Pretty Girls (45 page)

Miraculously, Helen still did not demand an explanation. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No.”

She squeezed Claire’s hand before leaving.

Claire waited until her mother disappeared into the FBI building. She walked down the street. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder as she reached the corner. She crossed against the light, dodging around a yellow taxi. She took West Peachtree toward downtown. She finally looked behind her.

Harvey was thirty yards away. His arms were bent at the elbows as he tried to catch up with her. His jacket billowed out. His gun was dark and menacing against his white dress shirt.

Claire picked up the pace. She regulated her breathing. She tried to keep her heart rate under control. She looked behind her.

Harvey was twenty yards away.

Lydia’s phone started ringing. Claire pulled it from her back pocket as she started to jog. She looked at the screen. UNKNOWN NUMBER.

Paul said, “Did you enjoy your time at the FBI?”

“Is Lydia okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Claire crossed the street again. A car screeched to a stop inches away from her hip. The driver yelled out his open window. She asked Paul, “Do you want that USB drive or not?”

“Lydia is fine. What did you tell the FBI?”

“Nothing. That’s why they kept me so long.” Claire looked over her shoulder. Harvey was closer, maybe fifteen yards away. “A cop is following me. One of Mayhew’s guys.”

“Get rid of him.”

Claire ended the call. She jogged across the street. She knew this area of town because she had worked in the Flatiron Building when they first moved to Atlanta. Claire had hated the job. She took long walks during lunch and came back late and flirted with her boss so he would let her leave early.

She started jogging again. Harvey was quickly closing the gap between them. He was a big man with a long stride. He was going to catch up with her soon.

Claire turned the corner onto Spring Street. She lunged into a full run. She was at the next corner by the time Harvey rounded the building. Claire went halfway down the side street. She checked over her shoulder. Harvey hadn’t made the corner yet. She frantically looked for an escape route. The Southern Company’s side entrance was the closest option. There were six glass doors and a large revolving door at the far end. She tried the first door, but it was locked. She tried the next one, then the next one. She looked back for Harvey. Still not there, but he would be running now, catching up fast. She tried another door, then wanted to kick herself for not going to the revolving door first. Claire ran full-bore into the open mouth of the door. She pushed so hard against the glass partition that she heard the motor grind.

The lobby was cordoned off by glass turnstiles. The sleepy guard behind the counter was smiling. He had probably watched her try each door.

“I’m sorry.” Claire pitched up her voice a few octaves so she sounded helpless. “I know it’s awful of me to ask, but can I use your restroom?”

The guard smiled. “Anything for a pretty lady.” He reached under the desk and opened one of the turnstiles. “Go straight through to the main lobby on West Peachtree. The bathrooms are on the right.”

“Thank you so much.” Claire walked briskly through the partition. She looked behind her. Harvey raced past the side-entrance doors.

She had two seconds of relief before he came back.

Claire darted into an elevator alcove. She kept her head turned so she could see him. Harvey started toward the building. He pulled on one of the locked doors. He was clearly winded. His breath fogged the glass. He wiped it away with his jacket sleeve. He cupped his hands to his eyes and peered into the lobby.

The guard mumbled something under his breath.

Claire pressed her back against the elevator doors.

Harvey pushed away from the glass. Instead of leaving, he moved toward the revolving door. Claire tensed herself. She would tell the guard that Harvey was stalking her. Then Harvey would flash his badge. She could run toward the front entrance, dart back into the street.

Or she could stay here.

Harvey hadn’t pushed through the revolving door. He was still standing outside. His head was turned to the right. Something on West Peachtree had caught his attention.

Claire held her breath until he ran off toward whatever had distracted him.

She peeled herself away from the alcove. She went back out the glass turnstile. She told the guard, “Thank you.”

He tipped his hat. “You have a blessed day.”

Claire pushed open the door. She knew better than to think she was safe. She ran back toward Spring Street. She hooked a left onto Williams. Her feet pounded against the cracked sidewalk. There was a mist of rain in the air. Claire scanned the area behind her as she kept running. She tried to orient herself. Staying on the street was not on option. There had to be somewhere to hide, but it was too early for any of the cafes to be open.

Lydia’s phone rang. Claire didn’t slow as she answered, “What?”

Paul said, “Take a left. Go to the Hyatt Regency.”

Claire kept the line open. She took the left. She saw the Hyatt in the distance. Her knees hurt. Her legs were screaming. She was used to running on the treadmill, not up and down hills and over cracks in the concrete. Sweat dripped from her scalp and down her back. The waist of her jeans was starting to chafe. She gripped the phone in her hand as she ran. How was Paul tracking her? Was Mayhew tag-teaming Harvey? Were they trying to funnel her into a location where they could grab her?

The bellhop outside the Hyatt opened the door when he saw Claire round the drive. If he thought it was odd that a grown woman dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt had gone for a run at six in the morning, he didn’t say.

Inside the building, Claire slowed her pace. She followed the signs to the women’s restroom. She pushed open the door. She checked the stalls to make sure they were empty.

Claire locked the last stall door. She sat down on the toilet. She was panting for breaths when she said, “Let me speak to Lydia.”

“I can let you hear her scream.”

Claire put her hand to her mouth. What had he done? Twelve hours. He could have Lydia in Key West or New Orleans or Richmond by now. He could be torturing her and beating her and—

Claire couldn’t let herself think of the “and.”

Paul asked, “Still there?”

She fought back the overwhelming agony that came from knowing exactly what her husband was capable of. “You said you weren’t going to hurt her.”

“You said you were going to call me back.”

“I will drive over that fucking USB drive with a Mack truck.”

Paul had to know that Claire would do it. She had never been averse to burning bridges she was still trying to cross.

He asked, “Where is it?”

