Inside the bag was a nurse’s uniform—pants and a tunic in matching coral polyester—along with a pair of white walking shoes and a navy jumpsuit.
Gray said, “The nurses don’t wear matching uniforms, so you won’t stand out.”
Barrie dumped the contents onto the carpeted floor of the camper. “What’s with the jumpsuit?”
“That’s mine.”
“Dashing.” She stood up and reached for her belt buckle. “Aren’t you going to turn your back?”
“No, but you can turn yours.”
If he wasn’t going to make a big deal of it, then neither would she. She could act just as blasé as he, she told herself as she stepped out of her shoes and pulled her shirttail from her waistband. At least the camper was dark, with only a little light coming from the curtained windows on each side.
After unbuckling her belt, she unzipped her slacks and pushed them down her legs. When they were off, she folded them and placed them in the bottom of the shopping bag. Next she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it, leaving her in panties and bra. At least they were a matched set. At least they were new, fresh from Victoria’s Secret.
But she was no lingerie model. She was no Vanessa Armbruster Merritt, either. Maybe the semidarkness would be kind and soften the comparison.
Simultaneously she and Gray noticed that the truck was slowing down. Barrie looked across at him. He checked his wristwatch. “We haven’t had time to get there. Why’s he stopping?”
“For gasoline, maybe?”
“I don’t know,” he said, peeking through a crack in the curtains. “I don’t see anything.”
The truck continued to slow and then rolled to a stop. The radio went off when the driver cut the engine. His door creaked open. The cab rocked when he stepped out.
“Hey, sugar,” they heard him say. “Been waiting long?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Daily took seriously his job as a decoy.
Shortly after separating from Barrie and Gray in the parking garage, he spotted a gray sedan that, for several blocks, maintained a safe distance behind him. After some calculated wending through city streets, Daily was sure he was once again being tailed.
Maybe Gray had been right, and his car had an electronic tracker planted on it. Or maybe the bastards were just lucky to have picked him up again. Or maybe Merritt’s secret police were more pervasive than even Gray knew. That was a scary possibility. However, it was unlikely that his thugs would accost a sick old emphysemic on a busy street. Daily felt relatively safe.
For the first hour, the game of chase was fun, but eventually the monotony overcame him. After his third yawn in five minutes, he tuned his radio to a station that played rap music, for the simple reason that he hated it with a passion. If that obnoxious racket couldn’t keep him alert and edgy, nothing could.
When his stomach began to growl, he pulled into the drive-through at McDonald’s and ordered Big Macs for him and Dolly. The youngster manning the window noticed that Daily’s date was an inflatable doll, but he didn’t comment and Daily offered no explanation. Better to let the kid think he was a pervert rather than a subversive.
He parked his car in front of the dining room and absently watched other customers come and go while he ate his burger and fries. He didn’t have much appetite, so he finished only half his meal. He could swear that Dolly looked at him reprovingly when he disposed of their leftovers.
Disinclined to begin driving again, he sat with his hands resting listlessly in his lap and continued to monitor the McDonald’s clientele. He was particularly interested in the couples with young children. These seemingly happy families were living proof that the ideal wasn’t entirely unattainable. Rather than deriving any pleasure from this testament, however, the kids with the Happy Meals made Daily feel incredibly sad.
Not for the first time, he acknowledged that he’d missed out on what was really important in life. He should have married that sweet little schoolteacher who’d been so crazy about him. He’d been just as crazy about her. He’d fallen head over heels for her soft brown eyes and gentle mannerisms the first night they met. One of her smiles could make him feel like a million bucks.
But he’d taken her for granted and treated her badly, opting too often to work overtime rather than keep a dinner date. She had always run a distant second to his pursuit of a good story. Between taking her to the movies and following a hot lead, there was no competition.
She’d been a sweetheart, truly, putting up with him longer than she should have. But he’d stretched her patience too far. She’d given up on him and married someone else, a man more stable and attentive, one who wasn’t so dedicated to his work and his freedom.
Funny how the freedom of youth turns to loneliness in old age.
More and more lately, he thought about her and contemplated what could have been.
Catching himself in the poignant thought, he scorned his self-pity. Somewhere along the line, I’ve become a pitiful old fool.
Impatient with his maudlin reverie, he started his car and backed out of the parking lot. The sedan was across the street at a Taco Bell. It pulled out behind him. He took 66 out of the city until it intersected with 495, then he doubled back, heading northwest. It was amusing to watch the sedan in his rearview mirror as it tried not to lose him in traffic, although he wasn’t so naive as to believe that the gray sedan was his only tail.
He reentered D.C. via Chevy Chase, Maryland, and drove back downtown. He made a drag down Wisconsin Avenue, where eclectic crowds seeking the nightlife of Georgetown vied for tables in crowded bars and restaurants.