Ring of Lies (66 page)

The first agent said nothing. The other agent pulled out his cell phone and read the details off her passport to some faceless individual.

Silence stretched.

Finally, he turned to the guy holding her and said,
‘
Name checks out. Visa was issued in Atlanta yesterday. Photo ID matches it.
’

The agent restraining her stepped back.
‘
Looks like our information was wrong. You’re free to go.
’

She glared defiantly.
‘
Gee, thank you. How kind.
’

Only when the men climbed back in their car and disappeared from view did she slump down into the driver’s seat. The fear that clutched at her stomach turned to nausea. Catherine whipped open the door and vomited onto the tarmac. A few moments later when the worst of the gut wrenching spasms had passed, she raised her head and looked in the driver’s mirror. Her face was chalk-white and pinched. She pulled a tissue from her jeans pocket and wiped it roughly over her mouth.

Christ! That had been close
.

Still shaking, she threw the car into gear and reversed out of the parking lot, and drove down
Main Street
at a steady pace. Sandwiched between a grocery store and the local bank was a coffee shop. Like the motel, it too appeared to ha
ve
seen better days, the sign above the door announcing ‘
M y b
th’s offe hop
’

Lured by the thought of food and a hot drink, Catherine stopped the car and grabbed her purse. Once inside, she ordered an Americano with an extra shot and a cinnamon bagel to go. While she waited for the waitress to fill her order she took a seat at the counter next to a middle age woman.

The woman’s purse sat open on the floor, her wallet in clear view. Catherine glanced around at the other occupants, but they were too busy eating breakfast to notice her. Casually, she angled her knees so the napkin slid off
her lap
and over the woman’s purse. She bent down to retrieve it, her hand tightening around the wallet, wrapping it in the napkin.

She waited for a count of ten, hoping the woman wouldn’t look down or pick up her purse. When she didn’t move, Catherine stuffed the wallet and napkin into her own purse
,
then
paid
for
her order and left.

Back in
the car, she sipped her coffee
and ate the bagel, then examined the contents of the wallet. Ten, crisp twenty dollar bills were tucked in the billfold. She crammed them into her purse, then opened her door and flung the wallet as far as she could under the car.

Re-energized, she tossed the Styrofoam cup into the passenger foot
-
well and checked her cell phone. There were two messages, both from her sister, both saying the same thing.

It’s Grace. Call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important that I talk to you.

She deleted both,
and
then switched off the phone to conserve the battery.

Traffic on I-75 was heavy with people rushing home for the holidays. Towns and cities came and went in a blur. Outside, the sun rose in a cloudless sky with the promise of another hot day. The drone of the car’s air conditioni
ng drowned out the hum of the ty
res. She tried the radio again, but found all the advertisements irritating and switched it off, preferring instead to drive in relative silence.

A thoughtful smile played at the corner of her mouth
,
another four or five hours and
she woul
d be able to live her life, her way. Everything would be different from now on. No more scrimping and saving. No more taking orders from her greasy haired boss with the wandering hands or chaperoning hospital consultants at conferences and listening to their ribald jokes.

North of Miami, she stopped at one of the service areas for a bathroom break. The restroom was empty when she entered. She twisted her blonde hair into a tight knot and removed a chestnut colo
u
red wig from her oversized tote, then inserted the blue contacts into her eyes. Her transformation complete, she examined her reflection
in the mirror,
tilting her head to the left,
and
then to the right. A derisive grin settled on her features.

She gathered her things and left, stopping briefly to purchase a burger and
a bottle of water
, before climbing back into the car and continuing her journey.

Weariness enveloped her as she negotiated the traffic in downtown Miami. She rubbed a hand across her aching temples and tried to remember exactly where the bank was located.
Sh
e circled for a while until she had no option but to leave the rental in a parking garage. She shouldered her purse and head bowed, walked quickly toward the heart of
the
financial district.

The streets were full of city workers busy grabbing a late lunch or cigarette on an all-too-short break from the office. It took her a while to find the right building, but finally she passed under the bank’s signage and stepped up to the ATM machine.

A quick glance over her shoulder ensured no one was watching as she slipped the
bankcard
out of her purse and into the machine. She tapped in the security code and waited while the bank’s computer system compared the information she’d inputted to that held in its databank.

Seconds ticked by.

Catherine’s
fingers
tapped restlessly against the
side of the machine
. She took off her sunglasses and peered at the screen.
Insufficient funds
. Please contact your bank.

Her fist hit the wall, drawing blood.
‘
That’s impossible!
’

Shock yielded quickly to fury. She stormed into the bank, ignoring the queue at the counter, strode over to the information desk.

‘
I’ve just tried to use my
bankcard
, but the stupid machine says the
re are
insufficient
funds and the
account is closed. Can you check?
’
she said in a lower voice than normal.

The poker-face young woman behind the desk looked up.
‘
Take a seat. Do you have your account number and some identification?
’

Catherine lifted her chin and struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone.
‘
The number is 295636190. I’m not sure I have my drivers’ license with me.
’
She made a pretence of looking in her purse.

The clerk entered the number into her computer and studied the details on the screen.
‘
Are you related to the account holder?
’

‘
H
ow else would I know the number of the account?
’

Closed circuit security cameras monitored the banking hall. Catherine forced herself to remain calm, praying she would not betray her agitation. The wig made her head ache
and
irritated her scalp
. H
er eyes burned from the contacts, forcing her to blink repeatedly. She crossed one slim ankle over the other to prevent her foot tapping
nervously
against the marble floor, as she watched the hands of the clock move from the half to the quarter hour.

What’s taking her so long?

Catherine stirred uneasily in the chair. She studied the security camera and wondered if it was trained on her. Across the hall, the queue for the tellers lengthened. A security guard paced up and down its length watching for any suspicious movement. His attention focused on her. Fear slammed through her. Her hands, hidden from sight by her purse, twisted nervously in her lap. The guard leered at her and winked, then turned his attention back to the line.

Shaken, Catherine glanced at the clerk with a frown, sorely tempted to ask the woman to call someone more senior.

‘
There’s no mistake. The account has been closed and the money transferred.
’

At first, the words didn’t register. She wavered, trying to comprehend what she
’d heard
. Adrenaline and ice flooded her veins. Shock yield to fury.
Transferred? What in God’s name was
the clerk
talking about?

Her heart was beating too fast, making her head spin, her palms damp. She clung to the desk for support.
‘
What?
I mean when was this?
’

‘
Two days ago. Mr
.
Cody handled the arrangements. Would you like
me to see if he’s free
?
’

Part of
Catherine
wanted to scream. Part of her wanted to take
the woman
by the collar and shake her until
she
admitted there was some mistake.

Swallowing hard,
she
tried to keep the anger from her voice.
‘
No, no, it’s all right.
No need to
disturb him.
’

She turned away. She felt trapped, helpless. Betrayed.

‘
You look pale. Are you feeling okay? Would you like some water?
’

Catherine barely heard the personal remark.
Think. Brazen it out. Don’t run. Whatever you do, don’t make the security guard suspicious.

She took several long, deep breat
hs, and forced herself to meet the clerk’s
gaze. When she spoke, her voice was flat, calm.
‘
I’m fine. Just a little tired. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have troubled you.
’

Catherine hurried back to the car. She slammed the car door and
yanked
off the wig.
This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not after all her careful planning.