Claire tried to think of an area she was familiar with but Paul was not. “It’s at the Wells Fargo on Central Avenue.”

“What?” He sounded concerned. “That’s a very dangerous area, Claire.”

“Are you really worrying about my safety?”

“You need to be careful,” he warned. “Where is the bank exactly?”

“Near the main post office.” Claire had driven to the post office several times to drop off mailers for the Humane Society. “I’ll go get it right now. We can meet somewhere and—”

“It’s almost six in the morning. The bank won’t be open until nine.”

Claire waited.

“You can’t leave now. You’ll get carjacked if you park the Tesla on Central for that long.” She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Stay in the hotel. At eight thirty, drive down to Hapeville. That should get you there right when the bank is opening.”

“Okay.”

“Traffic will be bad coming back. Get on seventy-five and wait to hear from me.”

Claire didn’t ask how he would know where she was because she was beginning to think Paul knew everything. “Nolan told me what you did.”

“Is that right?”

Claire didn’t elaborate, but they both knew Nolan had only seen what Paul wanted him to see. “He said you wanted to be in witness protection.”

“That wasn’t going to happen.”

“He said you wanted me to watch you die.”

Paul was quiet for a moment. “It had to seem real. I was going to come back for you. You know that.”

Claire didn’t respond.

Paul said, “I’m going to take care of this. You know I always do.”

Claire took a stuttered breath. She couldn’t stand the soft, reassuring tone of his voice. There was still an infinitesimal part of her that wanted her husband to somehow make it all better.

But Fred Nolan was right. The Paul she had known was dead. This stranger on the other end of the phone was an imposter. Or maybe he was the real Paul Scott, and her husband, her friend, her lover, had been the lie. It was only when he put on that black leather mask that the real Paul showed his face.

She said, “I want to speak to my sister.”

“In a minute,” he promised. “The battery on your phone is probably getting low. Did you bring the charger from the house?”

Claire checked the screen. “It’s at thirty percent.”

Paul said, “Go buy a charger. And you need to juice up the Tesla. There’s a charging station at Peachtree Center. I downloaded the app for you so just—”

“Let me talk to Lydia.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Put my sister on the Goddamn phone.”

There was a rustling sound, then the tinny echo of a speakerphone.

“Wake up.” Paul said. “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

Claire gritted her teeth. He sounded like he was speaking to a child. “Lydia?” she tried. “Lydia?”

Lydia didn’t answer.

“Please say something, Liddie. Please.”

“Claire.” Her voice was so flat, so lifeless, that Claire felt like a hand had reached inside her chest and ripped out her heart.

“Liddie,” Claire said, “please, just hold on. I’m doing everything I can.”

Lydia mumbled, “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late. I’m going to give Paul the USB drive, and he’s going to let you go.” Claire was lying. They all knew that she was lying. She started crying so hard that she had to brace herself against the wall. “Hold on a little while longer. I’m not going to abandon you. I promised you—never again.”

“I forgive you, Claire.”

“Don’t say that now.” Claire bent at the waist. Tears fell onto the floor. “Tell me when you see me, okay? Tell me when this is over.”

“I forgive you for everything.”

“Pepper, please. I’m going to make this right. I’m going to make everything all right.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia told her. “I’m already dead.”

EIGHTEEN

Paul was smiling when he put the phone down on the table beside the black hood. Lydia didn’t look at the phone, which she could not reach, but at the soaked black hood next to it, which she knew would eventually be wrapped around her head again. The spray bottle was empty for the third time. Paul was drinking filtered water so he could fill it back up again.

When he was ready, he would make her watch him fill up the bottle, then he would put the hood back over her head, then he would start spraying. Seconds before she passed out, he would shock her with the cattle prod or whip her with the leather belt or punch her or kick her until she gasped for breath.

And then he would start the process all over again.

He said, “She sounds good, right? Claire?”

Lydia looked away from the hood. There was a computer on a workbench like the one Paul had in his garage. Metal storage shelves. Old computers. She had cataloged everything in her head because she had been here almost thirteen hours—Paul updated her with the time every half-hour—and the only thing that was keeping her from going insane was reciting the inventory like a mantra while he tried to drown her in his piss.

Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner
.

“I bet you want to know what’s on that USB drive, Lydia. I like to call it my ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner
.

“Fred Nolan wants it. Mayhew. Johnny. Lots of other people want it, too. What a surprise. Paul Scott has something that everybody else wants.” He paused. “What do you want from me, Liddie?”

Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner
.

“Do you want some Percocet?”

The question pulled her out of her stupor. She could almost taste the bitter pill in her mouth.

He shook the prescription bottle in front of her face. “I found it in your purse. I guess you stole it from Claire.” He sat down in the chair across from her. He rested the bottle on his knee. “You were always stealing from her.”

Lydia stared down at the bottle. This would be it. She had told Claire that she was already dead, but there was still an ounce of life left inside of her. If she gave in to her desire, if she took the Percocet, that would truly be the end.

“This is interesting.” Paul crossed his arms. “I’ve listened to you beg and plead and squeal like a stuck pig, and this is the line you’re drawing? No Percocet?”

Lydia tried to summon the euphoria the pills would bring. She’d read somewhere that if you thought about a food long enough, you wouldn’t want it anymore. You would trick yourself into thinking you’d already eaten it. This had never worked with donuts or hamburgers or French fries or—
Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner
.

“I could force the pills down your throat, but what would be the fun in that?” He stretched her legs wider apart with his knees. “I could put them somewhere else. Somewhere you could more easily absorb them into your system.” He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “What would that be like, I wonder? Would it be worth fucking you if I could use my cock to shove all of these pills up your fat ass?”

Lydia’s mind started to go blank. This was how it happened. Paul would push her and she would get too scared or too broken and she would just shut down.