“Oh, dear,” she dithered. “This might be easier in person?” She made it into a question.
“Of course, Ms. Wilson. Fortunately, I will be available in fifteen minutes. My office is on the first floor, just around the corner from the front desk. Will that suit?”
Fluttery and relieved: “Yes, thank you so much.”
She put the bags in the closet and carefully counted out the bills she needed from the stash in the large briefcase. She slipped this into her pockets, then waited thirteen minutes. She took the stairs to avoid the elevator cameras.
As Mr. Green ushered her into his windowless office, she was amused to see that her mental image had not been that far off. No mustache—no hair at all except for the barest hint of white eyebrows—but in all other ways very walrus-y.
It wasn’t hard to play frightened, and halfway into her tale of her abusive ex-boyfriend who’d stolen the family heirlooms, she knew she had him. He bristled in a very male way, looking as if he wanted to rant about the sort of monsters who hit little women, but he mostly held his peace aside from several Tut-tut, we’ll take good care of you, you’re safe here kinds of assurances. He probably would have helped her without the generous tip she gave him, but it certainly didn’t hurt. He swore to tell only the members of the staff who were part of her plan, and she thanked him warmly. He wished her well and offered to bring the police in, if that would help. Casey confessed with great sadness how ineffective the police and the restraining orders had been for her in the past. She implied that she could handle this alone as long as she had the help of a big, strong man like Mr. Green. He was flattered, and he hurried out to get everything ready.
It wasn’t the only time she’d played this card. Barnaby had suggested it initially, when their escape plan had reached the fine-tuning stage. At first she had bristled at the idea, offended in some obscure way, but Barnaby was always practical. She was small and female; in a lot of people’s heads, that would always make her the underdog. Why not use this assumption to her advantage? Play the victim to keep from being one.
Casey went back to her room and changed into the clothes she’d kept inside the briefcase, trading her sweater for a tight, black V-neck tee and adding a thick black belt with intricately braided leatherwork. Everything she took off had to fit back into the briefcase, because she was leaving the suitcase and she wouldn’t be returning to this hotel.
She was already armed; she never went out without taking some precautions. But now she moved to the high-alert version of her personal protection, arming herself to the literal teeth—or to the tooth, really; she inserted a fake crown full of something much less painful than cyanide but just as deadly. It was the oldest trick in the book for a reason: It worked. And sometimes the last move you had was permanently extracting yourself from the hands of your enemies.
The big black tote bag had two ornamental wooden pieces at the apex of the shoulder strap. Inside the tote was her special jewelry in little padded boxes.
Every piece was one of a kind and irreplaceable. She would never again have the access to acquire ornamental tools like these, so she was very careful with her treasures.
Three rings—one rose gold, one yellow gold, one silver. They all had small barbs hidden under clever little twisting hatches. The color of the metal indicated which substance coated the barb. Very straightforward, probably expected from her.
Next, the earrings, which she always handled with delicate care. She wouldn’t risk wearing them for this part of the journey; she would wait until she was closer to her target. Once they were in, she had to move her head very deliberately. They looked like simple glass globes, but the glass was so thin that a high note could shatter it, especially as the little spheres were already under pressure from the inside. If anyone grabbed her by the neck or head, the glass would burst with a quiet pop. She would hold her breath—which she could do for a minute fifteen, easy—and close her eyes if possible. Her attacker would not know to do that.