Running:
So far it's paid off bigger than writing.
Writing:
So far it's cost me tons--I've bought computers, paper, ink cartridges and office furniture. Hmmm.
This handful of loot is a lot more than I usually find while running. This day felt like I'd hit the jackpot! Yes, I stop and pick up coins. Like I said, running pays better than writing.
Secrets at Midnight
Leona Palmer Haag
Chapter 51
The night had been
rough, but Matt sensed an end to their flight. Between two power naps he had
pried both negligible and vital information from the office—but it wasn’t clear
which was which. They'd had a bomb threat, but no one had claimed responsibility,
nothing had detonated, they’d found no devise, and so far they hadn't tracked
down the caller. Adams and Mueller, computer and communication gurus, had
teamed up and expected to have it solved before daylight—predicting Washington
was behind it. They didn’t know Washington well—skilled in diversion tactics,
but even better at not needing them.
Curtis had a knack for
finding information no one else noticed—could almost sniff it out—and had said
little about the threat, leading Matt to believe he knew more than he said, and
that worried him.
With Nick in the
states, the office threatened, and his freshly orchestrated arrangements for
Jenn and Katie teetering and on the brink of collapsing, Matt wasn’t certain
he’d survive the next forty-eight hours, or even until breakfast.
Trying to figure out
the world climate, his thoughts zeroed on an obvious scenario—someone had
carefully manipulated events to remove him from the picture, and Jenn had been
the vehicle to accomplish it. Only someone who knew him well—his habits, dedication
and promises—could use her. If that were the case, it narrowed down the
culprit: Nick, Monica and Curtis—his three closest associates, and possibly
included Holtz and a handful of agents on the subordinate tier.
Matt’s inbox blinked. A
note from Curtis read: Final link connected. Have a safe ride.
Life balanced in each
word he wrote back: Excellent. What about the second link?
Curtis replied:
Tricky, but worked out.
Monica?
No word yet. Keep your
chin up.
No news wasn't
necessarily bad news. But Monica was a communicator—reliable at sending
information. Her silence felt deadly. She’d been removed for a reason.
An alert flashed on
his screen. Matt pulled up a coded note from Nick: El Paso. Heading toward
Albuquerque . Meet in Denver. Suspect ambushes. Someone is double-dealing.
Marshall? Curtis? The whole third floor? Monica is alive.
Matt blinked watery
eyes and continued reading: I have password and code. Will exchange for family
if necessary.
Matt fired off a
reply: Send meeting details.
Minutes ticked away,
but Nick had gone off line.
Jenn emerged from the
bedroom. “We're ready.”
He shut down his
computer and jumped up. “Where’s your gun?”
She patted the diaper
bag.
“Put it in your
pocket.”
“Think hard about
that. I might kill someone.”
“You're not in a towel
so everyone’s safe.” From the look she shot him, he wished he’d kept his mouth
shut. The last thing he needed was having her act belligerent—a huge
possibility. He tried another approach. “Jenn, I believed you when you said you
felt someone watching you last night and....”
She looked around in
fright—he’d found another bad way to try putting her at ease. He tried again.
“No one actually saw you in the tub,
but someone knows we're here.” Taking her elbow, he led her to the sofa and
urged her to sit. “I believed you so I called in a huge favor from an old
friend. He’s agreed to help us.”
She fidgeted.
“We'll take the
elevator down, but on the fifth floor a cleaning woman will get on. Inside her
cart another woman is hiding. You’ll switch places. When we reach the lobby
I’ll get off the elevator with the woman impersonating you. You’ll remain
hidden and....”
“Your plan is riddled
with holes. No one can hide in a cleaning cart.”
“This is a custom….”
She held up a finger,
hushing him. “A woman gets on the elevator with a baby, but the woman exiting
has none? How many bases did you leave uncovered?”
“There’s a doll in the
cart.”
“I’m wearing a green
t-shirt.”
He picked up a denim
jacket. “And this. Give it to the woman.”
“You’re handing me
over? Did you already collect the ransom?”
“We’ll meet up later.”
Knowing her thoughts could veer thousands of miles off track, he added, “There
are possible problems. First, I'll probably
be killed before I reach the lobby. I’ll have on a flak jacket, but I won’t be
encased in steel. The woman with the doll is a dead eye, but that may not be
enough.”
“You die and I
what—rot in a cleaning cart?”
“You’ll be escorted to
the basement, and from there to a waiting car. You’ll leave the hotel secretly and
safely—if you do what I say.”
“All kidnappers say
‘just do what I say and no one will get hurt.’”
“Do what I say because
every link of our escape it planned like clockwork.”
“I ride off with a
stranger—bad idea, you know. What happens next?”
“Too much information
isn't good.”
“Unless you're talking
to me. Tell me, or I’m not budging.”
He contemplated what
to reveal and what to retain. “We’ll meet at Angels Deli. Your escort will drop
you off if there’s an open sign on the door. If there’s a closed sign,
something went wrong and the driver will take you to a park pavilion where a
contingency plan will kick into gear. I’ve thought things out—each possibility
and—”
“Plan B?”
He hated divulging
information, but spit it out. “You’ll be escorted to safety by me or someone
I’ve arranged for.”
“I hate twisted,
convoluted plans.”
He glanced at his
watch. “We’ll meet at the deli at seven-thirty. If all goes well I’ll arrive
first and buy you a Danish.”
“And tea.”
He nodded. “Have you
got everything you need?”
“No. I’ve got Katie,
but I don’t have Nick.”
“We’ll rendezvous with
him within forty-eight hours.”
She jumped up and
grabbed his arm. “If you're lying, I'll miss your bullet proof vest. You’ll
sing soprano the rest of your life. I have no back-up plan, except death.
Yours."
End Chapter 51
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