There’s a ding and the doors close and we start moving.
Casey now sits beside me. She’s humming something, a tune I don’t recognize, maybe something from the movie. David looks around, the start of a scowl on his face, something he inherited from his father.
I place my purse on my lap. My gun isn’t inside it. I’d taken it out because of my job interview today. I’d taken it out because in the past two years there has never been any reason to carry it.
The train slows and stops at Federal Triangle. People get off, people get on. From what I can see Suit hasn’t left his car.
The doors close, the bell dings, and then we’re moving again.
Next stop is the Smithsonian. It’ll let us up into the National Mall. A lot of space, a lot of people.
As the train moves, I stand up. I grip the metal rail. My hand is sweating. Strange, it wasn’t even sweating during my interview.
When the train starts to slow, I reach out and take Casey’s hand. Then the train stops and I lift Casey up into my arms. I motion for David to follow, and we walk out onto the platform.
I don’t bother glancing back to see whether Suit has gotten off, too.
We get onto the escalator and ride it up to the top level. We follow everyone else and take another escalator up to the surface. I walk the kids a good twenty feet away from the exit and then turn around to watch the people coming up.
“Holly”—David again—“what are we doing?”
“You lost again, David.”
“I don’t want to play that game.”
“That’s probably for the best, because you’re not good at it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Then prove it.”
David crosses his arms and starts to pout, his face growing red.
I keep watching the exit. Watching students and tourists. Watching men and women and children.
Then watching Suit, still holding his briefcase, still holding his phone, rising to the surface.
He doesn’t even look once in our direction.
He turns south and starts walking toward Independence Avenue. He waits at the corner for the light to change and then continues forward with everyone else.
“Holly?” Casey says hesitantly.
“There,” David says. “She lost.”
“She wasn’t playing,” I say.
“What are we doing?” Casey asks.
“Going for a walk, honey.”
We head north over Jefferson Drive and take one of the pathways across the Mall. The sky is clear and blue. A nice breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. Two people are throwing a bright yellow Frisbee, three others are juggling a hacky sack.
I figure we’ll enjoy the afternoon and walk a couple blocks uptown to Federal Triangle. There we’ll take the orange line train back to our stop.
Only as we cross over the Mall and reach Madison Drive do I get that sense again, that instinct, that we’re being followed.
I pause and glance around us.
The guy in the blue jeans and T-shirt and baseball cap, the Post in his hands, the Bluetooth flashing in his ear, is headed our way.
Twenty-Eight
Blue Jeans is crossing the Mall directly behind us, coming up the same pathway we’ve just walked. He walks casually enough, the paper swinging at his side, his attention on the three juggling the hacky sack.
I glance around quickly, considering my options. The National Museum of American History to our left, the National Museum of Natural History to our right.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Where are we going?” David says.
“Lost again.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Look, think of this as a game, okay? We’re playing hide and seek.”
“Really?”
Casey says, “Who are we playing hide and seek with?”
“Trying to figure that out is half the fun.”
As we approach the Museum of Natural History, David starts looking around.
“Don’t,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“You don’t want to make it obvious that you’re playing.”
“I don’t?”
“No. The idea is to act like everything’s normal.”
Outside the Smithsonian buses are lined up, off-loading and on-loading day camps. The steps are littered with parents and children and counselors and campers. We weave through the crowd toward the entrance, then wait in the line that takes us to the metal detectors. If Blue Jeans is definitely following us, and if he is packing anything from a gun to a knife, he won’t be able to come in here.
We head toward the African elephant display in the lobby. I set Casey down, take her hand and place it in David’s.
“Stay right here,” I say.
“Where are you going?”
“Not far. You’ll be able to see me and I’ll be able to see you. Just make sure you stay here and don’t let go of each other’s hands.”
I head back toward the entrance, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. Casey and David stay right where I told them to, holding hands. Both of them watch me just as I keep watching them.
I’m not too worried about them getting snatched. At least not in here, not with a thousand witnesses. And if anybody did try to make a move on them, it would take me less than five seconds to make it back to their location. And even with witnesses, the sorry son of a bitch who tried laying a finger on those kids would be lucky if I didn’t break his neck.
My only purpose now is seeing what’s become of Blue Jeans.
And I guess I’m not surprised to find that he’s outside, waiting in line, almost ready to enter the main doors.
I turn back around, quickly return to the spot I’d left the kids. I pick Casey up and motion for David to follow me.
We head toward the back where the stairs are located. I realize much too late that I’ve drawn us into a box. Not that I expect anything to go down here, but the only way out—the only public way—is back the way we came.
Which gives me pause, because if that’s the case, Blue Jeans wouldn’t have to come in after us. He could
