Payne thought about paying with cash, but his supply was limited and he didn’t know where he would end up or what he would need it for. He was sure, however, that the Bureau would not turn off the spigot on the credit card. It was their proverbial bread trail, and as long as Payne was willing to lay down crumbs, they would be content to gobble them up.
At 7:55 A. M. he took a walk in the parking lot, waiting for the cab to arrive. He stood in front of a pickup with tinted windows and looked at his reflection in the glass.
“Who are you?” he asked the mirrored image. Ever since he had received the e-mail from Lauren Chambers, the question had been bouncing around in his head, without resolution. A small-town computer geek or a decorated FBI agent who got the short end of the career stick?
Who are you? If he returned to Placerville, he couldn’t be sure he would ever regain the memories of the times he and Lauren Chambers had spent together. Could he be in a relationship with someone he didn’t even know, when she knew everything about him? And was he the same person as he was before — would he have the same likes, desires, attractions? Could he learn to love her again?
If he chose instead to return to the FBI… would he be taken back without conditions? If this was, indeed, the course he wanted to pursue, then he was making a gross mistake in continuing to run. He needed to turn himself in and, assuming his colleagues found Scarponi, take the stand and testify on information he could now recite in his sleep. Cooperate and be free; it was that simple.
Or was it? What if Knox was trying to discredit him so that his testimony would be rendered ineffective? If that was the case, his chances of being reinstated to the Bureau were nil. As he had been taught to do during his Academy refresher courses, it was best to reduce a problem to its most basic components — and then find solutions to those remaining parts. The way he saw it, until he could be more certain of Knox’s intentions, he could not consider returning to the FBI. Which left him with the dilemma of how to resume his life with Lauren Chambers.
Just then, tires crunched against the gravel-dotted asphalt behind him, where the taxi was pulling into the motel’s parking lot. A minute later he was on his way up the interstate. He leaned his head against the seat and thought about the choices he had to make. Regardless of which path he chose, one thing was now certain.
There was no turning back.
52
The fork was dangling aimlessly from Lauren’s right hand, haphazardly swiping at the scrambled eggs and moving them around the plate. Her chin was resting in her left hand, her eyes fixed somewhere on the table.
“A dime?”
Lauren looked at Nick Bradley. “A dime? For what?”
“Your thoughts.”
She dropped her gaze back to the plate. “You ever realize how deceptive eggs are?”
Bradley’s brow crumpled. “That’s what you were thinking?”
“They start off as a gelatinous liquid, and we mix them briskly with a fork and scramble them up and they become this rubbery yellow stuff. They transform so easily from one form to another.”
Bradley cleared his throat. “Uh, Lauren, if that’s what you’re really thinking, we need to find one of your colleagues and set up a session. Fast.”
She put her fork down and sat back in her seat. “How long till our meeting?”
Bradley consulted his watch. “An hour.”
Lauren nodded. Ever since he had told her yesterday afternoon that, after nearly a dozen calls, he had secured an appointment with a low-level assistant at the FBI, her mind had been unable to focus. She figured she was on overload, her body still fatigued from her night in the cabin. Not to mention the torment of knowing she was so close to — yet so far from — finding Michael. She felt helpless. “The situations where you have the least amount of control cause the most amount of stress.” Her gaze met his eyes, which appeared to be filled with concern. “Did you know that?”
“Look, in an hour we’ll be sitting down with someone who’s in a position to give us the most useful information we’ve had since you got that message from Michael. You should be very encouraged.”
She forced a smile. “Yeah, that’s good, I’m encouraged.”
“You want anything else to eat?”
Lauren looked around the Denny’s dining area and studied the faces of the patrons seated around her. “How many of these people are saddled with depression? How many are happy with their lives?”
“Probably many and few, in that order.” He smiled, trying to lighten her mood. Just then, his cell phone began to ring.
They looked at each other, her thoughts screaming for it to be Michael. Please, let it be. Please…
He flipped open the phone and answered the call. When he shook his head, her shoulders slumped forward again. He stood up and walked away from the table.
Lauren sat there, wondering if she was chasing a shadow. What if she never found Michael? She realized she could go on looking for another week, two weeks, or more and not be any closer to him than she was now. Was this whole thing just a waste of time? As her mind wandered, as the doubts mounted, she saw Bradley approaching.
The involuntary downward pull on the corners of his mouth made his face resemble that of a bulldog. Lauren instantly took it to mean one thing: bad news.
Bradley sat down heavily and placed his phone on the table.
“Let me guess that it wasn’t the police telling you they’ve found Michael,” she said, her voice matching her spirits.
“The FBI canceled our appointment. Guy said they’ve got nothing on a Michael Chambers and that if we had any questions, he could handle them over the phone.”
“What about the scene they made at the hospital?”
“They were tracking a suspect in a bank heist who fit Michael’s description. When the call came in, they went hog wild thinking it was their guy. Turns out they caught the perp the next day at the Maryland border.”
Lauren slammed a hand on the table. “Damn it, Nick, we know the FBI is trying to find him so he can testify. Shouldn’t we just go down there and meet with them, someone high up? I mean, I am his wife. They have to tell us what they know.”
Bradley frowned. “They don’t have to tell us anything. In fact, I’ve been trying to get us in to see someone who’s in a position to give us some information. But no one admits to knowing anything. That’s why I was hoping to do an end run with that hospital incident, catch a rookie who didn’t know about the tight clamp the Bureau has on this case. But I’ve hit a brick wall.”
“So the FBI’s a dead end.”
“Unless something changes.” Bradley placed a hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”
Lauren sat there, staring straight ahead, blind to everything around her… as if she had just peered into the searingly bright white of a blizzard. “Then we’re done,” she finally said. She picked up her purse and rooted through it, pulling out her wallet. She yanked out a ten, slapped it atop the check, and stood up. “It’s over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that’s it. I’m done. We’re never going to find him. This is a ridiculous exercise, Nick. The police are looking for him. I mean, goddamn it, they’re the experts. They can cover a hundred times the area we can. I’ll call Deputy Vork and tell him Michael was here and let them do their thing. I can’t take this anymore.”
She turned and stormed out of the restaurant.
53
An hour later, the cab driver dropped Harper Payne off at Union Station. Taken in by the perfect melding of modernity with Old World architecture, he stood for a moment and marveled at the workmanship. The marble floor tiles, the low-level lighting, the ornate iron railings.