He hadn’t anticipated any problems at the boarding gate. But then he learned his flight would be delayed by forty-five minutes, and one of the biggest attractions at the airport newsstand was
He ducked into the men’s room and hid in a stall. Sitting on the edge of the toilet, he waited out the next forty-five minutes.
They were boarding his row number when Avery emerged from the lavatory. The plane wasn’t too crowded. He had a row to himself. For most of the flight—and through the dinner service—he turned his head toward the window and feigned sleep. But he was too wired to nap. He kept wondering if someone had recognized him in the boarding area and called the police. Would a bunch of cops be waiting for him at the gate in Portland?
It seemed like the longest flight he’d ever taken, and he still had to switch planes. When they finally landed in Portland, he was relieved to find no welcoming committee of cops. He got cash from the ATM, bought supplies, then hid out in the men’s room again until his Spokane flight was boarding.
Once they’d landed in Spokane, Avery quickly threaded around a barrage of people and carts in the terminal. He followed the signs to the rental car area. He hadn’t made reservations, figuring some customer service representative might blow the whistle on the “Beverly Hills Butcher.”
Avery caught his breath, and came up to the car rental counter. The attendant was a thin, thirtyish woman in a burgundy jacket with PEGGY on her name tag. She had bright red lipstick and tinted auburn hair that might have been a wig from the cut of her bangs and the way the sides perfectly framed her head, curling in at the shoulders. She greeted him with a professional perkiness. “How can I help you today, sir?”
“Hello.” He dug out his driver’s license and credit card. “I don’t have a reservation. Do you have any cars available?”
“Of course, sir,” she said, her fingers poised on the computer’s keyboard. “For how many days?”
“Um, just two days, I think.”
Peggy started typing. She glanced down at Avery’s credit card and license. Her smile seemed to freeze, then immediately wither. She stopped typing, and her eyes met his for a moment.
Either she was starstuck or suddenly very aware that she was face-to-face with a man accused of rape and murder. Avery did his damnedest not to appear rattled. “Is there a problem?” he dared to ask.
She quickly shook her head. “No, not at all.” She went back to her typing. But she kept peering up at him nervously. “Um, I think I can upgrade you, Mr.—Cooper,” she said. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
Avery nodded.
Peggy turned and stiffly retreated into an office behind the counter. She glanced over her shoulder at him before closing the door. Avery caught a glimpse of a middle-aged woman seated at the desk in the office. She also wore a burgundy jacket. Now he stared at that closed door. A voice inside him said:
He peeked over the countertop—to where Peggy had left his credit card and license by her keyboard. He decided to count to ten. If she wasn’t out of that office by then, he’d find the nearest exit.
Avery turned and looked around. He noticed a tall man in a blue uniform, standing by the far baggage carousel. Avery couldn’t tell if he was with the Spokane police or airport security, but someone just called him. The guard unhooked his walkie-talkie from his belt, then spoke into it.
Avery glanced back at the closed office door.
The walkie-talkie to his ear, man in the blue uniform seemed to be searching the crowd, his gaze shifting to the row of car rental booths.
Avery quickly reached over the counter and scooped up his credit card and license. He swiveled around and walked as quickly as he could to the nearest exit. He didn’t dare look back.
A blast of cold air hit him as he came outside. It chilled the beads of sweat on his forehead. He kept walking—toward a shuttle van for the Red Lion Motor Inn. The sliding passenger door was open while the driver loaded up someone’s bags in back. Avery approached the driver. “I didn’t call for you, but I have a reservation with the Red Lion,” he said, out of breath. His heart was racing. “Can you take me?”
“Sure can. Climb aboard. Sit back and relax.”
“Thank you.” He ducked into the warm van, then plopped down in the backseat. The only other passengers were a middle-aged couple. Avery wiped his sweaty forehead, and turned to the window. He expected to see the walkie-talkie man out by the curb—or perhaps the car rental woman. But he didn’t spot either one. Maybe he’d hear on the local news tonight about someone seeing Avery Cooper in the Spokane airport. Then again, maybe not.
He’d brought enough cash along. He’d take a room at the Red Lion tonight, and try again for a rental car in the morning.
Avery heard the front door shut. The driver settled into his seat, and a moment later, they started moving.
Twenty-two
Riding to the studio in her limo, Dayle had a copy of the shooting script on her lap. But she kept peeking up at the two men in front of her—on the other side of that window divider. Ted sat with the driver—another in a series of strangers acting as her temporary chauffeur.
Now Dayle felt stupid for having such blind trust in him. She’d barely slept last night—uncertain about the man just down the hall from her bedroom. Any tolerance points he’d earned protecting the notoriously gay Gil Palermo laid in the balance. Dayle still hadn’t received a call back from Gil’s friend, Jonathan Brooks. She’d left him another message this morning.
Dayle stared at Ted and the driver. She closed her script, then pressed the button to lower the divider window. Ted looked over his shoulder as the glass partition descended. “I was just thinking, Ted,” she announced. “You don’t need to stay with me tonight. I’ll be okay with the extra guards in the hall and the lobby.”
He shook his head. “You need someone in the apartment with you.”
“Well, I’d like some privacy tonight. I’d rather be alone.”
“You hired me to guarantee your safety, Dayle,” he said, a bit patronizing. “Sometimes that means I have to be a pain in the ass. Let me do my job tonight. I’ll make sure you have the breathing space you need.”
“Of course you will.” Dayle gave him a pale smile, then pressed the switch to raise the partition. “Thanks, Ted.”
“You’re just nervous, that’s all,” Hal assured him.
Tom’s aim had been miserable for the last half hour. He’d gone through nearly fifty bullets trying to hit ten lousy bottles off the ranch house railing.
“Isn’t there some show business saying?” Hal continued. “‘Bad dress rehearsal, great show’? You’ll do fine tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Tom muttered. He shot at another bottle and missed. “Guess I’m still worried about getting past her bodyguard. Is he good?”
“Oh, yes, and he’s an excellent shot too. But quit your worrying, Tom. He’s with us—one of our best men, Ted Kovak.” He sighed. “Some of the triggermen in SAAMO aren’t exactly Rhodes Scholars. Like our late friend Lyle, they’re dedicated, but ignorant. Still, we need these bottom-of-the-barrel types for certain jobs. But Ted Kovak is good, top of the heap. He’s the one shooting you with blanks tomorrow.”
Hal patted Tom on the back, then pointed to his fake mustache. “You need more glue on that lip warmer. It’s starting to peel off.”
Tom wiped his brow, and pressed on his upper lip to secure the fake mustache. “Will I need to wear this
