She jerked her head toward him. “How did that happen?”
He shrugged, all the old familiar excuses curled on his tongue.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she said, “I suppose your job makes it hard to have a relationship, but even Jack Coburn is happily married with three children.”
“Jack has a desk job now, and that desk is at his home.”
“You’ll be retiring soon. Are you thinking of settling down?”
“With a dog.”
“A dog?”
“That’s all I can handle.”
Her warm laugh had a smile tugging at his lips. Let her think he was joking.
“What kind of dog? Not a little froofy one?”
“Probably a Lab—basic, uncomplicated.”
“I didn’t know dogs could be complicated.” She tapped on the windshield. “You’re going to want to take the next exit.”
Glancing in his mirror and over his shoulder, he moved to the right. As he took the exit, Claire folded her hands in her lap, revealing two sets of white knuckles.
Her mission always lurked beneath the surface, despite her chatter, smiles and laughter.
Her husband, a journalist kidnapped in Somalia, had died five years ago and her mother had taken a tumble down the stairs a year later. Maybe Claire needed this fiction about her stepfather to keep her from focusing on the primary tragedies. Correll gave her a target for her grief and anger.
He could understand that. He’d had a lot of different targets over the years for his.
They rode in silence for several more miles until they entered the city of Brooktown.
“Are we getting close to the bank?”
“Turn left at the next signal in under a half a mile. It’s the Central City Bank. You’ll see it on the left after you make the turn.”
He turned at the signal and pulled along the curb just past the bank. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“I don’t want anything to seem unusual. I’ll just go to my safe deposit box and take the thumb drives.”
“You got it.” He turned off the ignition and Claire slipped out of the car before the engine stopped.
He’d nabbed a space not too far from the entrance to the bank, and she didn’t bother to put on her coat. He watched her tall frame disappear through the glass door, a striking figure in her skin-tight jeans and high boots that came up over the top of her knees.
If he called Jack now, his boss would probably tell him to start his retirement early. Claire’s story was too fantastic. It had to be just a coincidence that the CIA director was hit last night—didn’t it?
He fiddled with the radio and turned up the classic rock song while drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He was about ready to break out his air guitar on the third song in a row when the tap at his window made him grab the steering wheel with both hands.
He glanced out at Claire jerking her thumb toward the rear of the car. He popped the trunk and unlocked the doors.
The car shook as she slammed the trunk of her Lexus. Then she dropped onto the passenger seat, clutching a laptop under one arm. “Got ’em.”
“Where are we going to watch? You can’t bring them back to the house even if Correll is still in meetings on The Hill.”
“Of course not. Hang on a minute.” She dipped into her giant bag and pulled out her phone. She tapped the display and started speaking. “How’s the party? Is Ethan having fun?”
She cocked her head as she listened, a soft smile playing about her lips. “Don’t let him eat too much junk. I’m still packing both of you on a plane tomorrow, stomachache or not.”
Mike jabbed her in the ribs. “Tell him not to forget my cupcake.”
“Yeah, and Mitchell wants his cupcake.” She nodded at him. “Thanks, Lori. See you later.”
“Is Ethan bringing me a cupcake?”
“He is.” She patted the computer on her lap. “Drive up two blocks to the public library.”
Claire had an amazing ability to compartmentalize. It was either a sign of insanity or supreme mental health. “We’re going to watch the videos in a public library?”
“The library has small meeting rooms. The schoolkids use them for tutoring but school’s out for winter break, so I think they’ll be free.”
“You seem to know this area well.”
“I’ve used that library for research.”
He didn’t bother asking her what kind. The woman had tons of money at her disposal and could spend her days playing tennis, going to the spa and lunching with other pampered ladies. Instead she wiled away the hours studying gruesome videos and stalking her stepfather, a US senator.
“Here, here, here.”
He slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the side to pull up at the curb. “Check that sign. Is it okay to park here?”
“I don’t even have to look. Street cleaning tomorrow. We’re good.”
She hadn’t been kidding that she knew the area. He followed her into the library, the large bag hitched over her shoulder with the laptop stashed inside. The musty smell of library books insinuated itself into his consciousness and infused him with a sense of calm. The public library had been one of his refuges, the library and the basketball court.
Claire tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “This way.”
They walked through the stacks, and he trailed his fingers along the spines of the books as if reconnecting with old friends. He read all his books on an electronic device these days, but he missed the feel of a book in his hand.
They passed one glassed-in room where two teenagers hunched over a laptop, giggling.
“Not much work getting done there.”
Claire skipped over the next room and then yanked open the door of the following one. “There’s free Wi-Fi, too.”
“Not that we need it. We’re going to be watching the videos from the thumb drives, not posting them on the internet.”
“Shane’s execution was posted on the internet.”
“Still?” Sympathy washed over him as he pulled out a chair for her.
She sank into it with a sigh. “I’m not sure. I haven’t searched for it lately.”
“Lately?”
