Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) (32 page)

“Can you hear me?” He touched a finger to the small transmitter in his ear. I didn’t remember this fascination with gadgets when we’d been dating. I guess that just proved that we didn’t know each other as well as I’d thought.

“Affirmative.”

I stayed in the car and watched the flyer and the exit.

The picture of the flyer didn’t give me any clues. Found Dog, a picture of a German shepherd and tag with no name, just a phone number. That was it.

A young staffer hustled into the market, his pinstripe suit impeccable, hair combed perfectly, but with no requisite laptop carrying case hanging from his shoulder, just a small leather case. Something about the guy bothered me.

I straightened, flipping through other scenarios. An FBI agent carrying his weapon in the man purse. A husband picking up dinner. A guy getting snacks for a late night meeting or even a date.

“Watch the pinstripe.” I couldn’t help but caution, my senses were tingling.

Jordan’s cell phone beeped as he dialed a number. I’d given Katerina my cell number, so I couldn’t call the phone number listed on the flyer, in case she recognized my number. “You checking out the dog angle?”

“Yeah. Disconnected. No forwarding phone number.”

“Huh.” I pondered that while I watched the market.

This particular store did a brisk business as it was mostly a quick stop, ‘pick up a few things for dinner and head on home’ place.

Full plate glass windows displayed brightly lit checkout lanes; three Express ‘15 items or less’ lanes were always busy while one full service lane remained conspicuously empty. The patrons seemed to be young staffers from the Hill, ethnic service sector workers still in their uniforms, a few obviously working second shift and on their way to work, or college students grabbing a quick sandwich or a microwave-able frozen entree.

The clientele trended between twenties and fifties, the older generation clearly already at home for the night.

In the twenty minutes since I started watching, ten cars had pulled into the lot. The shoppers bustled inside, wasting no time, and within a few minutes were back out and driving away.

Katerina, Jordan and the pinstripe were the only ones who hadn’t come back out. Dammit.

“You see pinstripe?”

I waited.

News radio murmured in the background, the volume set low, as talking heads discussed the latest political snafu over the escalating number of heroin busts and record amount of heroin coming into the United States and Mexico.

“Heroin production worldwide is at an all time high,” the reporter said somberly. “Even with the anti-drug programs the U.S. has in place, heroin distribution is increasing at an alarming rate.”

I thought of Fariya’s village and how her husband had disappeared after being forced to be a mule and carry opium across the border.

Sadly their plight was common.

Remorse prodded me. I hadn’t thought of Fariya or her plea all day. I had yet to work out a way to honor her memory and bring justice for her sacrifice.

Jordan still hadn’t answered. My heart quickened. A band wrapped around my chest, and the breath snagged in my throat, as worry built with every second of silence.

I couldn’t see any of the three people I was trying to track. This waiting behind sucked. How had Jordan worked HRT and spent days on a stakeout?

“How the hell did you stand this?” I muttered, hoping I wasn’t distracting him. “I could really use some reassurance right now.”

“Looks good,” he said in my ear.

A little of my tension eased.

Someone replied, too softly for me to make out the words. What the hell?

“Have you had that kind before?” Jordan said.

Again the reply was indistinct but feminine. The cadence of her voice struck me. He had approached the surveillance subject? What was he thinking?

One professional woman in the plate glass window caught my eye. She had a frozen macaroni and cheese dinner in her hand. My stomach turned. All of the sudden, I knew what I wanted.

“Hey. Are you near the bakery aisle?” I was desperate. “I need a cinnamon roll.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

I still couldn’t get a visual on any of the three people I needed to see, and the giant pit that was my stomach suddenly threatened to swallow me whole.

“Cinnamon rolls,” I snarled softly. It baffled me how my body could go from ripping my intestines out through my diaphragm to needing to eat so badly I wanted to gnaw off my own hand. “You owe me.”

“Excuse me,” Jordan said.

His clothing rustled and his shoe squeaked against the floor, and I prayed Katerina was heading toward the bakery so he could follow.

