Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  “You didn’t get a good look at the driver?”

  “I couldn’t see his face, but there was a flash of light-colored hair when he moved. I thought the guy had blond hair. It couldn’t have been Al—he has long dark hair—but Sam’s hair has gone prematurely silver. It could look light-colored from a distance.”

  “He’s got gray hair?” Sam asked, and Zoe didn’t miss that the fact seemed to cheer him.

  “Yes. Very distinguished. That’s beside the point. Let’s see if anything he said is true.”

  She reached for her battered laptop and ran a search for Sam’s companies. He’d told her she could find information on-line that would confirm what he told her. There were websites for both Encore and Rebound, which looked genuine. She ran a search for his name combined with the business name and found a couple of articles about him on business and entrepreneurial websites.

  She chewed her thumbnail, wishing she had a way to research him further. Mort Vazarri would be the ideal candidate to ask for help, but she didn’t see how she could convince him to run a search on Sam Clark without explaining her suspicions, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself where the FBI was concerned.

  “The websites are generic, but they could be legitimate businesses. It’s easy to make yourself look legit on the Internet,” Jack said.

  Zoe walked away from the computer. She rounded the edge of the bed, went to the balcony windows then turned back as a thought struck her. “Jack, I never gave him my hotel information. How did he know I was here? We only exchanged phone numbers.”

  “He must have followed you here or—”

  Zoe interrupted him. “And, how did he know I was taking an international flight? I didn’t tell anyone, not even Helen. Even if he was following me, how likely is it that he’d have had luggage and a passport on him, ready to go?”

  “That would be carrying the Boy Scout motto a little far,” Jack agreed. “The other explanation is that he’s got some sort of tracking device on you.”

  Zoe crossed the room quickly and slapped the laptop lid closed. “It’s got to be on this. I made flight reservations on-line, and I only made them a few hours before the plane took off. He was at the airport in Newark with his passport, booked on the same international flight. The only way he could have known my flight was if he had access to my computer.”

  “If he somehow got a keylogger installed, he’d have access to every website you visited, every word you typed.” Jack rubbed his hand down over his mouth as he stared at the closed laptop. “There’s only one other explanation I can think of, and it’s bad.”

  “What’s that?” Zoe asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

  “He’s with an organization that has the ability to monitor your email and Internet usage.”

  “Someone like the FBI,” Zoe said. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch at the thought.

  “Or the CIA...something like that.”

  They stared at the computer for a second then Zoe grabbed her clothes. “I’ll shower so we can get out of here.”

  ––––––––

  LESS than fifteen minutes later, Zoe stood freshly scrubbed near the door, her wet hair twisted up in a clip and covered with her new royal blue scarf, her suitcase by her side.

  Jack shoved her smoky clothes into the bag that contained his. “We can’t afford to leave them here in case someone makes the connection between the clothes and the fire. We’ll have to ditch them.”

  “We can toss them somewhere along the way. What about my laptop? Do we bring it or leave it?” Zoe asked, glancing toward the bed where they’d left it untouched.

  “It could be valuable for misdirection,” Jack said, “but if there’s any sort of physical tracking on it...”

  Zoe sighed. “Leave it. Good thing I’ve got an online back-up of all my files.”

  “How very...unlike you.”

  “Gift from Helen last year. She said it was something I’d never buy for myself.” She tilted her head to one side. “You know, traveling with you is very expensive. First, I had to replace my leather messenger bag after Venice, and now I’m going to need a new laptop.”

  “Once we’re out of this mess, I’ll gladly buy you a top-of-the-line laptop.”

  “That’s sweet, but you just told me you’re out of money. Or, is there another secret bank account?” Zoe asked.

  “You’re rather fixated on that, aren’t you?”

  “I’m glad you had a way to survive, but I’m not a big fan of deception. And, don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Do I have another secret bank account? Unfortunately, no. I guess I’ll have to write a book or something to bring in some cash after I clear my name. Maybe I’ll team up with your mom and pitch a reality show or something.”

  “Forget it. I’ll buy my own computer,” Zoe said quickly. “Okay, let’s get going.”

  Jack blew out a breath. “Right. Let’s do it.”

  He didn’t move. Zoe put her hand on the door. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Steeling my nerves.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t go out the door. We have to take the balcony.”

  “What? You’re afraid of heights.”

  “It’s the falling, actually, that I fear,” he said and squared his shoulders. “But we can’t go out the front. Sam might be watching the hotel as well as monitoring your computer.”

  “But there is no back way. It’s just a garden.”

  “Exactly.” Jack clicked off the lights and opened the balcony doors. He waved her through the doors. “You first. You’re the experienced climber.”

  ––––––––

  “WE’RE only one floor above the ground floor.” Zoe tried to sound encouraging as she looked over the railing to the square of gravel with chairs and pots of ivy below. A fine mist hung in the air, fuzzing the outlines of the trees that ringed the patch of garden. “I’ll go down first. Then you can drop the suitcase down to me.”

  Jack nodded, his face set. She smacked him on the arm. “It’s not like you’re walking the plank into the ocean. Just a little drop down to the ground.”

