A Murder in Time(18)
“Hey.” Nate pushed himself to his feet, his eyes on her face. “What’s wrong? You’re looking pale, even for a white girl.”
“I’m fine.” She began stretching. “I took you down, didn’t I?”
“That’s only because you’re tricky.” Snatching another hand towel, he mopped up the sweat from his gleaming ebony skin. “When are you going back to the Bureau?”
Kendra’s hesitation was so slight, he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching so closely. Her face went carefully blank. “Soon.”
“You’re ready.”
She ignored him as she went through the stretching routine followed by some intricate yoga moves. After a moment, he joined her. “You know, several of my clients are in the Bureau. Sam White mentioned you the other day, said you’ve practically fallen off the grid.”
“Please. Phillip Leeds was at my door just the other day.” She didn’t mention that he’d shown up at her door because she’d let six of his calls go straight to voice mail. She was tired of him urging her to see a psychiatrist.
“Asking you to come back?”
She straightened out of the warrior position. “He wants me back, yes. There’s a case in Florida. Someone’s been killing college girls.”
“I saw that on the news.” He followed her as she walked to the locker room. “They need you, Kendra.”
“And I need time.” She opened up the door to the locker room, hesitating on the threshold. “The FBI has other profilers, Nate. They can do the job without me.”
He frowned. “You sound like you’re never going back.”
“Of course, I’m going back,” she replied easily, tossing him a smile over her shoulder. “Where else would I go?”
It was a lie, but she told it convincingly. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn’t trust Nate’s sudden interest in her career or future with the FBI. She certainly had no intention of telling him that she’d never go back to the Bureau. Hell, if everything worked out as planned, they wouldn’t want her, either—except in prison or dead.
After showering, Kendra changed back into her pale green T-shirt, stonewashed Levi’s, and Nike cross-trainers. Declining the cup of coffee Nate suggested, she swung out of the gym. She kept her pace unhurried as she walked down the sidewalk, gym bag over her shoulder, maneuvering between pedestrians. Every once in a while, she pretended to window-shop, using the glass as a mirror to scan the crowds for a possible tail. Phillip Leeds, she knew, was becoming nervous that she was avoiding returning to active duty. He couldn’t force her, of course. Being shot in the head and severely wounded had an upside, she decided wryly. It had given her time to plan.
The government had a shocking amount of eyes and ears everywhere, but she’d been careful. She’d paid cash for a new laptop and burn phone. It had taken her a long time to shuffle funds around. Most Americans didn’t realize the IRS tracked deposits around or above ten thousand dollars. To prevent any IRS triggers, Kendra made sure to stagger the times and amounts of money she wired to the accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland that she’d set up under bogus corporations.
She’d also set up several new identities. The first would be Marie Boulanger. Under that name, she’d rented a charming cottage in the Cote d’Azur for the next six months. Of course, she had no intention of staying there or continuing the identity of Marie Boulanger. Instead, she’d slip into the skin of Angelica Lombardi, and settle into life in Rome for a couple of months at least. She had an aptitude for languages: Spanish, Italian, French, Portuguese. That, she supposed, she had her parents to thank for, and those endless lessons they’d structured her life around. She’d be able to keep a low profile in Europe.
Unlike Sir Jeremy Greene.
The anger rose swiftly inside her, choking her. She’d looked him up, of course. It had taken her two seconds to find him, often photographed with some waif-thin model young enough to be his granddaughter. The latest report was that he’d be attending a fancy-dress ball at some English castle.
It enraged Kendra. He may be feeding Uncle Sam vital intelligence—or so they believed—but he deserved to be in hell.
She had every intention of putting him there.
Kendra left her cell phone in her gym locker, and her car in the parking lot. She took a bus to the other side of the city, getting off six blocks from her actual destination. The Mexican Cantina was crowded with afternoon diners and smelled of frying onions and something spicy. The hostess, a young woman wearing traditional-style dress, smiled at her. “Only one?” she asked as she reached for a plastic menu.
“What I want isn’t on the menu. ?Dónde está Lupe?”
The woman shot her a startled look, and then glanced around nervously. “You want to meet my uncle?”
“I’ve already met him. I have an appointment. Tell him Kendra’s waiting.”
“Un momento, por favor,” the woman said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Kendra studied the garish paintings on the wall. The cheerful Mexican music blended with the noise of the diners who’d come in for happy hour. The air-conditioning felt good after her six-block walk.
The woman returned, and smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained uneasy. “Por favor, me sigue.”