hours later, Zoe was shutting down her laptop. “What’s this?” Helen asked, noticing the suitcase parked at the door.

  “I need a ride to the airport.”

  “The airport?” Helen sounded as if Zoe had asked for a ride to Mars.

  “Yes. I’m going to visit my mom.”

  “What about Thanksgiving? I thought you were spending it with us? And, you never go visit your mom...” Helen’s voice trailed off as she noticed the open file on the island.

  Zoe reached to close it, but Helen was faster and pounced. “These are articles about Italy and about Jack,” she said as she rifled through the papers. She looked up, her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to visit your mom. Something is going on, isn’t it? Something related to Jack?”

  Zoe seized the file from Helen’s hands and quickly slipped it into the messenger bag along with her laptop. “I’m telling you I’m going to visit my mom.”

  The corners of Helen’s mouth turned down and she put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I see. You’re telling me where you’re not going, so that I’ll be able to pass this misinformation on to the FBI when they come to visit me. No way. Not again.”

  “It’s better this way,” Zoe said and hurried on before Helen could protest again. “I hate not telling you everything, but it’s safer. Something is wrong—very wrong—and I’m not going to have you pulled into it, too. It’s bad enough what happened to me today. I’m not going to tell you what it was, except to say that it involved running for my life.”

  Helen had been drawing a breath to continue her argument, but she paused and her expression turned from bullish to concerned. “Running for your life?”

  Zoe touched Helen’s arm as she said, “Don’t look so worried. I’m not sticking around to give them a second chance. That’s why I’m leaving.”

  “What—”

  Zoe held up her hand. “I’m sorry, but I’m not telling you anything else. I wish I could, but I don’t want you to get mixed up in this, too.”

  Helen’s face reflected her internal debate. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. I won’t waste my breath. I know that stubborn expression. You’ve made up your mind, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Just like when you were determined to toilet paper Mike Halliday’s house in ninth grade.”

  A smile crept onto Zoe’s face at the memory. “How was I supposed to know their invisible dog fence included the front yard?” Zoe and Helen had had one tree festooned with toilet paper streamers when the Hallidays’ let their dogs out. Surrounded by barking and growling dogs, they’d done the only thing they could to get out of the reach of those sharp white canine teeth. They’d scrambled up the tree—the one they’d just decorated with toilet paper. Mr. Halliday along with Mike and his younger sister found them when they came to investigate what all the yapping was about. It wasn’t the most mortifying experience of Zoe’s life, but it was definitely in the top five.

  “How are you even paying for this?” Helen asked, dropping onto one of the barstools. A last minute ticket to..., well, anywhere, even someplace close like Houston is outrageous.”

  “I have some money saved. The ceiling will have to wait a little longer is all,” Zoe said. Helen was about to say something else, but Zoe moved to the door. “Are you taking me to the airport or not? Because I can drive myself, but then I’ll have to pay long-term parking, and you know how outrageously expensive that is.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go,” Helen said as she stood and threw her purse strap on her shoulder. “It’s a good thing we’re best friends, you know that, right?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Zoe said as she wheeled her suitcase out of the kitchen and locked the door.

  ––––––––

  “Is it done?” Anna asked, keeping her voice low. The stone floors and walls of the enormous hallway echoed despite the thick carpets and the heavy tapestries on the walls.

  She could barely hear Wade’s voice on the bad connection of the cell phone line as he said, “No.”

  “No?” Her voice reverberated on the cold stone. Forcing herself to speak softly, she bit off each word. “What happened?”

  “She got away. Ran through the neighborhood, took a shortcut that we didn’t know was there. Just disappeared.”

  “We? We?” she repeated. “You brought someone else in on this?”

  “I had to. Couldn’t do it by myself.”

  “You idiot.” Anna forced herself not to say anything else. She wouldn’t be able to speak without yelling, and she couldn’t draw any attention to herself. She closed her eyes and fought down the mist of anger. As she calmed down, she became aware that he was still speaking.

  “...two person job. That way, there was one to grab her and one to drive. Quicker.” After a few seconds, the words, “You still there, Anna?” came through the phone.

  “No names,” she hissed. “I told you that.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  She cut across the word. “Who did you involve?”

  “It’s fine. He’s a buddy of mine from high school. I didn’t tell him anything. He doesn’t even know you’re involved.”

  “Really? He just agreed to help you snatch a woman off the street while she was jogging?”

  “Well, sure. I told him I had a thing for redheads.”

  “That’s all it took? A few words and he agreed to help you commit a felony?”

  The silence stretched. “And I told him I’d pay him ten.”

  “You do realize you’re vulnerable now, don’t you?”

  “Vulnerable? To what?”

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “To blackmail.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. The ten thousand comes out of your cut, and he’s your problem. I suggest you make it clear there will be no more money after that.”

