Hadley & Grace(73)
Skipper is bouncing in his seat, the PlayStation that holds his fantasy team and all the stats in his hand.
“Move, First Base,” he says to Mattie as soon as the car comes to a stop. “Go. Get out.”
Mattie climbs out, and Skipper bounds out after her.
“Well, we can’t walk into the stadium with two million dollars,” Hadley says. “It might raise an eyebrow or two.” She offers an encouraging smile. “Come on, Grace. It will be fine. We’ll go to the game, have a couple hot dogs, enjoy a little normalcy for a few hours, then return to our outlaw ways.”
Grace, not able to help herself, smiles.
“Attagirl,” Hadley says. She climbs from the car, looking nearly as excited as Skipper.
Grace slides Miles into the new front baby pack she bought—one where he faces out so he can see all the action. His legs kick with excitement, and she has to admit he looks very cute in his Rockies onesie, with matching hat and socks.
With a final glance at the trunk of Blaire Butz’s Bug, where the diaper bag is stashed with the money and Frank’s gun, she takes a deep breath and walks toward the shuttle bus, trailing Skipper, who’s yanking Hadley forward as she does her best to keep up without her crutches.
When they arrive at the stadium, Grace leaves Hadley, Skipper, and Mattie at the front gate to go to the ticket window. The air smells of popcorn and beer, and Grace inhales deeply and thinks about what she will eat when she gets inside, her mouth watering with the thought of an ice-cold Coors and peanuts.
Bad as things are, they feel a little less hopeless than they did this morning. Despite the calamitous events of last night, freedom is in sight. Mattie agreed to the plan of going with her to London, and Skipper only wanted to know if they had baseball. And now that she’s had some time to think about it, the idea has taken on surprising warmth and brightness, the idea of Mattie and Skipper being with her making her happy each time she thinks of it.
She kisses Miles on the head. “Hey, little man, in two days, you and I are going to be on a plane and headed to London. What do you think of that?”
He kicks his legs and waves his arms.
Her eyes catch on her reflection in the glass of the ticket windows, startling her, then making her smile. There’s no way anyone is going to recognize her. She barely recognizes herself—a realization both comforting and disturbing. Without her fiery-red curls, she is plain as rain, entirely unremarkable.
Miles squeals and babbles as they wait for the ticket girl to print out their tickets, clearly excited by the colorful commotion around them, the sidewalk teeming with fans, vendors, laughter, and voices.
The scent of hot dogs drifts past her nose, and her stomach rumbles. She loves ballpark hot dogs. There’s something about them that makes them so much better than a hot dog from anywhere else. Closing her eyes, she imagines the first delicious bite, followed by a swig of beer.
She’s still relishing the thought when the hair on the back of her neck bristles, a premonition or her sixth sense sending off an alarm. Moving slowly so as to not attract attention, she opens her eyes and turns.
At first, she sees nothing and thinks maybe she was mistaken, but then the man behind her shifts, and the world stands still.
He is a hundred feet away, concealed beneath the shadow of a tree—brown sport coat and white button-down shirt—broad shoulders, thick waist, and cinnamon-blond hair. He is wearing sunglasses, but she can tell by the way he turns his head that, behind them, his eyes are scanning.
“Here you are,” the ticket girl says.
Grace glances at her, then back at the agent, then, calm as she can manage, takes the tickets and walks back toward the entrance, her pulse pounding in her ears.
49
MARK
Mark is supposed to be on a plane back to DC. He is supposed to be moving on to a new case involving credit card fraud. He is supposed to be arranging a makeup day with Shelly and Ben. He is supposed to be putting all this behind him.
He almost didn’t see her. Had that woman not said, “Look, honey, isn’t he cute? The littlest Rockies fan,” he wouldn’t have turned and he would not have caught sight of Grace’s distinct walk as she moved through the crowd with Miles strapped to her chest. Her hair was changed, black and straight, but she still carried herself with a sort of defiance that was unmistakable, her shoulders back and her head high.
He moves quickly to catch up, uncertain if she’s aware he’s there. Judging by how fast she’s moving, he thinks she is.
His instincts paid off. This game was important to Skipper, and the stadium on course to their destination of Omaha. He didn’t clear the plan with O’Toole or tell anyone about his hunch, and if this doesn’t work out, he will be out of a job, but he’s amazed how little that concerns him.
Grace glances over her shoulder, and Mark ducks out of sight. When he straightens, she’s turning the corner toward the entrance. His hand goes to the holster beneath his jacket, and he releases the clip and flicks off the safety.
He rounds the corner, then stops in his tracks. Grace is stopped as well, ten feet still between them.
He looks past her to Hadley, whose hair is now short, cropped almost to her scalp. Her crutches are gone, and she stands with most of her weight on her good leg. Her right arm is wrapped over Skipper’s shoulder, while Mattie stands slightly behind her.