He’d escaped from Nolan, but he hadn’t run off to an island country with no extradition treaty. Claire had no doubt that Paul had a secret stash of money waiting for him somewhere. He’d probably already ordered the Gladiator cabinets for the garage. He’d admitted to her over the phone that the timeline had been pushed up, but that didn’t explain why he was sticking around. The FBI couldn’t find him, but as Lydia would say, so what? Paul was a free man. He didn’t need to go into witness protection. He didn’t need the FBI. He didn’t need anything.
Except for whatever was on the USB drive.
The door shook as someone pounded a fist against the flimsy wood. “Claire!”
Claire recognized the angry voice of her lawyer on the other side of the door. Wynn Wallace, the Colonel.
“Claire!” Wynn tried the knob. The door was locked. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut!”
Nolan told Claire, “You can refuse his counsel.”
“So you can keep lying to me?”
“Claire!” Wynn yelled.
Claire stood up. “You’re asking the wrong question, Fred.”
Wynn tried to shoulder open the door. There was a sharp crack.
Nolan said, “Tell me the right question.”
“Paul didn’t give you the information you wanted, therefore, his life isn’t in danger. He should be on a beach somewhere. Why is he sticking around?”
Nolan hacked like a dog with a string down its throat. “You’ve seen him?”
Claire opened the door.
Wynn Wallace stormed into the room. “What the hell is going on here?”
Nolan tried to stand up, but Wynn blocked him, demanding, “Who the hell are you? I want your ID number and your supervisor’s name right now.”
“Claire,” Nolan tried, “don’t go.”
Claire edged her way out the door. She fumbled for Lydia’s phone in her bra. The metal was hot. She pressed the button to power on the phone. She stared at the screen, silently begging for a message from Paul.
“Sweetpea?”
Claire spun around. She wondered if she was hallucinating. “Mom?”
Helen was near tears. “We’ve been halfway around the state. They wouldn’t tell us where you were.” She cupped her hand to Claire’s face. “Are you all right?”
Claire was trembling again. She couldn’t stop. It was like she was standing on the beach in the middle of a hurricane. Everything was slamming into her at once.
“Come with me.” Helen took her hand. She pulled Claire down the hallway. They didn’t wait for the elevator. Helen led her to the stairs. Claire looked down at the phone as she followed her mother. The signal was strong. No calls. No voice mail. There was one new text: a photograph that had been sent a few minutes after Claire had turned off the phone. Lydia was still in the trunk. Her face didn’t show any new cuts or bruises, but her eyes were closed. Why were her eyes closed?
Helen said, “Just a little bit farther.”
Claire put the phone in her back pocket. Lydia had blinked when Paul took the picture. Or she was tired. She had closed her eyes against the sun. No, it was dark in the photo. Lydia was being obstinate. She didn’t want Paul to get his way. She was trying to make trouble because that’s what Lydia did.
Claire’s knees felt weak. She almost stumbled. Helen helped her down another two flights of stairs. Finally, she saw the sign for the lobby. Instead of going through the marked door, Helen took her through the emergency exit.
The sunlight was faint, but Claire still shielded her eyes with her hand. She looked around. They were standing on the corner of Peachtree and Alexander. Traffic was starting to fill the streets.
She asked Helen, “What time is it?”
“Five thirty in the morning.”
Claire leaned back against the wall. She had been inside the building for almost twelve hours. What could Paul do to Lydia in twelve hours?
“Claire?”
She waited for her mother to lay into her, to demand an explanation for why she had to find a lawyer and rescue her daughter from the FBI.
Instead, Helen stroked Claire’s cheek and asked, “What can I do to help?”
Claire was speechless with gratitude. She felt like decades had passed since someone had offered her something as simple and genuine as help.
“Sweetheart,” Helen said, “nothing is so bad that it can’t be fixed.”
She was so wrong, but Claire forced herself to nod.
Helen stroked back her hair. “I’ll take you home, okay? I’ll make you some soup and tuck you into bed and you can get some sleep and we can talk this out. Or not. It’s up to you, sweetheart. Whatever you need me to do, I’m here.”