  “Ah, sure. I can do that.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Why didn’t you go to her house—you and your buddy? You could have taken care of it there.”

  “Ah, well. That’s why I was calling. What was that address again? I memorized it like you said, but...even you have to admit that it was kind of confusing. It had so many fives. Was it five-two-five-one? Or five-two-one-five?”

  Anna closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose before replying. “Five-two-five-one.”

  “Wow. You didn’t even have to look it up.”

  “No. You know why? Because I memorized it.”

  “Hey, I can’t help it if I’ve got dyslexia.”

  “Just get it over with.” Anna paced down the hall a few steps to a window and studied the dusting of snow on the trees and grass, a study in monochrome tones.

  “Ah...right. Sure. No probs.”

  “Call me when you have her.”

  Chapter Seven

  ––––––––

  WHILE she waited for her flight out of DFW, Zoe had a few terrible moments of misgiving.
She almost expected to see Sato sprinting down the concourse to prevent her from catching the flight. She forcibly pushed that image aside and reminded herself that she had done nothing wrong. There was no reason she couldn’t take a little trip. No one had specifically told her not to leave town.

  A little voice whispered in her ear, “Yeah, but it sure was implied.”

  She chose to ignore that voice. She wasn’t going home to wait meekly for someone to tail her again or attempt to pull her off the street into a strange van. No, action was better.

  And it was the week of Thanksgiving. It would probably be days before anyone at the FBI even figured out she wasn’t in Dallas. Hopefully, it would be at least a week before Mort heard about the silver car—government bureaucracy and all that. She made a mental note to check her emails and voice messages faithfully and to reply to any contact from Mort or Sato right away. No need to give them any reason to seek her out, especially at her now empty home.

  Her boarding group was called and she wedged herself into her seat in coach, feeling like an anonymous human sardine.

  She felt more relaxed at Newark, where she had to change planes. If the FBI wanted to prevent her from leaving the country, she felt sure that would have happened in Dallas. While she waited at the gate, she used the airport Wi-Fi to rough out her next step. She looked up two hotels listed in the Smart Travel London guidebook that she’d grabbed off her shelf at the last moment when Helen wasn’t watching. She emailed the first one, a boutique hotel near Victoria Station, and received a reply that they did have a room available and would be happy to hold it for her. She made a mental note to let the Smart Travel editor she worked with know the guidebook lived up to its name.

  Next, she re-read the article about cyber crime and did an Internet search for the expert, Dave Bent. It wasn’t hard to find him. He had a website. As a consultant, he specialized in corporate cyber security and had provided expertise to various organizations, including Interpol, MI-5, and the FBI.

  She tried not to think about the international charges as she dialed Dave Bent’s office number. A clipped female voice requested she leave a message. Zoe kept it short, giving only her first name and phone number. With the time difference, he was probably already gone for the day and the office was closed. Zoe mapped the office location and consulted her guidebook. It was near the Leicester Square tube, only a few stops away from her hotel. If she didn’t have a message from Mr. Bent by the time she landed, she’d simply drop by his office.

  “Passenger Hunter, please see me at the podium.” The gate agent replaced the microphone after the announcement.

  Zoe didn’t move from her chair in the back corner of the waiting area near the gate. She scanned the crowd, her pulse thumping, but didn’t see any FBI-types.

  The next announcement was for pre-boarding, and passengers jumped up from their chairs, jockeying to get as close to the gate as they could before their boarding group was called. She remained where she was until she was sure neither Mort, Sato, or anyone else who looked remotely like they might be an official of the US government were lurking in the crowd. The gate agent repeated the announcement about passenger Hunter, and Zoe reluctantly moved to the podium.

  The woman asked to see her boarding pass, and Zoe slid it across the counter. The woman switched it for another one. “You’ve been upgraded.” She smiled. “First class. You can board at any time through our special access lane.”

  “There must be a mistake. I didn’t pay for first class,” Zoe said, already mentally kicking herself. Who turned down first class?

  “It seems another passenger recognized you and wanted to surprise you.” She tilted her head toward a man who stood partially hidden behind the tall wall dividers that displayed the gate number and flight information. “But if you’d rather not take the new seat, I can switch you back...”

  Zoe instantly recognized the silver hair, the dark stubble, and the warm brown eyes. “Sam?” Zoe stepped away from the counter. “What are you doing here?” Instead of his usual casual T-shirt and shorts or oxford shirt and khakis, he wore a yellow tie, white dress shirt, black dress pants, and had a suit jacket over his arm.

  “Flying to London, just like you. I figured we should sit together.”

  “In first class?” Sam was a struggling businessman. How could he afford first class for one person, much less two? And, he was in a suit? Up until that moment, Zoe would have bet money that he didn’t even own a suit.

