Throwing the last of Amy’s belongings into the black duffel bag, I take one last look around the room to make sure I got everything, then toss the bag back into the housekeeping cart. Flames shoot up, and thick black smoke fills the room. That’s my cue to go.
I pull the hotel room door open and push the cart into the hall, straight to the service elevator that is waiting. Once I’m back on the ground floor, Devon is there waiting for me. I pull out the bag, then hand off the cart to him. We don’t speak when we part ways, him going through the parking garage to exit on the other side of the block while I move through the kitchens to the door that lets out onto a narrow alley on the side of the hotel.
I unlock my car and sink into the driver’s seat. My hands shake as I pull out my phone and tap in the number I have for emergencies.
Mr. Smith answers on the first ring.
“What the fuck happened?” He’s already heard about the fire.
I let out a shaky breath I’m hoping he can hear. “When I entered her room, she was already in the bed. She was extremely intoxicated and had a lit cigarette dangling from her mouth. I approached her with a syringe of Rohypnol but she became violent the second I was near the bed. The cigarette fell out of her mouth and landed on the bedspread. There was an empty bottle of wine next to her, but the contents must have soaked into the bedding, because the entire bed was engulfed in flames within seconds. I reached for her but she . . . was already on fire. Her clothes . . .” My voice cracks and I shudder out a moan. “It was horrific. And so fast. She was just . . . engulfed in flames.” I sound frantic. Scared. My voice is trembling.
He’s quiet on the other end. “Was there anything of use in her room?” he finally asks.
“I don’t know. I was going to look after I had her subdued but had to leave the moment the fire alarm sounded,” I answer quickly. “I wasn’t able to recover anything.”
“You didn’t take anything with you?”
“No. Nothing.” I’d stuffed the black bag under my jacket, so there’s no reason anyone should have seen me with it.
I wait for a response or another question, but there’s only silence. Finally, he says, “I understand she hurled a threat at you on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. One that involved me.”
“She was completely intoxicated. Acting crazy,” I tell him, but don’t deny what she said.
“It would be very convenient for you to come into possession of something that could be used against me and tell me you didn’t.” There’s a chill in his voice I’ve never heard before.
With a shaky voice, I answer, “I don’t know what she had on you. I didn’t find anything at her home, in her car, or in that hotel room. If she had it in there with her, it is nothing but ashes at this point.”
Silence. Silence that lasts forever.
What feels like an eternity later, he says, “We’ll be in touch.” Then he ends the call.
I lay my head on the steering wheel and take a deep breath. My heart pounds. My hand fumbles as I attempt to turn the key in the ignition. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get the car into drive, and I’m pulling away as more and more fire trucks arrive.
Two blocks away, I find a parking spot in front of a Wells Fargo bank and head inside.
Chapter 25
Present Day
Once we’ve entered the bank, we move to the desk where I will sign in to get inside the vault.
“Hi, how can I help you?” the woman asks.
I give her a smile I don’t feel. “Hi, I need to get into my box.”
“Of course! Box number and name?”
“Regina Hale. Box number 3291.” I pull out the ID I used in my last identity and the small key I’ve kept stashed away for months. She opens the ledger to the page for my box and I sign underneath the last—and only—time I’ve accessed this box. The day it was opened.
“You’ve got company outside. He just arrived. Standing near the steps,” I hear Devon whisper through the earpiece.
I let out a slow, deep breath while George and I follow the bank attendant through the vault and into a private room, where the walls are lined with little brass doors and a large table sits in the middle. She slides her key into one slot while I slide my key into the other one. We turn it at the same time.
Once the door pops open, she says, “Feel free to put your drawer on the table and take all the time you need.” Then she leaves, shutting the door behind her. It’s silent except for the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick. The room feels like it’s closing in on me.
George reaches inside the box and pulls the drawer out, the contents still hidden beneath the closed lid. He sets it on the table.
He stares at me. Five seconds. Then ten. We both know there is no going back to the way things were after this. I can see a touch of sadness and maybe even a little regret in his gaze, but I refuse to let any of my emotions show. Finally, he returns his attention to the box in front of him. Slowly, he pulls the lid off.
The only thing inside is a small, white origami swan.
A look of confusion flashes across his face for one second, then two.
The confusion shifts to anger. An anger so consuming that it feels like it sucks the air out of the room. His eyes narrow and his brows snap together. His jaw clenches.
Tick, tick, tick.
“I guess I don’t need to call you George anymore,” I say, if only to drown out the clock.
He picks up the swan by one of the little wings and twirls it around. Then he takes his time, slowly opening it up, verifying that the paper is blank. There’s no question that there is no information on either him or Victor Connolly in this box.
I was prepared for a lot of different reactions, but the unrelenting attention on the empty box wasn’t one of them. “I used to think you picked Mr. Smith because you were a big Matrix fan or lacked imagination, but you are literally Mr. Smith. Mr. Christopher Smith. Pretty ingenious, actually. Your name is already one of the most generic names out there.” I’m rambling.
A laugh escapes him but there’s no humor behind it.
He finally faces me, the unfolded paper still in his hand. One step, then two. Each step he takes toward me, I take a step back.
The paper slips from his hand and floats to the floor.
Another step forward.
Another step I take back.
“When did you figure it out?”
“Figure out that my boss and my delivery guy were the same person? Figure out your real name? Yesterday afternoon,” I answer.
He nods to the open safe deposit box. “But this has been waiting for me for much longer.”
I nod.
“While I’m impressed you were able to discover what so many others have tried and failed to in the past, you knowing my name doesn’t change a single thing.” There is an edge to his voice that tells me it’s taking everything in him to remain in control. “Where is the information Amy Holder stole from me? You left that hotel just as her room went up in flames, and this was your first stop. Don’t lie to me again and say you didn’t keep it for yourself.” He glances to the hundred or so other boxes lining the walls, and I can see what he’s thinking, that I’ve got more than one box and it could still be close by.
“Oh, I got what Amy took, I just didn’t leave it here,” I say, gesturing to the other side of the room. “But I knew you would think I did. That was one of the many lessons you taught me: It’s hard to get caught if you aren’t in possession of what you stole when they catch you.”
We’re only inches apart now that my back is against the wall. The metal handles of the boxes behind me are digging into my skin. I use the pain to help focus. I may be at his mercy in this room, but there is a crowd on the other side of this door. It won’t be easy for him to walk out of here without me, since the woman who let us in is waiting to lock the box back up.
“You failed a job for your own benefit.”
“You’re assuming I failed. That job was successful, you just didn’t understand what the end goal was.” I’m throwing his words back in his face, and from the look he is giving me, I know I’d be dead if we were anywhere other than where we are.