Claire felt herself start to crack. She turned away from her mother’s touch, because the only other option was to fall into her arms and tell her everything.
“Sweetpea?” Helen rubbed her back. “Tell me what I can do.”
Claire opened her mouth to tell her mother there was nothing that could be done, but she stopped, because she saw someone familiar standing fifty feet away.
Detective Harvey Falke. She recognized him from the Dunwoody police station. Captain Mayhew had called him in to help connect the massive hard drive to his computer so that he could tell Claire that the movies Paul had been watching were fake.
Harvey was leaning against a railing. His suit jacket was open, showing his gun. He wasn’t being shy about it. He was looking directly at Claire. His lips smiled under his bushy mustache.
“Claire?” Helen sounded even more concerned. She had seen the man, too. “Who is—”
“The Tesla is parked downstairs on the third level.” She took the key fob out of her pocket. “I need you to move it to the Marriott Marquis for me, okay? Visitor parking. Leave the ticket on the seat and hide the key fob behind the parking pay machine in the lobby.”
Miraculously, Helen still did not demand an explanation. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No.”
She squeezed Claire’s hand before leaving.
Claire waited until her mother disappeared into the FBI building. She walked down the street. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder as she reached the corner. She crossed against the light, dodging around a yellow taxi. She took West Peachtree toward downtown. She finally looked behind her.
Harvey was thirty yards away. His arms were bent at the elbows as he tried to catch up with her. His jacket billowed out. His gun was dark and menacing against his white dress shirt.
Claire picked up the pace. She regulated her breathing. She tried to keep her heart rate under control. She looked behind her.
Harvey was twenty yards away.
Lydia’s phone started ringing. Claire pulled it from her back pocket as she started to jog. She looked at the screen. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Paul said, “Did you enjoy your time at the FBI?”
“Is Lydia okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
Claire crossed the street again. A car screeched to a stop inches away from her hip. The driver yelled out his open window. She asked Paul, “Do you want that USB drive or not?”
“Lydia is fine. What did you tell the FBI?”
“Nothing. That’s why they kept me so long.” Claire looked over her shoulder. Harvey was closer, maybe fifteen yards away. “A cop is following me. One of Mayhew’s guys.”
“Get rid of him.”
Claire ended the call. She jogged across the street. She knew this area of town because she had worked in the Flatiron Building when they first moved to Atlanta. Claire had hated the job. She took long walks during lunch and came back late and flirted with her boss so he would let her leave early.
She started jogging again. Harvey was quickly closing the gap between them. He was a big man with a long stride. He was going to catch up with
her soon.
Claire turned the corner onto Spring Street. She lunged into a full run. She was at the next corner by the time Harvey rounded the building. Claire went halfway down the side street. She checked over her shoulder. Harvey hadn’t made the corner yet. She frantically looked for an escape route. The Southern Company’s side entrance was the closest option. There were six glass doors and a large revolving door at the far end. She tried the first door, but it was locked. She tried the next one, then the next one. She looked back for Harvey. Still not there, but he would be running now, catching up fast. She tried another door, then wanted to kick herself for not going to the revolving door first. Claire ran full-bore into the open mouth of the door. She pushed so hard against the glass partition that she heard the motor grind.
The lobby was cordoned off by glass turnstiles. The sleepy guard behind the counter was smiling. He had probably watched her try each door.
“I’m sorry.” Claire pitched up her voice a few octaves so she sounded helpless. “I know it’s awful of me to ask, but can I use your restroom?”
The guard smiled. “Anything for a pretty lady.” He reached under the desk and opened one of the turnstiles. “Go straight through to the main lobby on West Peachtree. The bathrooms are on the right.”
“Thank you so much.” Claire walked briskly through the partition. She looked behind her. Harvey raced past the side-entrance doors.
She had two seconds of relief before he came back.
Claire darted into an elevator alcove. She kept her head turned so she could see him. Harvey started toward the building. He pulled on one of the locked doors. He was clearly winded. His breath fogged the glass. He wiped it away with his jacket sleeve. He cupped his hands to his eyes and peered into the lobby.
The guard mumbled something under his breath.
Claire pressed her back against the elevator doors.