never know I was barking up his tree. If he’s not happy and hasn’t included you, then it’d be in your best interest for me to get to him. Before he gets to you.”
I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he maps the various moves in his head like a chess player trying to envision the board ten plays ahead. Finally, he nods.
“His name is Thomas Saxon. He’s an American. I have worked for him more than once. He is a hard man.”
“I know all about hard men. What city?”
“Atlanta.”
“All right then.” I nod at the guard, who comes back over, looking relieved. He starts to whirl Doriot back the way he came.
“Wait,” the little man says, and the guard stops for a moment. Doriot looks over his shoulder at me. “What happened to Ryan?”
“Shot in the spine in the Naples train station.”
He gnaws on his lip for a second, then nods at the guard. As their footsteps recede and the prison yard falls silent, I turn my eyes up to the nameless moon right before it disappears behind a cloud.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE’S TOYING WITH ME.
I’ve seen the bearded man twice since leaving Belgium. First, I thought I’d lucked into spotting him at the Gatwick airport. I was walking through the terminal, heading to catch a cab to Heathrow, airport-hopping so I could fly directly to Atlanta. I took a turn at the last moment, realizing the taxi stand was to the left, and I caught his reflection behind me in the glass window of a coffee klatch.
I have trained myself not to flinch. Ever. Not to hesitate, not to give a moment’s pause. He had scented my trail faster than I thought possible, but now he’d made a mistake. I lined up in the taxi queue, checked my wrist like I was looking at my watch, and then ducked into the baggage claim so I could stand behind the carousel and watch the only two entranceways into the room. He never came through the doors.
I waited patiently, then quickly bought a tan coat from an Austin Reed store and pitched my gray one in a trashcan. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would steal me a moment, and sometimes a moment is all I need.
I didn’t see him again that day. I switched flights and holed up at the Savoy on the Strand, spending two days in the lobby reading, watching the door. He never showed and I started to doubt whether I had actually seen him in Gatwick. It had only been a moment, a split second, just his face some forty feet behind me, and how could I be sure, really sure it was him?
Because my life had always relied on these moments of perspicacity. If I started to doubt them now, I might as well quit, really quit. I might as well head back to Rome, scoop up Risina Lorenzana and try to disappear where no one would ever find us. But I couldn’t do that, not now. Someone with a gun was looking for me and in my experience, hiding would only delay the inevitable. Instead of trying to outrun him, never knowing when he’d catch me, I needed to turn my boat and steer into him with everything I had. Let the crash determine which of us swims away free.
I saw him the second time in Atlanta at the Lenox mall. I pitched my tent at the Sheraton in Buckhead and headed to the shops to give my wardrobe an overhaul. It was teeth-chattering cold in Georgia, and the tickling at the back of my neck told me to ditch everything I’d worn in Europe and start over, buy casual clothes and blend into the background, especially if I was going to be spending time in the South.
I was riding up an escalator, exposed, vulnerable, when I saw him on the first-floor landing, looking directly at me. Smiling. If he wanted to pop me there, he could have. Hell, he should have. Which begged the question, how many times had he gotten this close since Naples and not finished the kill? I instinctually ducked down to tie my shoe, riding out the rest of the escalation below the shooter’s sight line. I kept low, acting like I was tugging my socks up and practically crawled into Macy’s like a crab darting
I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he maps the various moves in his head like a chess player trying to envision the board ten plays ahead. Finally, he nods.
“His name is Thomas Saxon. He’s an American. I have worked for him more than once. He is a hard man.”
“I know all about hard men. What city?”
“Atlanta.”
“All right then.” I nod at the guard, who comes back over, looking relieved. He starts to whirl Doriot back the way he came.
“Wait,” the little man says, and the guard stops for a moment. Doriot looks over his shoulder at me. “What happened to Ryan?”
“Shot in the spine in the Naples train station.”
He gnaws on his lip for a second, then nods at the guard. As their footsteps recede and the prison yard falls silent, I turn my eyes up to the nameless moon right before it disappears behind a cloud.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE’S TOYING WITH ME.
I’ve seen the bearded man twice since leaving Belgium. First, I thought I’d lucked into spotting him at the Gatwick airport. I was walking through the terminal, heading to catch a cab to Heathrow, airport-hopping so I could fly directly to Atlanta. I took a turn at the last moment, realizing the taxi stand was to the left, and I caught his reflection behind me in the glass window of a coffee klatch.
I have trained myself not to flinch. Ever. Not to hesitate, not to give a moment’s pause. He had scented my trail faster than I thought possible, but now he’d made a mistake. I lined up in the taxi queue, checked my wrist like I was looking at my watch, and then ducked into the baggage claim so I could stand behind the carousel and watch the only two entranceways into the room. He never came through the doors.
I waited patiently, then quickly bought a tan coat from an Austin Reed store and pitched my gray one in a trashcan. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would steal me a moment, and sometimes a moment is all I need.
I didn’t see him again that day. I switched flights and holed up at the Savoy on the Strand, spending two days in the lobby reading, watching the door. He never showed and I started to doubt whether I had actually seen him in Gatwick. It had only been a moment, a split second, just his face some forty feet behind me, and how could I be sure, really sure it was him?
Because my life had always relied on these moments of perspicacity. If I started to doubt them now, I might as well quit, really quit. I might as well head back to Rome, scoop up Risina Lorenzana and try to disappear where no one would ever find us. But I couldn’t do that, not now. Someone with a gun was looking for me and in my experience, hiding would only delay the inevitable. Instead of trying to outrun him, never knowing when he’d catch me, I needed to turn my boat and steer into him with everything I had. Let the crash determine which of us swims away free.
I saw him the second time in Atlanta at the Lenox mall. I pitched my tent at the Sheraton in Buckhead and headed to the shops to give my wardrobe an overhaul. It was teeth-chattering cold in Georgia, and the tickling at the back of my neck told me to ditch everything I’d worn in Europe and start over, buy casual clothes and blend into the background, especially if I was going to be spending time in the South.
I was riding up an escalator, exposed, vulnerable, when I saw him on the first-floor landing, looking directly at me. Smiling. If he wanted to pop me there, he could have. Hell, he should have. Which begged the question, how many times had he gotten this close since Naples and not finished the kill? I instinctually ducked down to tie my shoe, riding out the rest of the escalation below the shooter’s sight line. I kept low, acting like I was tugging my socks up and practically crawled into Macy’s like a crab darting
Similar Books
