Go-Between (21 page)

“Jeff's
. . .
he's okay. Why do you ask?”

“Just some things people said.” He grabbed a couple of dirty glasses off the bar and scooped up the tip someone had left. “Anyway, hope it works out. Jeff's a good guy.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she said.

If Matt knew, it wouldn't be long before everyone at Evergreen knew. Maybe they already did.

Maybe she should just
take the money, the passport and the logbook, and run. She was pretty sure that was what Danny wanted her to do. How many times had he said it, since he'd been arrested?

Why don't you just get away for a while?

You don't need to be anywhere near this.

You need to take care of yourself.

Her car was parked behind the restaurant. She'd gone out the front door because she hadn't wanted to say goodbye to everyone again. Didn't want to risk the emotion.

The goodbye wouldn't mean much to them. She was the boss, and they expected to see her in a week or two. If they knew about Danny's bust, maybe they were worried about the business, about their jobs. If she disappeared completely
. . .

How long would it be before the feds showed up?

They'll be fine, she thought. They weren't involved. They might be pissed as hell that their jobs ended without warning, but they'll survive. They won't know how much they meant to me, most likely.

Their lives would go on.

She rounded the corner to the back parking lot. There were only a few cars there, including hers.

Standing by it were two burly, tatted-up white guys with shaved heads and flat-brimmed ball caps. Out of towners, she guessed, the kind who came here looking to buy weed cheap and move it back east.

But she couldn't be sure. She transferred her keys to her left hand.

She reached into her fanny pack, wrapped her fingers around the checkered hardwood grip of her .38.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Oh. Sorry, ma'am,” one of them said. He took a few steps back.

The other didn't move. He was taking a hit off a glass pipe.

What was the logo on his hat? An H over a star.

Houston?

Were these some of Bobby's clients? The ones expecting Danny's shipment?

“Excuse me,” she said again. Louder this time. Her heart was pounding hard enough to choke off the words, but she wasn't going to let that happen.

He straightened up with a grin. “Sorry about that. We don't mean to be getting in your way.”

She could feel their eyes on her as she approached the driver's side door of her car. She had her finger on the trigger of the .38 now, the grip cool and solid in her hand.

She pressed the key to unlock the door. Opened it. Now her back was to them.

Keep it together. Don't act scared. Get ready to shoot.

She slid into the car seat and slammed the door shut. Jammed the key in the ignition and started the car.

She saw the two of them in her rearview mirror, watching her as she pulled away.

Great. Just great.

The last thing she needed were some Texas thugs looking to recoup the weed money they'd lost. Or the weed. How did deals like that work, anyway? Half the money up front, half on delivery? Were they the ones who'd paid Danny, or was that part of Bobby's deal? She had no idea. She'd never wanted to know very much about Bobby's gigs. That way she could go on pretending that Danny was a charter pilot and volunteer firefighter, she was a restaurateur, and they were living a nice, normal life among the redwoods.

You don't know they were part of Bobby's deal, she told herself. There were a lot of guys like that, drifting in and out of Humboldt.

And if they were, maybe they just wanted to make sure that Danny wasn't talking.

She snorted. Of all the things Danny had to say, their little pissant deal didn't even register.

But if they were hanging around Evergreen
. . .

Christ. What if they tried something with Evergreen? With someone on her staff?

What could she even do about it?

She pulled the rental car into the driveway of her rental house.

Now what?

She'd checked all the doors and windows, twice, to make sure they were locked. Set the alarm.

What made sense to do?

Just get in the car and drive. Drive someplace she could catch a bus or a train to San Francisco. Use the new passport and the cash and buy a plane ticket to somewhere far away.

What about Danny? What did he want her to do with the pilot log? Could she use that, somehow, to get him out of jail?

She was pacing around her living room, mind racing. If she tried to run
. . .

She'd left a trail, coming here. There was no way for her not to have. Gary used all kinds of electronic tracking, but he paid people, too. He could have paid anyone here to keep an eye out for her.

This new passport was clean, as far as she knew. She had to use it carefully. Compromise it, and she was completely fucked.

Okay. So stick with the cover story she'd already established. A crisis at the restaurant. Back in Houston tomorrow.

Figure out what Danny wanted her to do with the logbook.

Then run. As fast and as far away as she could.

x
x
x

She decided to take
Danny's rucksack with her. It was a better choice for a go-bag than the one she had back in Houston.

“This thing is bomb-proof,” he'd said, more than once. Danny had a thing about good bags.

Was there anything at the house she wanted to take with her? In case she couldn't come back?

Not really. A couple practical pieces of clothing, too warm for Houston, but who knew how much longer she'd be there? The books were too heavy. The nice dishes, the framed photos
. . .
what was the point?

She hardly had anything personal here anyway. She'd lost all that two years ago.

She wasn't sure what to do about the money. She'd done a little Googling, and although there were no restrictions on how much money you could carry on planes domestically in theory, in practice, she was the partner of a man in jail on federal drug charges, and she'd booked the outbound flight from Arcata as Emily.

She'd tried to be smart, but she would have been better off traveling as Michelle with this kind of cash. Michelle didn't have a drug-smuggling boyfriend.

