“Mister Jameson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you and your guest would come with me, please.”
“Sure,” Paul said as he picked up his briefcase and hefted Torie’s carry-on bag. He made a soft oofing noise and glanced at her as if to say, “What have you got in this, rocks?”
“Running shoes. Books.”
“How many?”
“I expected to be there for a while longer.”
“Uh huh.”
She thought he muttered something about her being a crazy woman, but the words were lost in the throng of the airport’s noisy passageways. The officer led them down the concourse, then ducked into a bland passageway. Three doors led in different directions, but all were marked with “No Admittance” signs.
Rhodes took the central door, sliding a keypass over an electronic plate. He ushered them into what looked like a gray tunnel, which led down two sets of steps before leveling out. Torie was so turned around and confused by it all, she had no idea where in the airport they could possibly be.
“Here you are. Your luggage.”
Their bags sat by an equally unremarkable exit door. Beyond it, a dark sedan idled in the sunshine.
“The driver doesn’t know who you are or where you’re going. I’d suggest you not go straight home or to your office,” Rhodes said as he once again uncoded the door. “These drivers usually try to sell information to the press before the car door’s closed behind you.”
“Good advice,” Paul muttered, offering the man his hand. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He shook Torie’s hand as well, and they were on their way. She glanced back, but Rhodes was already gone from the door. The driver, his eyes alive with curiosity, held open the door for her, then helped Paul load the luggage in the trunk.
“Where to?”
“The city. Market Street and Fourth. The Bourse Shops.”
Torie started to speak, but Paul shushed her and motioned to his PDA.
“I’ll have my secretary pick us up.”
“Good idea.”
Nothing else was said for the entire ride. The driver attempted some conversation, but when neither of them picked up the gambit, he finally fell silent. That didn’t stop him from constantly checking them out in the rearview mirror. Evidently, Rhodes had been correct. No way they could trust this guy to keep their destination a secret.
“She’ll be waiting on the Independence Mall side,” Paul said quietly. “We’ll get you home, and then you can come to the office tomorrow, okay?”
“Do I need to call the police or anything?” Torie whispered.
“No, I’ll take care of that. I’m your lawyer now, like it or not.”
“But you…”
“Don’t argue with me right now, Torie. Please.”
She probably would have continued but for that one word. She’d seldom heard it from him. In fact, she tried to remember the last time she had heard it. Those thoughts occupied her the rest of the ride. They paid the driver and got out at the corner. Paul’s secretary waved from a nearby coffee shop. Paul waved back, but waited to walk over until the sedan from the airport had pulled into traffic and moved off down the long one-way street.
“Let’s get going, quickly,” Paul said as he took her arm and marched her across the street to the shop. “Hey, Martha, thanks for coming on such short notice.
“Torie, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Martha Prinz. Martha, this is Torie Hagen.”
“I was happy to help.” Martha smiled at Paul and gave a brisk nod toward Torie. Evidently, Paul’s attitude was echoed by his assistant. “Hello, Ms. Hagen. I’m glad you got here safely. Let’s get both of you under wraps.”
Walking around the block, pulling her luggage with her carry-on piled on top, Torie wondered what the hell had happened to the tidy, boring life she’d tried to build. Nothing about the past five years had been tidy, but this was even worse.
“I’ve arranged to get Ms. Hagen home,” Martha said as they walked. “You did leave your car at your hotel didn’t you, ma’am?”
“Please, call me Torie. And yes, I did.”
“Well, we’ll be sure one of our trustworthy car services get you home quickly. No press will find out anything from the people we hire.”
“That’s good to know.” What else was there to say? She couldn’t imagine the press knowing where she was staying, or working, or anything. She couldn’t imagine the trouble she was in.
Torie frowned at Paul’s back. They were descending into the depths of a parking garage, with Paul and Martha at the front of the car. How could she be a murder suspect?
“Paul,” she began, just as the doors opened.
