Nobody picks their blood kin.
Kip put her head down on the bar with a sleepy murmur, leaving Tam the freedom to study her without fear of being caught in the act.
Glenn emerged from the back room with a bang of the door.
Kip sat bolt upright, then looked sheepish. “Sorry, must have dozed off.”
“It’s okay.” Tam gave Glenn her attention.
“These are done. Got it right the first try. I set the issue date back as far as possible. Idaho didn’t have magnetic strips on the back at that time, but don’t go getting yourselves pulled over.”
“We won’t be driving anywhere.”
“Thank you,” Kip said after she’d examined her new persona under the light. “This is good work.”
“I have a bonus item for you,” Glenn added. “It’s another two hundred for both of them.”
Puzzled, Tam took the cards Glenn handed her. They were cut from plain manila-colored card stock. In plain lettering it purported to be a Voter Registration Card from Ada County, 186
Idaho. The names and addresses Tam had concocted were listed.
“Well, there’s a walking felony,” she muttered.
Glenn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s the worst thing I’ve done all day. Just don’t try to use it to vote.”
“But what good—” Kip fell silent at Tam’s gesture.
Tam had no problem handing over more cash. She should have thought of the need for proof of citizenship, but explaining the necessity to Kip would mean Glenn hearing their plans.
“Thanks. Obviously, we’ve not had a lot of practice at this.”
“Amateurs scare me.” Glenn pocketed the bills. “So time for you to go now.”
They were out in the chilly parking lot with Glenn’s parting,
“Come back when you want some fantastic wine” ringing in their ears. “I feel like I just got back up out of the rabbit hole,” Kip said. She pulled her jacket closer around her as they got into the Cherokee.
“Let’s find a place to sleep, Pip Merritt.”
She did finally sleep, too, but not until Kip’s breathing, just audible from the other bed, had gone slow and steady.
187
Chapter FOUrteeN
“I think I’m going to smell like salmon for the rest of my life,” Tam muttered.
Kip gave her an amused glance as they walked from the cargo terminal at Boise Airport to the passenger ticketing area. A sharp, dry wind needled its way under her jacket, and she was glad to be moving around instead of shivering. “Not salmon. Saltwater. It’s all over our shoes.”
The flight had been very low-key. Money changed hands, and for a nominal daily fee, the pilot was happy to let them park their car in the little hangar until they came back for it. He was more concerned that they knew the safety information than why they were flying to Boise under such circumstances. Kip had no trouble picturing Luke with his grunge band buddies and all their gear packed into every bit of spare space as they droned their way to Eugene or Chico for gigs.
188
Her suitcase bumped along on the path behind her, rapidly losing its squeaky new finish. Tam had stressed hers with dirt and dropping it repeatedly in the motel parking lot. “I was thinking that when we get to Miami we should ship a bunch of this stuff to Mercedes Houston maybe? And tell her where to find both cars if mine hasn’t already been located.”
Tam’s nose was tipped with red and her cheeks bright in the midday sun. “Wouldn’t it be just another fitting moment of this case to have our papers get lost in the mail?”
“I’d hate to have the papers with us taken by someone else.
Official or otherwise.”
“What do you mean by ‘otherwise’?”
Kip shared the worry that had been plaguing her since her hasty shower before bolting out of the motel. “If a fraud like Markoff can hire a hacker, why wouldn’t he hire someone else to keep us from finding the evidence we need? Maybe it’s not just the FBI we should be afraid of finding us.”
“You mean muscle? Guys with broken noses?”
“Yeah.” She glanced up at Tam, who was frowning.
“Well, I suppose that’s possible. Fortunately I have an almost Secret Service agent with me.”
“Tam...”
“I know. Here’s how I see it. The entire campaign against me has been discredit, distract and harass. Even if we find the evidence, and even if we’re given an all clear by the authorities, it’ll be several weeks before life is anything like normal. The rumors will go on forever, too, thanks to the Internet.”
Kip knew that. “It’s just that the FBI is worried about what we’re running from, not what we might be running toward. So I wondered who would be thinking more like we are.”
“I was working out motive and other factors on the plane.
I thought about what exactly Markoff hoped to achieve. To permanently neutralize me, or for only a little while? Permanently, well, Markoff could have afforded that, too. But he’s a white-collar thief, not a killer.”
“Okay.” Kip felt foolish for having been fixated on the good 189
guys who wanted to talk to them to the point of not realizing that bad guys could want them not to talk at all. “So this is a lot of time and expense for a temporary outcome?”
“Markoff’s at the limit of continuations. His attorney keeps asking for and getting them, though after the last one the judge said no more. The trial is at the due process limit. If it doesn’t go to trial in two weeks he walks for lack of a speedy trial. So the prosecution can’t ask for a continuation to wait until I’m available and cleared of suspicion. They would have no choice but not to use me as a witness. Without me, and likely without anyone from SFI, the case is harder to stitch together and a lot of evidence can be challenged because one of his accusers—me—isn’t there to validate the chain of evidence. Markoff is the person with the most to gain from all of this, and all he needed was me out of the picture for about three weeks and in a way that doesn’t track back to him for new charges. He’s already gotten one of those weeks.”
Kip thought it over. “That all makes sense to me,” she admitted.
“As for who else is thinking like us, Hank and Diane in particular will be ahead of them, too. They’ve likely anticipated where I’m going.”
Kip nodded and took a deep breath. The passenger terminal was only the length of a football field away. “It’s about time for you to move ahead.”
She gave Kip a steady look. “I’ll see you at the gate.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, ma’am.” It was Tam who gave a mocking salute as she used her long legs to slowly outdistance Kip. It was best for them not to be seen together, not to buy their tickets together, not to go through security close enough together to be seen in the same camera shot. Tam had found them an itinerary from Boise to Miami, through Denver. They only had to get past the security here. Until they got to Miami they were strangers.
She didn’t really have time to appreciate the gleaming Rockies to the west, which ended the long flat of desert. When they’d 190
landed she’d seen forested land to the north and a river splitting the populated area in two. As Tam’s distance increased with every step the wind’s edge felt colder and the sky’s span loomed larger.
Her nerves jangling with fear of discovery, Kip presented herself at the ticket counter. It went like clockwork, just as it should. Kip was braced for a dark-suited figure to fall into step alongside her at any moment, right up until she boarded the flight. But it didn’t happen. She received her boarding pass and at security the driver’s license passed scrutiny.
Her anxiety was eased by the sight of Tam seated in the boarding area, reading a newspaper. She stopped at the convenience market to buy a magazine and some M&Ms. She boarded before Tam, and as Tam passed her on the way to open seats in the back of the long, slender craft, one hand brushed her cheek.
She was immeasurably comforted. She might have spent the whole flight fussing about whether it was right, or ethical, or moral to feel the way she did, but instead an unexpected sense of safety welled up inside her. She tried to tell herself she was losing her edge, that worry and suspicion were her basic survival skills.
She kept repeating that until she fell asleep just after the plane leveled off and turned south toward Denver.
Feeling refreshed for a frozen yogurt, Kip nevertheless had trouble shaking off the effects of the brief nap on the flight.
Denver’s airport featured huge panoramic windows in all directions, but she favored the one that faced west. In Denver’s mid-afternoon sun the Rockies in the distance were towering and nearly black. She tried to talk herself out of the sense of isolation that continued to grow. Finally, the useful aspects of fear began to make headway with her errant common sense.
Maybe, she scolded herself, she felt isolated because she was. And why was she isolated? Because she had chosen to stick 191