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
with a suspect and a primary source of more information, without going to the authorities. Now, forty-eight hours later, she was totally dependent on that suspect unless she surrendered herself.
Her inner devil’s advocate reminded her that she could summon federal agents in two minutes or less in an airport.
She hoped—prayed—that she wouldn’t have to explain to anyone why she hadn’t done exactly that.
Reflected in the glass, several feet behind her at a narrow WiFi station, Tam was tapping away at her little computer. Last night she had very much wanted to ask Tam about her childhood.
Why was it such a secret? Every time she was about to bring it up she could see the wariness in Tam’s eyes. Her shoulders and stance tightened, as if braced for a fight, and it made Kip’s heart ache. She kept thinking about getting Kim out of the car with their drunk father at the wheel and she wished she had been able to take Tam away from whatever it was that had shut down that part of her life.
That protective impulse could be exactly what Tam wanted. She could be on the receiving end of masterful manipulation, she reminded herself.
That inner voice sounded pathetically uncertain and weak—
no help whatsoever. All through the boarding process she tried to fan the flames of suspicion and perk up her paranoia, but it just wasn’t working. Instead of sleeping she thumbed through the in-flight magazine. The Sudoku was no real challenge and took only a few minutes, so she turned to the crossword. One across was a six-letter word for “One is born every minute.”
She penciled in “s-u-c-k-e-r.” It was going to be a long flight.
From the Miami airport they took a shuttle to a nearby convention hotel, carefully sitting some distance from each other. A couple of frat boys sat far too close to Kip, trying to engage her in conversation, and Tam watched, annoyed by their 192
presumption and amused as Kip’s Secret Service face eventually silenced them. The hotel was large and impersonal, and it was still bustling at nearly eleven o’clock at night. They registered for separate rooms but Tam slipped Kip the sleeve where the clerk had written her room number. They’d agreed to rendezvous and share a room service meal to plan their tight schedule for the next day.
She’d already logged onto the Internet when Kip quietly knocked on the door. It was all Tam could do not to hug her—so much of the day had been spent apart. She restrained herself, but it became doubly hard when she realized Kip’s hair was wet. She’d showered. Even with hotel products, Kip smelled like Kip.
“I hope I didn’t take too long. My eyes were so dry that I knew a shower would help.”
“No problem. I haven’t ordered food. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“Considering I ate a house yesterday and snacked on M&Ms and chocolate frozen yogurt all day today, maybe something light we could split?”
Tam pointed out the room service menu on the little side table in front of the window. Kip suggested several options and Tam tried to pay attention, but a preoccupied part of her was picturing Kip not demurely seated in the utilitarian side chair, but half-naked on the king-sized bed, still damp hair spread out over the pillow.
They agreed on a grilled shrimp and mango salad and a bowl of Cuban ajiaco stew. Tam noticed Kip looked longingly at the desserts—the photo of a seductive hot fudge sundae practically crooned from the top of the page—but set the menu down without asking.
I could love her for that alone, Tam thought, just for being so completely human.
The moment the thought was complete blood roared in her ears. She masked the wave of vertigo by gesturing at her computer. “There’s an upscale shopping mall not far from here.
We can probably get the last things we need when they open.”
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“And then we go to the port?”
She nodded. “To the last-minute purchase office. There are berths available on two cruise lines, both going first to Nassau.
We book, then when asked for our passports, we explain they were stolen and present our licenses and voter registration cards.
The cruise line staff gives us an affidavit to fill out wherein we attest that our passports are unavailable, we are who we say we are and we’re not intending to immigrate illegally or commit any crimes.” Tam felt steadier for dealing in the mundane details.
“We’re not in any more trouble for signing the affidavit than we are for using the fake identification to begin with. This is all routine for the port. It won’t really raise an eyebrow.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I read it at soyoulostyourpassportandstillwanttogoonacruise dotcom.”
Kip laughed. “You did not.”
“Seriously. Same place you land if you query ‘what do I do if my folks lost their passport on the way to the ship’ on Google.”
Kip’s laughter faded and she looked suddenly wan. From the desk Tam thought she detected a glimmer of tears, but that might have been the light. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“What is it?”
“Scared. Tired. Trying to figure out how it made sense that we’re here.”
Tam sat down on the bed. “I think we’re going to be okay.”
“You really don’t think there are bad guys with broken noses out there looking for us?”
“I could be wrong.”
“But you’re not often wrong.” Kip’s expression was rueful.
“When you said earlier that you had the protection of an almost Secret Service agent? Well, that almost agent’s gun is locked up in her apartment, three thousand miles away. Pretty stupid place for it.”
“You couldn’t have brought it on the plane anyway.”
Kip shrugged. “No matter. Do you really want to know the reason why I’m an almost agent and not a bona fide?”
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Tam blinked. The mystery had annoyed her, true. She realized, though, that she knew what mattered about Kip. It was the truth when she said, “You don’t have to tell me.”
“It embarrasses me. Most of the time.” She shrugged. “I failed the final simulation run. Tried it several times, but was never going to pass. I did great up until the end. You can’t imagine how loud it was—big warehouse, almost like a movie soundstage with set after set. One minute I’d smell smoke, the next pizza, then sewage. There was fog everywhere and buses honking, and the sound of an overhead train never stopped. And I did great.