The Seven Year Itch (32 page)

With no home, no place to hide, and no one to turn to, she
had grown desperate, alienated from the few who loved her, and hated by those
whom she had swindled. Jack Sabinski, her former boss and lover, had been
released from Alexandria jail and went straight into seclusion right after his
week stint in solitary. Chris, the least sophisticated of her stooges, was now
keeping Jack’s cot warm, according to the Washington Post clinched beneath her
arm. He sang like the Harlem Boys’ Choir during his Bureau interrogations,
bitterly confessed each and every one of their sins, still angry he’d been
played for a fool and that the baby she claimed to be carrying had never
spawned.

Then her mind flashed to him, the love of her life.

Jake McGee.

She briefly clinched her eyes as she remembered his slain
body lying in a scarlet pool, murdered by the merciless bullet from J.J.'s
Glock. Lana’s photograph, the blond one from her FBI credentials, was the
poster for intensive manhunts across six states. Her treachery had been
splashed all over the headlines, and the FBI issued every all-points bulletin
short of the Amber alert.

As an enemy of the state with a million dollar bounty on her
head, her dyed black hair and green contact lenses couldn’t conceal her for
long. But, by the time they figured out where she was, the deed would be done.
Her work would be over. And when the smoke cleared, she wouldn’t be the only
one left suffering with the crippling loss of a loved one.

Head down, shrouded in her navy hoodie, she turned the corner
onto Irving Street and pulled the folded newspaper from beneath her arm. She
glanced at the circled address, straining to see the house numbers through the
night fog. Half way up the block she’d finally arrived.

“Here it is,” she said as she opened the rickety gate to the
three-story brick duplex. She trotted up the concrete steps and rang the
doorbell. A tall, older gentleman with cotton-colored hair answered moments
later. He stretched inches above her head but his frame was thin, frail.

She peered up at him and noticed the hearing aid and thick
bifocals. “Hi. I’m here about the room? I called earlier.”

He scanned her up and down and squinted, eying her
suspiciously. He said nothing.

“Uh, my apartment caught fire and I need a temporary place to
stay.” She flashed a sheepish smile and nervously swiped her bangs from her
forehead. She glanced down at the paper and looked at the name scribbled beside
the advertisement. “I believe I spoke with a Mr. O’Leary? I’m Katherine.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Katherine, ahhh yes, yes. Come
in.” He stepped aside and his smile warmed. She scanned the foyer and waved to
the matronly woman poking her head out from the kitchen. “I’m sorry but I’ve
been getting so many calls about this room, it’s hard to keep all the names
straight.”

She nodded. “No problem, I understand. The room is still
available, right?”

“Yes, yes. It’s still available. Do you have the deposit and
first month’s rent?”

Lana pulled a wrinkled white envelope from her pant pocket
and counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. “This should do it.”

He
held one up to the light and stretched it at the ends. “Can’t be too careful in
these parts. You’d be surprised by how much counterfeit money is floating
around D.C. these days.”

He pulled a key from his pant pocket and led her outside. Her
room was next door.

“My wife and I live in this half. We rent out the rooms on
the other side. There’s another gentleman sharing the home with you. But you’ll
be perfectly safe. We’ve got bolts on the rooms so no one can get in,” he said,
as he opened the door, and led her up the rickety wooden steps. ”You two will
share the kitchen but each have your own bathrooms. Yours is here,” he said
pointing to small water closet containing an old-fashioned pedestal sink and
footed bathtub with no shower. “Here’s your room. Rent’s due by the fifth of
the month. All utilities included.”

She scanned the room quickly. It was clean, old fashioned,
contained the basics. A bed, mirrored dresser, and a nightstand were positioned
against the longest wall. Lace curtains hung from the windows which covered the
venetian blinds. She walked over and looked outside, across the street. “It’s
nice. I like it. Thank you so much. You’ve really saved my life.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, easing toward the doorway. “Will
that be all?”

“Um, what about the neighborhood? Is it safe?” she asked.
“I’m single, and I’ll be working at night.”

“Oh yes, yes. This neighborhood is perfectly safe. Most of
the residents have been here for twenty years or more, well except one. Max
McCall. He lives in the red-brick house right across the street there. He’s
been here longer than any of us.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, keeps to himself mostly. Doesn’t go out much except to
check on his business.”

“Business?”

“Yes, he owns a corner store three blocks down 7th street.
You can pick up eggs, bread, milk, and the basics. There’s a Giant grocery
store near the metro,” Mr. O’Leary said. “Now, if that’s about all, I’ll be
getting back to the house.” He glanced at his watch. “Time for Law &
Order.”

“Must be nice to have a tight-knit neighborhood.” She watched
him grasp the rail to walk down the stairs. “Okay, well thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, by the way, not that I’m rushing you out
or anything but how long do you think you’ll be staying?”

Lana smirked as she peered through the blinds at Max McCall’s
house. “Not long. I’ll be returning home before you know it.”