Never Trust A Lady

a ridiculous thing to forget, toothpaste! But then, she’d be the first to admit she wasn’t very experienced at this traveling business.

Connie waved away the tube of toothpaste with a breezy, “Oh, heavens, dear, keep it. I have plenty at home. Well, that’s it, then-I’m off.”

“Wait, just let me get my purse.” She planned to stop in the gift shop and pick up a map of Washington with a Metro schedule, and maybe a paperback to read. She’d already planned to order a light supper from room service and spend the evening planning the next day’s sight-seeing.

Having retrieved her purse, Jane followed the other woman through the door and pulled it firmly shut, pausing for a moment to make sure it had locked securely behind them.

Hawk lit his third cigarette and told himself it was to ward off the carbon monoxide fumes in the parking garage. God, he hated stakeouts. Too much dead time. Too easy, in those long, lonely hours, for the mind to slip its leash and run untethered into shadowed corners, sniff out forbidden tidbits and drag them triumphantly into the light. He was forced, at times like that, to be doubly vigilant, his concentration divided between making sure he missed nothing that was going on around him, while at the same time making himself deaf and blind to the images that flickered unbidden across the blank screen of his mind.

Mentally reciting poems or lyrics helped, as long as he was careful not to pick the wrong song. He was trying to remember the third verse of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” when he heard the ding of the elevator bell, and then voices and footsteps coming down the row.

He sat very still in the shadows, making no sudden moves that might draw their eyes his way, and watched the two women approach the back of the blue van. The shorter, gray-haired one had a piece of carry-on luggage slung over one shoulder and a set of keys ready in her hand. The Carlysle woman carried only a handbag and wasn’t wearing a coat.

Hawk waited until the older woman had the back door to the van unlocked and both women had turned away from him, then sat up straight and adjusted the earpiece he’d already inserted in his left ear. He propped the directional microphone on the dash, aimed it like a pistol and thumbed it on, wincing at the swish, crackle and resonating thump the shoulder bag made as it settled onto the floor of the van next to a pile of paper-wrapped parcels.

He thought, as he adjusted the volume, that of all his electronic toys he probably disliked listening devices most. Necessary as they might be, to him there was something sleazy, something nasty and voyeuristic about eavesdropping on people’s private conversations. And sometimes the worst moments were when there wasn’t any conversation at all.

“Drive carefully now.” That was Carlysle. The two women were hugging each other.

“Of course, dear.”

“I just wish you weren’t getting such a late start.”

“Oh, never mind that. Actually, I rather like driving at night. And if I do start to nod off, well, then I’ll just pull off somewhere and take a room for the duration. Do stop worrying, Jane. I’m an old hand at this, you know.”

“I know.” The Carlysle woman was laughing. The effect was unexpectedly intimate, so close in his ear. “I suppose you’re the one who should be worrying about me.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine, dear.” The back doors of the van slammed shut, making Hawk wince again. “Just keep your door locked, and a good firm grip on your handbag at all times.”

The woman was climbing into the driver’s seat now, getting ready to leave. Carlysle was obviously staying. But where was the damn painting? He hadn’t seen it in the van, but he hadn’t gotten a very good look, and he couldn’t be certain…

“Oh, and do give that art dealer friend of mine a ring. I’ll be most interested to hear what he has to say after he’s had a look at your little picture. As you say, one never knows…”

Okay, that answered that.

“I will-first thing tomorrow. I’ll call…” The van was backing out, Carlysle standing back, waving goodbye. She watched a moment while the blue van rumbled off toward the exit. then turned and walked purposefully back the way she’d come, toward the elevators. He could see that she was carrying something in a small plastic bag, the kind supermarkets give you to carry your groceries home in. Whatever was in it, Hawk noted with amusement that she was making sure to keep a good firm grip on it, as well as her handbag.

While Mrs. Carlysle was waiting for the elevator to arrive, Hawk did another visual check of the parking garage. Still no sign of Campbell. So either the two women had managed to lose him, or the man was pro enough to stay out of sight. Hawk was betting on the latter.

The ding of the elevator bell finally came while he was in the middle of stashing the GPS and other toys into his briefcase. He had to slam it shut, quickly spin the lock and drop it into the back seat, then almost dive out of the car and sprint for the closing elevator doors. When he got close enough to see the “L” on the indicator panel light up and stay lit, he changed direction and made for the stairs instead.

By taking them two at a time, he managed to get to the lobby just in time to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Carlysle crossing from the elevators, heading toward the row of shops near the main entrance. She had her back to him, still walking with that purposeful stride, still keeping a death grip on her parcel and purse.

Hawk watched her for a moment longer than he probably should have, just liking the way she looked from that angle. She had a sexy walk, he decided, mainly because she so obviously had no intention whatsoever of being sexy. Unbidden, the thought came: A nice lady…

After a moment, he hitched his shoulders, stuck his hands into his overcoat pockets, focused his gaze somewhere off her starboard bow and followed.

He had a bad moment when she paused to window-shop at the ladies’ boutique, and he had to take evasive action by popping into the nearest handy open doorway. It happened to be the florist’s shop, which he later decided must have been Providence, or perhaps just pure dumb luck.

He could feel his hunter’s senses coming alive as he browsed among the silk-flower arrangements in the front window, all the while keeping a close eye on Mrs. Carlysle as she made her slow, oblivious way down the row of glitzy little hotel shops. This was the part of the game he liked best. the stalking game, the cat-and-mouse maneuvering…no toys required, just skill, finesse, a cool head, steady nerves and quick wits. He was good at it, maybe because to him it was a game. A dangerous game, to be sure, and sometimes the stakes were life and death. But then, Hawk didn’t place a whole lot of value on the one, and wasn’t afraid of the other, so he didn’t worry overly much about the odds.

When he saw his quarry go into the gift shop, he decided it was probably now or never. He opened the refrigerated display case in the florist’s shop and plucked out the first thing at hand, an arrangement of spring flowers in a vase, some tulips and daffodils, a few pink roses and some lilacs. He could have done without the lilacs-too many memories associated with lilacs-but there wasn’t time to be fussy. He paid for the bouquet with cash.

After a quick detour to check on the Carlysle woman-she was browsing the paperback-book racks now, and if she was anything like most of the women he knew, that meant she was going to be there a while-he marched up to the front desk, presented his flower arrangement and growled in a weary it’s-past-my-dinnertime-and-I-wanna-go- home t one of voice, “Flower delivery for Jane Carlysle?”

The snappily dressed and frighteningly perky young woman behind the counter tapped computer keys, jotted a note to herself, then gave him a radiant smile and chirped, “Thank you. sir, we’ll have the flowers sent right up.”

Damn. Hawk muttered, “Right…thanks,” and turned away. What else could he do? Hotel security these days was a pain in the butt.

He dawdled toward the main entrance, thinking hard and pretending to browse through the rack of brochures near the concierge’s station while he kept an eye on the front desk and his expensive and futile bouquet.

It must have been a slow night, because it was only a few minutes before he saw a bellman approach the desk. The perky clerk handed him the handwritten note, after which the bellman picked up the flowers and headed for the elevators at a brisk clip. Hawk made a show of looking at his wristwatch as if he’d suddenly changed his mind about an appointment, and followed.

The bellman was lucky; an elevator opened right up for him. He stepped on and the doors whooshed shut just as Hawk, timing it perfectly, arrived to punch the Up button. While he waited for the next elevator, Hawk watched