Ring of Lies (61 page)

Suddenly,
a sharp cracking sound came from her left.

‘
What was that?
’
she hissed.

‘
Probably a gator eating dinner.
Keep moving.
’

She
envision
ed
those huge jaws
ripping into her flesh
.
Her mind froze.
Panting in terror, she
thrashed at the sawgrass
,
impervious to
the pain
from
the
sharp
-
toothed blades
as it
sliced
at
her skin.

Jack
caught her in six strides and
clamped his arms around her waist
.
She screamed and kicked
out
.

‘
Stop it
, Grace
.
Y
ou
’ll
give our position away.
’

She tri
ed
to remain calm
,
but the panic attack had taken hold. Her lungs
burned
as she fought for breath. A roaring sound filled her ears and blackness threatened.
Shuddering
, she buried her face in
hi
s shoulder.

Jack gentle
d his hold and stroked her
back
.
‘
We’ve got to keep moving
.
’

‘
I
-
I know.
I’m
sorry
,
’
she said in
between
shallow quick gasps
.
‘
The thought of an alligator—
’

‘
Understandable.
Can
you
manage
without your medication?
’

Gradually the tightness in her chest eased and her heart rate slowed. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.
Gathering her strength, she forced herself to step back.

‘
I think so
.
’

Jack took her hand and guided
her
through a small pond and
up the
bank on the other side
into
a
hardwood hammock. Here the air was
damp
and
smelled of peat
. Southern live oak, royal palm and palmettos grew in dense clumps,
blocking out the moonlight
.

Bushes sprang up to block their path. Sharp leaves tore at clothes and flesh.
T
he deeper
into the
marsh
they went, the more difficult it
became
to penetrate. T
hey
forged
on for what seemed like hours
until
Grace was tired, so tired he
r feet dragged with every step.

‘
We should be safe here until morning,
’
Jack said.

Grace sank to her knees
, and rested her head in her hands
.
Under the
canopy of trees
, the
surrounding vegetation was so thick that
Jack
melt
ed
into the
undergrowth
, until h
e
became
just a voice in the night. At least the bushes offered some shelter from the rain, but they couldn’t stop the shivers that racked her body.
Nor could she stop the tears. They
merge
d with the
rain
that
ran down her cheeks.

Jack
settled
her against his chest
, covering
them
with his jacket
,
but not even his re-assuring warmth could dispel the overwhelming sensation she had of being helplessly trapped
.

Catherine Peterson straightened the jacket of the business suit she wore, then strode up to the glass booth, and handed
her
passport to the immigration official. Her gaze never wavered as he compared her to the photograph on the back page, and passed it through the barcode reader. The passport was new and she’d been assured it was good enough to pass close scrutiny. It had cost enough—
the last
of her savings and the gold watch that had been a gift from her lover.

‘
How long are you staying in the United States?
’

‘
Two weeks, possibly three.
’

‘
And what is the purpose of your visit?
’

‘
I’m here on business.
’

The official flicked through the pages, examining each one for signs of tampering. He flipped forward… backward… l
ooked at the front and the back and
glanced up at her. Then he said,
‘
I’ll be right back.
’
And left.

Oh shit, she thought. Other officials waved people behind her to their booths.
What was so suspicious about her for God’s sake?
A family of Muslims, women draped in black burkas walking dutifully behind, was ushered through without incident.

A minute ticked by. Two. Perspiration gathered on her forehead.

The bearded passport agent returned. He looked her in the eye for what seemed like forever. Then, wordlessly, he stamped the visa page, added a squiggle, and then handed it back. Catherine let out the breath she she’d been holding and nearly ran away.

Once clear of customs, she entered the first ladies room she came to. She slipped into an empty stall and locked the door. After travelling non-stop for the last seventy-two hours, she was so jet-lagged that she struggled to remember wh
ere
she was supposed to be let alone stand. Rome, Dublin, London,
Amsterdam
,
and
then
Paris
, she’d lost track of time and places, but had finally made it to Atlanta without being followed. Even now, she knew she couldn’t afford to take chances.

When Grace started leaving messages on her cell phone, she knew something was wrong. She’d ignor
ed her sister’s numerous calls
and
had
gone to work as normal, attending a conference for a group of surgeons in Rome. As soon as it finished she checked out of the conference hotel and into a small, inexpensive guesthouse near the Vatican City. But with her money fast running out, she needed cash and there was only one place to get it.

She opened her small overnight bag and pulled out a short black skirt, a bright pink ruffled necked blouse, and a pair of killer heels, the sort of clothes a high-class hooker would be proud of, and quickly changed. The smart business suit and low heels she’d worn to travel from London, along with the trilby she used to conceal her blonde hair, went into the bag. She’d find somewhere to dump it once she got out of the airport and onto the open road.

She placed an ear to the door but could only hear the sound of a running tap. Cautiously, she slid back the bolt and opened the door a fraction. The room was deserted. She grabbed her case and wash bag, and crossed to the basin. Leaning toward the mirror, she opened a small box and removed a blue contact lens and a small bottle of eye drops. Her hands shook so much it took three attempts to insert
the lens
into her right eye. She blinked, and then repeated the process for the other eye, adding some drops of artificial tears from the bottle. Satisfied her eyes were dry enough for re-touching, she pulled a mascara wand out of her bag and gave her long lashes a quick brushing.

When she
looked in the mirror,
she doubted anyone, even her sister, would recognize her. She reached for her oversized purse and removed the chin-length black wig she’d purchased. It was a tight fit and would make her scalp itch, but it was easier and quicker than using hair dye. She took her time applying the rest of her make-up, accentuating her now blue eyes with a brown shadow and
eyeliner
. A last coat of mascara and her transformation from a brown-eyed blonde to blue-eyed mystery woman was complete.

The door to the ladies room swung open. Her heart leapt, and she spun around. A small, dark-haired woman with two young children entered and rushed past her, chattering to them in some strange, guttural tongue. She quickly gathered her belongings and left
, merging into t
he
crowded
concourse, full of families heading home for Christmas.

Home.

Quiet nights in, boring tele
vision and Sunday roast dinners. T
he place she’d run away from at the first opportunity and had no intention of returning too—ever. She wanted to enjoy life, see the world, and not settle for anything other than a five-star lifestyle.

And no one was going to stand in her way.

Especially not her sister.

She pushed her way through the crowds towards the car rental desk and adopted what she hoped sounded like an American accent.
‘
I’d like to rent a car, please. Nothing too big or flashy.
’

The pink-faced young man behind the desk offered her a stunning smile.
‘
Let me see what we’ve got. Are you on vacation?
’