  “Let’s get it over with.”

  “Okay, here goes,” Zoe said and stepped over the railing. Balancing on the small ledge, she squatted and gripped the base of the balustrades, which were slick from the moisture in the air. Zoe wiped her hands on her jeans one at a time then took a deep breath and kicked her feet off the ledge. Her arms jerked, taking all her weight.

  She dangled there for a moment, trying not to think about how there was no rope in this climb. Her head was below the balcony now, and she could see through the French doors into the small reception area of the hotel. The desk had been unmanned when they arrived. Zoe had nipped behind the desk, retrieved her key, and they’d darted upstairs before anyone saw—or smelled—them, but now there was a young woman perched in the chair, her head turned away toward her computer monitor.

  A quick glance down showed the ground was about five feet below her slightly swinging feet. “Hey,” Jack whispered, “You said never look down.”

  “Yeah, well, you know I’m a rebel at heart.” Her straining fingers wouldn’t last much longer, but even though she was mentally telling herself to let go, her hands remained clamped to the balustrades.

  The playfulness went out of Jack’s tone as he saw her hesitate. “You want to bend your knees and roll when you land.”

  “Who’s the climbing expert now?” Zoe asked, her words coming out in little huffs.

  “Falling expert. I jumped off a playground and broke my leg when I was seven. I know how not to do it. Remember, bend your knees. Let them absorb the shock. Go on. You can do it.”

  Zoe opened her hands, the ground whooshed up, and the gravel bit into her palms.

  “You okay? Did you bend your knees?” Jack asked as he lifted the suitcase over the railing.

  “I guess.” She stood and dusted he
rself off.

  “Ready?”

  Zoe glanced at the reception area. The woman was now writing something. “Yeah. Better be quick. We might have some explaining to do, if we’re not.”

  “Okay, here.” The suitcase dropped into her arms. The bag of clothes followed almost instantly and tagged her shoulder. Seconds after that, Jack landed softly on the soles of his feet, in a squat inches away from her.

  “Impressive,” Zoe said.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Jack said, flashing a quick smile. He picked up the suitcase and she took the bag of smoky clothes. There was a gate in the back corner of the garden that led to a small alley lined with trash bins and a few parked scooters. They moved down the alley and into the street.

  Zoe glanced around. “Okay. I recognize this street. We’re not far from Victoria. We can get to the airport that way.”

  “We’re not going to the airport.”

  “But your bag. You said you left it there. And didn’t you say you had a return ticket?”

  “Which I won’t be using. We’ll take the train. There are more departures. We can get out of London faster and more anonymously.”

  Zoe nodded, and Jack said, “So no argument? You’re coming with me to Germany?”

  “What else am I going to do?” Zoe turned down a road, which had a few cars moving along it and some pedestrian traffic. “Stick around here and wait to be questioned by the police? No thank you, I’ve had enough of that. And if the police locate me here, once my connection to you is known, then that will set off the FBI in Dallas. I want to know what’s on Bent’s laptop before I do anything. I need all the information I can get—from Bent’s laptop and your information—before I deal with any police. No, I’m stuck with you for now,” Zoe said.

  “You don’t have to sound so grim about it,” Jack said. “Some women would jump at the chance to tour European capitols.”

  “It’s not like we’re on a fourteen-day tour. We’re not vacationing; we’re on the run.”

  They took the Victoria line on the Underground to King’s Cross, where they pushed the bag of smoky clothes into a trashcan. Then they went to the railway station, St. Pancras, an imposing Victorian building with Gothic-style pointed arches and towers topped with pinnacles. Inside, a curved glass ceiling covered the main concourse, which had a mezzanine level with shops along the side and bridges running across the open space between the two sides.

  They found the line for EuroStar tickets. “Better not use a credit card,” Jack said.

  “Mine would probably be declined anyway,” Zoe said, thinking of the airline and hotel charges. They pooled the pounds they had on them to purchase the tickets, cringing at the amount. “Last train of the day to Paris,” Jack said.

  “We can change there to a sleeper train that will take us to Germany. I think we’ll have just enough money.”

  “If only we’d booked on-line ahead of time,” Jack said as they strode through the building.

  “Right. I’ll be sure to do that next time before I find a dead man.” Zoe twisted around to take in the arched glass roof overhead and rows of shops as they raced along. “It reminds me of Covent Garden,” she said. “Except, of course, that this was a working train station, not one that has been converted into a shopping—” Zoe broke off as a man on his cell phone bumped into her, spinning her sideways. He apologized and went on his way, but Zoe barely heard him. She’d glimpsed a face in the crowd when she’d turned suddenly.

  Jack, who was a pace ahead of her, looked back.

  Zoe closed the distance between them. “I think I saw Sam.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  ––––––––

  “WHERE?”

  “Behind us. He had on a baseball cap, a brown one. I think it was him.”

  “Let’s find out.” Jack moved to a store window, and they pretended to admire the display of watches. “Look in the reflection. Do you see him?”

  “No, he’s too far away. Let me look over your shoulder,” Zoe said and popped up on her tiptoes.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “It is him.” Zoe dropped down. “It’s okay. He didn’t see me. He’s looking at his phone, but he’s moving this way.”