Just a dead financial-swindler husband.

Okay, she thought. Stop at an auto-teller before her flight and deposit just under $10,000 in her official Michelle account.

Except she had to assume that account was monitored. As was the second bank account she'd opened in Houston, under Emily's name. The one with the safe-deposit box and $9,000 in cash.

You needed that account to pay the lawyers, she told herself. That's your story.

And Gary knew about that money anyway. He was the reason she had all that cash she needed to account for.

But if thousands of dollars suddenly showed up in either of those accounts, and it wasn't money from Gary
. . .

She couldn't risk it.

Okay, she thought. Just deposit a few thousand dollars into your Emily account. She could make up an excuse for that amount that would fit with her trip out here. Cash from Evergreen, to cover her Emily expenses. She could carry five thousand or so in her wallet. The restaurant was largely a cash business; she could claim she didn't have time to make the deposit if she got stopped. The rest
. . .

She hated to leave it, but maybe it wasn't worth the risk.

She spent the next
couple of hours going through clothes, through the things they'd accumulated, deciding what made sense to take. A jacket, and a few other pieces of rugged, practical clothing. She found Danny's Air Force Academy ring. It must have meant something to him; he'd kept it all this time, so she packed it. She found a jade pendant he'd bought her, a cutout woven design that almost looked like a Celtic knot. “You keep it next to your skin,” he'd said. “It's supposed to be good for you.” Instead of packing it, she put it on.

A few of his favorite T-shirts and a pair of jeans, in case he got out. Her good camera. The memory cards and backup drives. All those images she'd made.

At the last minute, she stashed another $3,000 in the Hadley Pro camera bag, under the padded insert. It's still not a crazy amount of money to carry, she told herself. She could explain it if she had to.

Besides, if she got searched, it was the passports that would really fuck things up. There was no way she'd be able to explain those.

Might as well throw in another $10K, she thought.

By the time she'd finished, it was 11
p.m.
With a 6
a.m.
flight, she'd need to get up at 4
a.m.
at the latest. Hardly worth sleeping. She was still pretty wired, anyway, even though she hadn't really slept more than an hour or two the night before.

Finally, she decided to open a bottle of wine. She had some good bottles here. What were the odds she'd be back to drink them? She chose the 2001 Chateau Montelena Cabernet Sauvignon Estate. In a perfect world, she'd cellar it a few more years.

“Obviously, this is not a perfect world,” she said aloud, as she popped the cork.

She poured the bottle into a decanter and got out a proper crystal cabernet glass. She wouldn't be able to drink it all, and it would be a shame to waste it. But might as well do it right.

The wine poured out deep ruby red. The nose was an explosion of dark fruit, chocolate and earth. She sipped, and it was every bit as good as its bouquet had promised.

She stood in the kitchen for a while, savoring the glass. Turned off the alarm sensors on the sliding glass doors and the back of the house and went out onto the deck and stared at the redwoods. All this time, it had been a good life here with Danny, and she'd hardly appreciated it.

After a second glass, she thought she might be able to sleep for a few hours. You'd better, she told herself. You could only go so far on adrenaline before you started making stupid mistakes.

She rearmed the sliding glass doors and deck, double-checked the windows and doors. Made sure everything was locked down tight.

She put the rest of the cash in the office safe, where she'd stored her .38 while she was in Houston. Not tonight, though. She put the .38 under the pillow next to her so she could easily reach it.

Where Danny would normally sleep.

She put the ruck and the Cole Haan tote she'd traveled with next to the bed. She was wearing a nice pair of sweats and a J. Crew T-shirt, so if she didn't have time to change, she could travel as is, her Toms espadrilles parked next to the ruck, ready to go.

She'd packed
Taking Flight
, because, who knew, she might need something to read. And even though she'd erased some of the pencil marks, it felt like something she shouldn't leave behind.

She turned on a little lamp on the dresser. Normally she slept better in dark rooms, but tonight, she didn't want to sleep too deeply. She just wanted to get enough rest to function tomorrow, until she could safely sleep on the flight from San Francisco to Houston.

Hell, maybe I'll upgrade, she thought. She had the cash, after all.

She lay down on the bed, on top of the sheets, and covered herself with a down comforter.

After a minute or two, she got up and retrieved Danny's logbook from the ruck. Even having it next to the bed was too far away. She tucked it under her pillow.

She lay there a long time before she drifted off to sleep.

x
x
x

Funny how she could
see the room still, with her eyes closed. There was the dresser. There was the door. The door was open. The dark shape by her bed—

Someone was in the bedroom.

She flinched, choked back a scream. Get the gun, she thought. Get the gun.

“You're not fooling me, Michelle.”

Fucking Gary.

She rolled over and sat up, her back against the headboard. He was lounging in a chair he'd pulled over close to the bed. How long had he been there, watching her?

“What are you doing here?” She couldn't keep her voice from shaking. Of course, he'd love that. He got off on her fear.

“I was gonna ask
you
that. Missing work tomorrow, so soon in your employment—doesn't make you look very reliable.”

“I cleared it with Caitlin,” she said. Thinking,
gun
. Her fingertips grazed the wood grip.

“You didn't clear it with me.”