Be Careful What You Wish For(18)

“Thanks,” Sean said, nodding his head in appreciation. He reached out to take the file Valzar handed to him, flipping through it. Right on top was a passport. He opened it up, discovered a worn picture of himself. Next to it was a name, Joe McMurray, Irish national.
“It looks good,” he said slowly. “As always, I’m impressed with how thorough you are. You always think of everything, Valzar.”
“Thank you,” his friend said, smiling briefly. “I’ve got more for you, though. Here’s some information our friends have come up with on your girl. Fresh off the fax.”
He handed another file to Sean, and then sat back. Sean took it and flipped it open. The fax transmission was grainy, but there was no mistaking his little toy in the picture. She smiled broadly at the camera.
Probably a driver’s license photo. He scanned the accompanying information quickly.
Sandra Vicars, 27 years old, single. Residence: 1536 N. Welby, Apt. #6, Danforth, Texas. Five feet, six inches in height, 135 pounds. Next of kin listed as an aunt in New York. Occupation: massage therapist.
He flipped the page, moving on to the next sheet, absorbing the information quickly. Her parents were dead, her only brother in prison for drug trafficking, 18 years left to go on a federal charge. She had worked at a sports health clinic for five years before starting her own practice, a bad move since the economy had been down for quite a while. Now her bank accounts were all but empty and her practice seemed to be languishing. No criminal history, no suspicions of prostitution.
That caught his eye fast enough.
“It says here she’s a massage therapist with no history of prostitution,” he said slowly. “She told me she’s a working girl. How do you figure that?”
“Keep reading,” Valzar said slowly. Sean nodded, eyes quickly covering the page. She was well liked by her neighbors, all of whom were horrified that she’d be taken hostage by a dangerous escaped felon. The press was already hard a work digging up her background for their stories, and the sports clinic where she’d worked was offering a 10,000 reward for information leading to her whereabouts. Her former fiancé, a man who had broken up with her nearly nine months back, was devastated, and had already made a public appearance on one of the local television stations to beg for her return.
“This isn’t good,” Sean said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I thought she was a pro, someone who would be easy to buy off. That’s not going to happen with a woman like this. She’ll never understand.”
“I know,” Valzar said slowly, shaking his head. “I can see you’re attached to her, although I can’t fathom why. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been without a woman for so long? It doesn’t matter, though. You have to get rid of her. I brought in Rosa for you, she can see to all your needs. I’ll take care of the Vicars woman.”
“No,” Sean said, a wave of anger washing over him. The thought of Valzar touching his little toy made his head hurt, and he had to restrain himself from reaching across and hitting the man. “She’s mine and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you touch her. It’s not open for discussion.”
“Have it your way,” Valzar replied, one eyebrow raised and a knowing expression on his face. “She’s not a threat to me, it’s your ass on the line. Our CIA friends don’t like to be embarrassed, and I can assure you that they don’t like loose ends.”
He handed another sheaf of papers to Sean, then stood and walked over to the full bar that took up the far end of the room.
“Drink?” he asked. Sean nodded his head.
“Scotch,” he said, reading the new information restlessly. It was the rough draft of a newspaper article about his escape. Dangerous criminal, riot, hostage, etc. He skipped down toward the end, and read about his own death with a sense of grim satisfaction. His hostage had been identified as Sandra Vicars, and her burned body had been discovered with his in the plane wreckage. By the next morning, every one of her friends in Texas would read about it in their newspapers. Somebody would inform the aunt, and Sandra Vicar’s small estate would go into probate.
The former fiancé would have to find a new way to get on TV.
Valzar returned with a small glass of amber fluid, handing it to Sean. He drained the drink in one smooth motion, enjoying the way it burned down his throat. Damn, it was good to be out of prison.
“I need to be leaving soon,” Valzar said. “Is there anything that you need from me before I go?”
Sean shook his head, lost in thought.
“No, everything you’ve done for me is wonderful,” he said. “I can never thank you enough. I’ll let you know when I decide what my next step is.”