  The gate agent watched them, her eyebrows raised. Zoe hesitated.

  “Please sit with me,” Sam said, extending his arm toward the jet way. He still wore the woven leather bands on his wrist along with his expensive watch. Zoe thought his dark eyes looked as pleading as Torrie’s labrador. “I’ll explain everything on the way, I promise.”

  Zoe took the new boarding pass.

  The special trappings of the first class cabin took all the time before departure. There were a surprising amount of issues to be sorted out. Would Mr. Clark like his suit jacket hung up? Would Ms. Hunter prefer a drink before takeoff? Which main course did Ms. Hunter prefer, roast lamb with mushrooms, spinach pasta, or grilled chicken with asparagus?

  Then there was all the stuff that came with the special seat assignment. Zoe juggled the thick blanket, pillow, headphones, and the zippered amenity kit, which contained a sleep mask, mints, toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, and lotion. There was so much legroom that she couldn’t reach the seatback pocket in front of her without doing stretches that belonged in a yoga class, so she stuffed the freebies down the side of her oversized recliner-like seat that had more bells and whistles than the dashboard on her Jetta.

  Surreptitiously, she watched the other passengers, including Sam, as they settled in for the flight. Everyone removed their shoes then most people focused on hooking up various electronic gadgets to charge in the outlets and USB ports built into the seats.

  About an hour into the flight, things settled down and Zoe turned to Sam. “Thank you for this.” Zoe nodded at her tray, now covered with a linen square and set with a cloth napkin, real silverware, miniature salt and peppershakers, and squares of butter.

  “It was the least I could do for you. You’ve gone out of your way to take care of me at the office.”

  Zoe nibbled on her snack of mixed warm nuts and sipped a ginger ale. “So, you travel like this often?”

  Sam laughed. “Some. Can you tell?”

  “You’re not agog, like I am. And you know how to work all the controls on the chair as well as the entertainment system.” Zoe glanced at the screen he had removed from its hidden compartment and casually flipped into place.

  “Fresh bread?” The flight attendant held out a silver breadbasket with a variety of rolls and quick breads.

  Zoe chose a slice of Asiago cheese bread, and Sam had a dinner roll. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.” Sam put his knife on the china plate beside his uneaten roll. “I’m not a struggling small business owner.”

  Zoe ate a bit of the warm bread and tilted her head. She’d learned from growing up with ever-evasive Donna that she got a lot more information if she kept quiet.

  “Encore is a new business—that wasn’t a fabrication—but I already own another successful chain of stores that resells used sports equipment. It’s called Rebound. Have you heard of it?”

  Zoe choked a bit on the bread, but managed to swallow it. “Oh, yes.” She knew there were at least two Rebound stores in her part of Dallas. “I bought some in-line skates there once.”

  Sam waited a moment, and when she didn’t say anything else, he continued, “I’ve found that it’s better for me to work incognito, especially when I’m involved in a new venture. I find out the truth that way—who works hard, who is a slacker, that kind of thing.”

  “An undercover boss. I can see how that would be helpful.”

  The flight attendant stopped a rolling cart at their row. “Appetizers? I have skewered shrimp, cheese ravioli, and mango and r
aspberry salad. Would you like some of each?”

  Zoe figured this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and said, “Sure.”

  After the cart rolled on, Sam had some of his salad, then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

  “I wish you had, but this is quite a way to apologize,” Zoe said as she considered how to eat the shrimp skewers elegantly. Is there a way to eat anything on a skewer elegantly? She gave up on nibbling and popped a whole shrimp in her mouth, which gave her the excuse of not speaking. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of Sam. With his puppy-dog eyes and soft-spoken manner it was hard to be upset with him, but he had deceived her and that was something she’d learned not to take lightly.

  “So what takes you to London?” he asked.

  Zoe dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Research.”

  “Oh, the travel books. I didn’t realize you wrote them as well. I thought you were the copy-editor.”

  “Smart Travel believes in thorough fact-checking.” They did. It had never involved her traveling internationally, but she wasn’t about to tell Sam her real reason for going to London. In the first place, it would sound absurd, and, in the second place, if she wasn’t going to confide in Helen, she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone else. “What about you? Travel to London often?”

  “No, not often. I usually hit more destinations on the continent. France, Italy, Germany.”

  “Hmm. For some reason, I wouldn’t have thought that there would be a big market for used sports equipment in Europe.”

  “Skis,” Sam said. “Used skis are very popular in the winter in all the alpine areas. I’m glad this worked out. These international flights are so long. This one will go faster with you here.”

  “Yes, traveling first class on international flights is such a drag,” Zoe teased, and he shrugged.

  “It does get old after a while,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate all the luxury of first class, but it’s still nine hours on an airplane. I’ve spent my time in coach. All the seats on the plane get there at the same time.”