An older model, dark blue Ford Taurus pulled into the parking lot. The guy behind the wheel was the first shopper clearly in the elderly column. Best guess, he was in his eighties.

Could that be the car I’d seen earlier? Maybe it hadn’t been a Chevy. Or was I just being paranoid?

And what about the pinstripe suit--who still hadn’t come out of the damn store?

“Getting crowded here,” I said to Jordan.

The old man didn’t go inside. Instead he went straight to the message board, spent a few minutes scanning all of the papers–ads for used skateboards, skis, and bicycles; an advertisement for Battle of the Bands at the local dive; flyers with lost pets and cell phones--before he ripped down the hot pink flyer.

“We’ve got contact.”

Using my cell phone, I took a picture of the license plate on his car and then another picture of the old man as he sauntered back toward the Taurus. The resolution on the cell would be next to worthless, and I didn’t have access to any sort of recognition software, but evidence was evidence.

He got back into the sedan, slunk down in the seat, and pulled out a cell phone. I did a visual quick check of the hand holding the phone. Looked to be as old as his face. Unless he had a fantastic makeup artist, chances were excellent he really was an older gentleman. I wished I had a zoom lens.

I realized I hadn’t heard anything for at least a minute. The range on our transmission equipment was limited, so Jordan could be out of contact in certain areas of the store.

He hadn’t passed the big plate glass window since he’d gone inside. I wondered what Katerina was waiting for. She’d been in the store far longer than the average customer.

The old man put down his phone and started the car.

I thought about the flyer. Our only lead was the disconnected phone--a virtual dead end.

The flyer itself was basically a bust.

Unless we could figure out the significance of the message. Without any context we were screwed.

Suddenly the sound filtered in, Jordan must be in range again.

“Contact is leaving. I’m going to follow.” Worry wrapped around my lungs like Houdini’s straight jacket. “Keep your eye open for pinstripe. I don’t like that he still hasn’t reappeared.”

It was really starting to bother me. Maybe the guy just couldn’t decide what to have for dinner. But maybe the reason was something more sinister. I had to hope he wasn’t following us.

Jordan was six three of brawny muscles and hard attitude...he could handle any situation that came his way. Except the situation was most likely my fault. And that didn’t stop the guilt.

I still hadn't seen Jordan. I had to trust that he was still following Katerina. He’d been warned about pinstripe. I scooted over to the driver’s seat. I’d put the fake stomach padding back, which seemed silly, but even a little change could throw off surveillance for a much needed few seconds. I twisted the key. The engine coughed and then turned over.

I called Jordan’s cell, but the call went straight to voice mail, so I left a message about the car of the old man who took the flyer.

“Older car, Ford Taurus, dark blue, again, four door, Maryland license plate, can’t get a read on the plate number.” Something dark obscured the last two characters on the plate, upping my suspicion factor and sending my senses buzzing.

Not the car from earlier...at least, I didn’t think so.

I tried to put it together: The old man takes down her flyer, doesn't go inside, and his license plate is obscured. The clues were adding up, except...to what?

I dialed his cell again and finally connected with Jordan. He’d heard my dialogue. He just hadn’t been in a position to answer. “Guy’s old enough to be Katerina's grandfather.”

“Maybe it is her grandfather.”

I shook my head in denial. “Nope. I have pictures of the grandparents. He was a big bull of a man with a neck as thick as my thigh.”

“As people age, they get smaller.”

“No way. Too big of a difference. Anyway, her grandfather is dead.”

“Okay.” Jordan thought for a minute. “How did her grandparents die?”

“Drowned, boat lost, bodies never recovered.”

“Dead end.”

The radio switched to local news.

I shifted in the seat, waiting for the guy to move.

The stretchy waistband, pressing at my waist, shouldn’t have bothered my stomach, but somehow the material felt constricting. I’d been wearing the fake rolls of fat when I’d put the garment on and then the skirt fit fine.

Suddenly I had to get the elastic off my belly button. I shoved the waistband down around my hips, and the feeling of relief was instantaneous.

