Hannah was surprised at her own calmness. She had no idea what was going on or who this seemingly dangerous woman was other than her name, yet she felt a detachment that seemed to insulate her from even curiosity. The thought of John dead didn't affect her as much as she had thought it would. The last week had angered her beyond her imaginings. Now it was as if the events of the past hour had shifted her into the eye of the hurricane, taking her out of the turmoil she was in. She didn’t know what was coming, but she was sure it would also be bad. Most importantly though, was the realization that had seeped into her as John told his story that his leaving had had nothing at all to do with her. She felt as if the last ten years of her life had been wiped clean.
She watched the endless businesses, strip malls and larger shopping centers that constituted northern St. Louis zip by her window. She thought of the stores she had frequented and was reminded of the meager supplies in her current possession. She had her purse with its few cosmetics and useless credit cards, the tote bag with the stuff she had crammed in it in the dark, and was wearing sweats that Neeley had grabbed for her with a nylon windbreaker, socks and sneakers. That was it.
Hannah felt certain she wouldn't be going home any time soon, or even ever. In the space of less than two weeks, she had effectively lost her husband and the whole of her possessions. A couple of hours ago she had almost lost her life.
Hannah pushed memories of the shooting from her mind. Neeley seemed intent on her own thoughts and just driving the truck. Hannah could appreciate the distance they were putting between them and whoever had made Swiss Cheese of her den. When Neeley spoke, the suddenness of it caused Hannah to jump.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"No."
Neeley turned to the woman huddled in the passenger seat. "Are you in shock or something? Aren't you interested in what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk right now, OK?" Hannah said.
"This isn't going away, Hannah. You can't draw into yourself and pretend you're on a Sunday afternoon outing."
"Where are we going?" Hannah finally asked.
"Right now I'm just trying to get out of town."
“And then? What are we supposed to do once we get out of town?"
"I figure first we just get away from the guy trying to kill us. I agree, we'll have to figure something out though, because he'll find us soon enough."
"What? How can he find us? And who is he any way? What is going on? Who exactly are you?"
"He found your house." Neeley recited the facts in logical order. "He freq’d in on the bugs that I placed in your house. He—"
"Bugs in my house?” Hannah cut in. “That you placed?"
"I needed to find John," Neeley said.
"You bugged my house? You listened to me?"
"I was doing a job," Neeley said.
Hannah turned away and silence again reigned inside the truck.
Neeley glanced in the rear view mirror. As far as she could tell they had not been followed. She had not liked going back to her pick up truck, given that the shooter had probably come from the same direction, but there was too much irreplaceable gear in the truck-bed under the camper shell. She couldn't leave it sitting there, waiting for the cops to find it. Her fingerprints were all over the truck and when John's body was found it wouldn't take the cops long to put something together.
She realized she had not done well. The fact that the shooter, whoever it was, had not done particularly well either, taking John out first instead of the person with the gun, did little to console her.
“Whoever it was heard what we were saying?” Hannah asked.
Neeley nodded, trying to figure out a plan.
“Why was John shot first?” Hannah asked. “You had the gun.”
Neeley was surprised that this housewife was asking the same thing that had just occurred to her. “He screwed up.”
“Whoever it was is a professional, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he didn’t screw up, did he?”
Neeley frowned, but Hannah continued.
“He shot John to shut him up.”
Neeley realized Hannah was right. She replayed the scene, trying to focus on what John had been talking about just before getting killed. Hannah’s observations disturbed her, even though they were pretty much the same as her own. Neeley pointed to the generic restaurant at the next exit. "We'll stop for some coffee. We can talk there."
They rolled into the lot and Neeley parked the truck. They walked in and took a booth where Neeley could watch outside.
Four miles back, Racine had a small metal suitcase open on the passenger seat. A power cord ran from it to the cigarette lighter. He watched the dot that represented Neeley’s truck come to a halt. He smiled at the thought that the bitch's training would be her downfall. He'd known exactly where to find her ride and the Vermont plates had just been icing. She had by-the-book-Gant stamped all over her. Gant and his fucking rules. There were problems with rules and if the dip-shit have ever condescended enough to treat Racine like an equal, he would have been glad to explain some of them to Gant. Number one was if someone knew your rules, they could predict your actions and be one step ahead.
Racine saw the first sign for the exit the women had taken come up. The bitch had outsmarted him at the house. Time to push things, Racine decided as he flipped open a small black book. He thumbed through until he got to the page he wanted. Then he opened his cellular phone with his free hand. With difficulty, he punched in a phone number.
He grimaced when the other end was picked up, but he knew one had to make due with what was available. He didn't have much time to plan anything elaborate but all he needed was a few minutes of quiet time to kill Neeley and get the blond into the trunk. He knew Nero was adamant about not killing her and he couldn't afford another mistake. At least not yet, as far as Nero was concerned.
Hannah glanced at the other patrons in the restaurant and decided it was a place where no one would find her oddly dressed. Neeley was fussing with the coffee they had been brought by the middle-aged waitress. For the first time Hannah could clearly see the other woman's face and decided she was lovely. The dark hair and eyes highlighted the pale skin that seemed to glow with an athletic health and vigor. Hannah knew this was a dangerous, hard woman, but she had to admit she was also a pretty one.
Neeley reached over and clasped Hannah's free hand. It was not a gesture of comfort but rather one of restraint. Her voice had a steady quality that was more frightening than the information it conveyed.
"Listen closely, Hannah. If you want to survive this, you'll listen to me and do what I say. I don't know what kind of dream world you've been living in, but it's time to check in to reality. In the real world your life is worth spit about now. I'm not the bad guy, OK?"
Hannah stared at her. "You walk in with John all tied up and waving a gun and you're not the bad guy?"
Neeley shook her head. "No, no, that's not how it is. You see, your husband screwed you over. He not only took everything when he split, he left you hanging in the wind knowing that someone like me or the man who shot up your house would show up."
"John wasn't a bad man for God sakes. He was a little egotistical and overly involved with material possessions but that hardly damns him." The words sounded hollow to Hannah even as she said them. Just this evening she’d been damning John at the top of her lungs to the empty rooms of her house.
"Hannah, your husband just told you he was involved in something a long time ago that killed him earlier this morning. But he never told you a word about it, did he?"