  Jack grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can lose him.” They blended in with several people moving up the stairs to the mezzanine level. They crossed to the other side so they could look down through the open area to the main level.

  “There he is.” Zoe spotted the baseball cap moving toward them. From above, she could see the silver hair at the base of his neck. He kept his head bent over his phone, only glancing up to avoid running into people.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Jack said, and they took off, heading toward him. They came even with Sam and kept walking. Jack caught her arm. “Look at that.” Below them, Sam had done a one-eighty and was now trailing along after them, shadowing their movements on the lower level as they walked along the upper level, all the while concentrating on the screen of his phone.

  “How did he do that?” Zoe asked. “He didn’t look up here.”

  “He’s tracking us.”

  “Tracking us?” Zoe stopped. “How could he do that?”

  “With a real-time GPS tracker. There’s got to be one on you or in your stuff somewhere. We’ve got to keep moving as we look for it.”

  A real-time GPS tracker? Zoe wouldn’t have believed it, except she’d seen the way Sam had turned without hesitation to follow them. And he was still following them. “How—when could he...? Oh, on the plane. He could have done it on the plane while I slept.”

  “Forget about that now. Let’s find the thing first,” Jack said. “Where’s your phone? That’s the most likely place. Maybe he put some sort of tracking app on it.”

  Zoe laughed. “Right. Not on my phone.” She worked it out of her back pocket. “No apps. It barely takes pictures.”

  Jack took a quick glance at it and handed it back. “That’s practically pre-historic in technology years.”

  The brown cap continued to pace along in their wake. “Could it be on my clothes?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s probably on something you’d always have with you—like your coat or purse.”

  “We ditched our coats along with the clothes, so it can’t be there.” Zoe glanced back. “He’s coming up the escalator. Aghh. It’s got to be in my messenger bag. Come on,” she said and moved into a women’s clothing store displaying skimpy T-shirts and camisoles. Zoe dumped the contents of her purse on a glass counter that enclosed perfume bottles. She didn’t bother pulling out Bent’s laptop because she’d only picked it up a few hours earlier—even though it seemed like it had been much longer than that.

  A sales lady approached. “May I help you?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Just lost my lipstick,” Zoe said as she pawed through the receipts and tubes of lip-gloss.

  “Well, let me know if you’d like to try our new scent, Drastic.”

  “Not now, thanks.” Zoe pushed her sunglasses, her plane ticket stubs, and her wallet out of the way. “Good grief. There’s so much stuff in here, this is the perfect place to hide something,” she muttered. Breath mints, a Chinese take-out menu, a bottle of ibuprofen. Jack stepped to the shop door and returned.

  “He’s on the other side of the mezzanine.”

  Ear buds with their cords tangled in a hair clip. A case for her sunglasses that she never used. A stack of business cards held together with a rubber band. Three sticks of cinnamon-flavored gum.

  “Nothing. Where is it?” Zoe said, sweeping her hand through the stack of stuff. She paused when she picked up her empty sunglass case. There was a thickness at the bottom. She shook it, but nothing came out. She worked her fingers inside and pried out a small black box about the size of a matchbox, but thinner.

  “Jack,” she said, drawing his attention away from the shop entrance.

  She held up the box. He sent her a blinding smile and grabbed it. “Let’s see i
f this is the problem.”

  Zoe swept the rest of the items into her messenger bag as Jack approached a woman who was leaving the store, her powder blue shopping bag with her new clothes hooked over her elbow. Jack brushed by her and dropped the black box into the open shopping bag. “Slick,” Zoe said as he returned to her side.

  A few seconds later, Sam strode by, head bent over his phone. He didn’t look into the shop, just followed the woman with the powder blue bag. They watched as Sam trailed her down the corridor.

  “Thank goodness she didn’t head for the EuroStar area.”

  “Speaking of that,” Jack said, “We’d better get over there. Don’t want to miss our train.”

  Zoe couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as they took an escalator down to the main level and went to the EuroStar concourse, but she didn’t see any brown baseball caps.

  They fed their tickets into the automatic ticket gates and the glass panels popped open. “Good thing it’s mid-week. We would never have gotten tickets if it were the weekend,” Jack said.

  Zoe knew he was trying to make conversation to get her down from the jittery nervous feeling that vibrated through her. “No long weekend here,” Zoe said, trying to match his easy tone.

  Jack looked at her blankly as they lined up for security.

  “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” Zoe said. “At least, it is in the States.”

  “I’d forgotten,” Jack said as they moved through security. An official took a quick glance at their passports then they were through to the departure waiting area. Zoe hadn’t expected to have her passport examined before they left London, but it all went so quickly that it was over before she had time to worry. “Well, that was simple,” she said. “I guess the police haven’t flagged our passports.” Jack murmured an agreement as they boarded their train.

  Zoe let out a sigh of relief as the train pulled out of the station with no sighting of Sam.

  “We’ll be in Paris in under three hours,” Jack said.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Zoe said, realizing that she was ravenous. “All this running and hiding has given me an appetite.”