The old man left, driving slowly, car rumbling softly. He tooled through the parking lot, not glancing left or right. In the dusk, his car became like fog, wispy and insubstantial.

I held back, waiting until he stopped at the light before moving toward the exit of the parking lot, trying to stay off his radar.

But our white rental car--thank you, Thea, who’d clearly never been trained in how to be unobtrusive--with New York plates was definitely noticeable.

At the traffic light, he flipped on his left turn signal. When the arrow turned green, he puttered along turning left onto the main road. I followed, keeping one car between us, hoping I was wrong about his next move.

Shit. Sure enough, at the first main road, he went left again. The car between us went straight, and suddenly I was even more visible. If he went left again, I was so screwed.

I glanced in the rear view mirror. Okay, make that doubly screwed.

Two cars back was a dark sedan.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Dusk had disappeared into full on dark, so I couldn’t positively identify the sedan behind me as the car that followed us earlier.

But I sure didn’t like the coincidence.

The dark sedan hadn’t been in the Giant parking lot. If they were following us, they’d picked me up on the first turn. The old man went left again, two streets past the grocery store. I had to go right. I had no choice, as the old man would make me otherwise.

The pattern was standard vehicle surveillance detection, a series of lefts, or rights, to check for followers.

At the next street, I zipped right and zoomed away from the old man. In my rear view mirror, I picked up visual again, watching him drive the opposite way and turn left again. The dark sedan behind me had gone straight, but if I was correct, and he was following me, he would turn right one more street down, and pick me up again.

I turned right, and then right again, hoping I’d come out on the same street as the old man and be heading toward him.

I was hoping the dark sedan in my rear view for a second time tonight had been a coincidence.

A whole lot of hope going on.

Of course my luck wasn’t that good. I wouldn’t be buying a lottery ticket this week.

One thing went my way as the old man and I came out on the same street, heading toward each other. The multi-turns had delivered us to the road behind the Giant. I assumed, with some trepidation, he intended to stop there. I drove sedately by him as he turned into the loading dock area of the adjacent drug store.

I checked my six, three, then nine, but no dark sedan caught my eye. Maybe my luck was turning.

But I didn’t think so.

I glanced back at the loading dock. Katerina Wolfe hovered in the shadows beside a set of steps leading up to a back entrance. The old guy was going to pick her up.

I pulled alongside the curb across the street and turned off my lights.

Suddenly, in my earpiece, the static crackled and surprised me.

Jordan was back. “I see you. Circle around and pick me up in front.”

“Not a good idea.” I briefly filled him in on the sedan. “You ever see pinstripe?”

“No.”

“Maybe they were following Katerina, not us.” Had to throw that out there, except....

“If they were following Katerina, they’d found us too. Dammit.” Jordan swore.

“Or they were following you,” I said softly.

Silence greeted that statement.

I tightened my hands on the cold polymer steering wheel, fisting my fingers as if I could keep the worry clenched inside. Jordan was holding back, but I didn’t know if it had anything to do with me and this current situation, or if it was none of my business.

I needed to know.

“It’s possible,” he said finally as if saying it out loud gave the idea some cred.

The why of it would have to wait.

“The key is to hang back and see if the sedan follows them...or waits for us.” The sedan had one person in the car, the driver.

“I’ll drive around the block one more time.” But I waited, observing Katerina’s movements.

She headed toward the old guy’s car, staying to the shadows. She’d put on a ball cap embroidered with ‘Life is Good’ and pulled the bill low enough to conceal most of her face.

“What the hell is Katerina Wolfe doing?” Had our meeting earlier spooked her...or was something else happening?

We couldn’t take the chance the sedan was following her and that the driver would notice us. Rock meet hard place. That whole ‘Wanted’ thing hanging over my head sure cramped our options.

If the sedan was hanging back, waiting for us, they’d be able to pick up our white car at the next intersection.

“We don’t need to follow them. I’ve got her covered.”

“How?” We’d been out of contact off and on since he went into the store.

“Put a tracker on her purse.”