Secretive (12 page)

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J
ACK opened the bathroom door and emerged dressed in his new clothes. He’d bundled his other clothes into the plastic bag. “Your turn."

Zoe, lost in her own thoughts, didn’t reply, but murmured, “He lied to me.” A fresh surge of anger raced through her. She marched across the tiny space of the room. “He said once he got to know me, he knew I couldn’t be involved, but just
a few days ago
he was following me.” Did that mean that Sam had followed her to London, too, despite denying it? And if he’d lied about following her, had he lied about his mother’s lost investment in GRS? Could she trust
anything
he’d said?

“Who lied to you?”

Zoe started. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Never mind.”

“Something is wrong. You look pale.”

“I always look pale. I’m a fair-skinned redhead.” She handed his phone to him and moved to get her clothes.

“You’re chewing your bottom lip. You do that when you’re worried. You’re not a worrier, so I know that if you’re worried, I should be worried, too.” He blocked her path to the bathroom and stood with his arms crossed. He should have looked comical in his Union Jack T-shirt, but he didn’t because his face was so serious. “So, what is it?”

Zoe considered pushing past him into the bathroom without answering, but she couldn’t. Questions were tumbling through her mind, and, if there was one thing Jack was, it was cool, collected, and logical.

“Okay,” Zoe said with a sigh. “You have no idea how much this annoys me to have to say this, but maybe...I’m wrong about Sam.”

Jack’s eyebrows flew up. “That’s quite an about-face.”

“I know,” Zoe said, miserably, “but I remembered something that’s changed everything.” She told him it seemed Sam had borrowed a car from an employee to trail her around Dallas. “And I saw him when I came out of the pub after meeting with Nico. I thought I’d seen Sam earlier, too, so I confronted him. It was too many coincidences—him being on the flight to London and then spotting him twice during the day. He admitted that he opened a branch of his company in Dallas and rented office space from me so he could get to know me. He said his mom lost all her retirement savings in GRS and was too proud to take any help from him. They weren’t getting anything from the FBI, and he thought that if he got to know me, he could get some answers. ”

“And he said that once he got to know you, he realized you couldn’t be involved?”

“Obviously, a lie. He said he really did have business here and a meeting near the pub, but if he was following me in another car a few days ago then he’s been lying the whole time.” The shy smiles, the desire to be
close
friends, the invitation to dinner...had that all been an act to stay close to her, to get to know her even better than he did? How embarrassing. Her cheeks heated.

“Let’s go back to the first time you noticed anyone following you,” Jack said.

“The silver car,” Zoe confirmed, glad to focus on another topic.

“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.”

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L
ESS 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.”

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“W
E’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 herself 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.