Witherspoon looked over his shoulder again, thinking twice. “Okay.” He met the man halfway and they locked hands.
Witherspoon was instantly aware of a warm, comforting grip.
“That’s it. ‘Up, up and away,’ as Superman would say,” the man added in a soothing voice. He sized up Witherspoon. “You’re all dusty on my account.” Without stopping to ask, he patted Witherspoon’s jacket and pants. “How clumsy of me. In such a rush.”
Witherspoon felt the man’s hands lightly brush across his crotch. It was soft, but intentional.
“I’m okay,” Witherspoon said.
“Good. I do apologize. I insist that I pay for a cleaning.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary. Look, I have to go.”
Witherspoon took a step forward, but the man grabbed his hand again. He felt the warmth once more. “Please, then. Let me buy you a breakfast. You look hungry. It’s the least I can do.”
Witherspoon hesitated as if to say, well, maybe.
“My name is Mycroft. Terrence Humphrey Mycroft. My friends call me Terry.” He still held onto Witherspoon’s hand, and squeezed it ever so gently. “Really, let me make it up to you.”
Witherspoon was on the run. The man offered him refuge. Probably more. He always had a hard time saying no. And he was definitely being asked. I can disappear with him.
“Okay. Where?”
“Well, I’m just in for business, but the restaurant at my hotel is just around the corner. What do you say?”
Witherspoon thought for a second more.
“I’ve just been out for a morning constitutional. My meetings aren’t until much later, and I’d love the company. Truly.”
“Where did you say you’re from?”
“Oh, I didn’t, but my accent must be a giveaway. London. I’m an attorney.”
“As am I,” Witherspoon offered.
“Fine, then let’s bore ourselves to death,” the Brit joked.
Witherspoon pursed his lips, giving the invitation one last thought.
“Thank you, Terrence. I’m Donald, and that sounds absolutely perfect.”
Roarke and Katie went up to Witherspoon’s office as planned. After twenty minutes it was apparent he wasn’t going to show up.
“Damn!” Roarke exclaimed. “Too much time here. Ten-to-one…no, one-hundred-to-one he spotted us; probably when we were talking to the cop. He split.”
“But you’ll find him?” Katie was worried.
“I don’t know. Maybe. He better hope so.”
“Why?”
“Depp doesn’t collect if he walks away. My guess is he’s out there looking for Donald Witherspoon while I sit around with my thumb up my ass.”
“Oh, Mister Roarke, such talk,” she joked.
But Roarke wasn’t in the mood. He headed toward the door. “Look, pull your things together. Call Davis at the FBI. Tell him you need a ride.” He wrote down the number. “You can say your hello’s here, then go back to our place.” He didn’t say where, for fear that the room had ears. “Don’t leave with anyone Davis can’t personally vouch for.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted. “You mean I’m still under house arrest?”
“Damned straight. Until Witherspoon’s put away.”
Roarke left, but only for a moment. “I forgot something.”
“What?”
“To kiss you.” He took her with both arms and pulled Katie close so their lips met. The kiss took her breath away, and he lowered her slowly to the ground. Before leaving, he softly added, “Be careful.”
He was well down the hall by the time she whispered, “You, too.”
Witherspoon casually talked to his new friend. If Roarke enlisted the police, which he may have by now, they’d be keeping an eye out for a man on the run, not two businessmen engaged in a spirited conversation.
The farther they walked, the more at ease Witherspoon became. The man touched his back at an intersection: a friendly way to say let’s cross. His hand lingered longer than necessary. It felt good. Witherspoon relaxed more. This is going to be just fine. He was certain that he was in good hands.
The two men rounded the corner onto Broad Street. Terry gently nudged Witherspoon onward with his arm around his shoulder. “Here we are.”
Witherspoon had been in the Wyndham Downtown Boston for meetings with clients. It was convenient for the trade, just two blocks from the wharfs, three from Government Center, and only a few minutes’ walk from work.
The Wyndham was actually a converted office building: Boston’s first skyscraper. Redesigned as a hotel, it blended the original 1928 art deco decor of brass, rich woods, and brick with modern touches.
The lobby was spacious and, fortunately, fairly empty. Still, Witherspoon walked as close to Terry as he could, hoping to hide from anyone who might recognize him. Mycroft steered him toward the Caliterra Bar & Grille, then stopped, allowing his companion to look in.
“A bit crowded, I’d say.”
“Yes.” Witherspoon backed away. “Is there any place a little quieter?”
Mycroft checked his watch. “High time for breakfast. I’m afraid we’re going to find this everywhere.” He paused and read his companion’s face. “Of course…” he stopped in mid-sentence. “We could take the lift upstairs and order room service.”
Witherspoon nodded. “That would be fine.”
“Oh, wait. I’m sure the maid hasn’t had a chance to tidy up. Why don’t you give me a few moments. Then you can join me.”
“No, we can go right up,” he said, having no desire to wait in public.
“Then up it is.”
They walked to the elevator. Mycroft politely held back, allowing Witherspoon to press the button. Ten seconds later, the doors of an elevator to their left opened.
“Here we are. The gentleman first,” Mycroft said. “Eighth floor.”
Witherspoon did the honors. When the door opened again, Mycroft led Witherspoon to the right. Number 823. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait while I straighten up?”
Witherspoon laughed at the double entendre, not his first. “No, I’m ready now.”
“Very good then.” He fumbled with his electronic pass card. It dropped on the floor. “How clumsy of me.” He was slow to bend down.
“Allow me,” Witherspoon offered.
“Thank you.”
Witherspoon inserted the card into the slot and turned the handle when the green indicator flashed.
“Thank you again, Donald. Just go right in.”
Witherspoon led the way. The room, a mini-suite, was immaculate. “Well, look at this. The bed is made already. Bravo.” It was as if no one had slept in it overnight.
Witherspoon smiled as he let his hand glide over the bedspread on the way to the windows. “Very nice,” he said, looking out onto the harbor.
“Quite so, but I think we can close the shades, don’t you?”
Witherspoon saw his smile reflected in the window in front of him. This is the best place to be for now. As he drew the drapes over the reflection, the room got darker. His back was still to the Englishman. Witherspoon sensed his presence. He turned around and faced him.
Witherspoon felt Mycroft’s hands brush his crotch. “Well, breakfast did sound good, but….”
“My sentiments exactly.” Mycroft said softly. He pushed closer. Witherspoon responded by pressing right into his companion’s hand. He let out a quiet sigh.
“Why don’t you lay down on the bed like a good boy?”
Witherspoon obeyed.
“Just relax. Well, not completely. And I’ll be right with you.”
Mycroft went to his suitcase, which lay on the stand provided by the hotel. He opened it up, with the top blocking Witherspoon’s view. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, Donald.”