Then she rose slowly to her feet. She scanned the room, from one side to the other.
After a moment, a nearby sound penetrated her consciousness. She turned and saw her father crumpled in a chair on the now-empty dais, his body hunched forward, sobbing uncontrollably as he gazed out at the wreckage of his life.
She walked over to him, knelt. Let him bury his face on her shoulder. Stroked his thick, unruly hair.
*
In room 315, he watched the horror unfold.
It was the horror that he was simply reflecting back upon them.
The horror that they had caused for so many others.
He felt not a shred of pity for them. He thought instead of their victims. The countless victims that these self-righteous, sanctimonious bastards preferred to forget.
Well, he would not let them forget. This night was their reminder.
He watched as they scrambled for the exits, like roaches caught in the light and scurrying for cover.
Then, amid the chaos, he noticed one point of calm.
He saw her rise slowly from her chair. Then, just as slowly, scan the audience from one side of the room to the other.
He knew the face she was looking for.
He watched her move to her father. Kneel and hold him.
After four minutes, he stopped the DVD. Closed the laptop and slid it back into the briefcase.
Slipped on his tuxedo jacket, then his coat and gloves.
When the police searched for Shane Stone, they would find only this empty room.
When they checked for Wayne Grayson, they would find that he had paid for this with cash and prepaid, store-bought credit cards. All untraceable.
When they examined the equipment he left behind, they would find nothing that would lead them anywhere, either.
He paused at the open door to take one last look around.
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” he said aloud.
He closed the door behind him.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Bethesda, Maryland
Wednesday, December 24, 10:47 p.m.
He backed the BMW into its slot in the garage. Before leaving the car, he took a moment to strip off the fake goatee. He left the groceries in the trunk; he wouldn’t be long, and they’d keep a while. Gas and groceries had been the last items on his long mental checklist. Now, he and the cat would be able to cover some distance, then stay out of sight for a couple of weeks while the manhunt was most intense.
He entered the elevator, pressed 9. The door hissed shut.
As he ascended to his apartment, he considered once again what he was leaving behind.
Then angrily dismissed it.
It was all an illusion. A fantasy. Get over it.
You were kidding yourself that you could ever have that kind of life. That kind of love. You never have. You never will. And you were an idiot to imagine that you could.
The elevator door opened and he headed down the hallway toward his apartment.
Now, to change out of this tux. Get Luna into the carrier-which won’t be fun. Dump her litter box and food into the garbage bag, seal it up. Grab that, her carrier, the bug-out bag, and you’re out of here.
He stuck the key card in his lock and pushed open the door.
“Hello, Dylan Lee Hunter,” she snapped. “Or should I say: Matthew Everett Malone?”
*
She stood in the foyer, arms crossed, feet apart. Still in her gown from the party.
Eyes blazing. Cheeks livid.
He stood still for a moment in the entrance, key in hand.
Then took a step inside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Well, well.
“Hello, Annie Woods. Or should I say Ann MacLean of the CIA’s Office of Security?”
She blinked, startled.
“Oops. I’m sorry, but I just can’t quite keep up with you. You’re working for Garrett, now-aren’t you, Miss MacLean? ”
Shock replaced the fury in her eyes.
“Oh yes. I know all about you,” he went on. “Although I must confess, you were way ahead of me. I only learned the truth over the past few days. But what a small world it is! Why, we shared the same employer. Then, I’m tricked into sleeping with the daughter of my worst enemy. Speaking of the devil, how’s Daddy feeling tonight?”
She flared up again. “You bastard! You fake!” she shouted, trying to regain her advantage. “You’re a fraud and a liar-”
“Oh please!” He spat the words out. “It’s not as if I’m the only liar here. Or even the biggest. In fact, I’m a rank amateur compared with you, Annie what’s-your-name. So: How long has the Agency been on to me? Months? Just how long have you been working to set me up?”
The last words seemed to startle her.
“I have to say, though, they did choose well in sending you after me.” He yanked off his overcoat and threw it at a wingback chair. “I never thought much of shrinks, but whichever one at Langley selected you deserves a raise. He obviously knew my type better than I did. Tell me: Did you enjoy your performance as the phony little seductress?”
“That’s not true!” she gasped.
“ True? Who the hell are you to lecture me about truth? About trust?” A sadistic desire to hurt her was pulling him recklessly past some kind of inner barrier. “Hell, I’m no saint. For sure. Yes, I lied to you. Sure, I did. I lied to protect my life. But at least I never lied about the one thing that I thought really mattered between us: how I felt about you. But you took that and used it against me.”
She was shaking her head slowly, eyes wide.
“I know, I know: You were just doing it to protect Daddy, right?”
“No! It wasn’t that!”
“No? Well, what else, then? Money?”
“How can you say-”
“Who was it easier to betray me to: Cronin or Garrett? Were they in a bidding war for your services? Did they offer you bonuses for seducing me?”
“Dylan!” She began to cry.
But he was too furious now to stop. “No, seriously. You’re very good, you know. Did you undergo special physical training at the Farm for this little Mata Hari role?”
“Dylan!” she screamed, sobbing. “Stop!… Please stop!… Please!”
He stopped.
She stumbled to the sofa, collapsed onto it, her face buried in her hands.
He stared at her a long time.
What is happening here?
He went to the sink, drew some water in a paper cup, took it to her and offered it wordlessly. She took it, sipped, and looked up at him, shivering. The despair in her eyes could not be feigned.
He sat in the chair across from her. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He saw every word of his cruelty etched in her face.
What have I done?
When he could trust his voice, he said:
“We’ve both been living lies too long, Annie. We need to know what was real.”
She looked at the floor a moment, then back into his eyes.
“No. We need to know what is real.”
Tysons Corner, Virginia
Wednesday, December 24, 11:07 p.m.
She gazed at their framed wedding portrait hanging above the fireplace, and she fought down the urge to cry again.
She had told her friends that she didn’t want to go out and celebrate with them tonight, that she’d prefer to remain home by herself. They’d tried hard to convince her, even threatening to show up and visit her, anyway. But she was firm about it.
She had to get used to her first Christmas without him.
She hadn’t put up the tree or any decorations, nor had she displayed any of the many Christmas cards she’d received. There were several hundred this year, many more than they had ever received in years past. People were trying to be nice, they meant well. But their gestures of caring were still reminders. And reminders were painful.
She had plenty of reminders here.
She sat in her favorite chair in the living room, sipping a Coke. She had sworn off wine and any alcohol after that night, several years ago. And she had not been tempted even after Arthur’s death. She had seen what happened to people when they tried to numb pain and escape memories in booze. Not her.