“Whatever it takes, my sweet friend.”
“As long as it takes, beautiful.” H disconnected, and she put the phone down. Itwouldbe different. She knew it would. It had to be.
A knock on the door came about three minutes later, and Val made her way to the door and checked the peephole. “Yes?”
A bellman smiled. “Ms. Baxter? I have your and Mr. Baxter’s luggage. It was delivered from British Airway, ma’am.”
Thank goodness. She used the wide lens of the peephole to make sure no one else was in the hall and opened the door. One man was nothing to handle. Two or more took work, and she was too damn tired. The bellman brought the luggage in, and she tipped him from the stack of pound notes she’d placed by the door for that exact reason. Once he left, she moved the suitcases into the bedroom. The water turned off, and she knocked on the bathroom door. “Suitcases are here. Let me check the room and the bags for any tags or bugs; then, the bedroom will be yours.”
“Sounds good.” The deep bass of Smith’s voice filtered through the closed door. She opened her case and fished through the packing cube where she’d placed her sweeping device. Grasping it, she pulled the unit in half and snapped it together the way it belonged. The signal immediately jumped to green, and she carefully inspected each case and the bedroom, including the television.
“All good. I’m closing the door behind me.” She’d give the man his privacy.
With care, she examined the rest of the suite. As she’d hoped, there were no electronics in the room, which was a relief. She put the small shaver back into its case and placed it by the television. Then she hooked the cable up and flicked the TV on. It wasn’t hard to find coverage of the Hague explosion. All the comments were just speculation as the talking heads recapped what was already beaten to death and then pontificated on what little they knew while expounding on grandiose ideas of why it happened and who might have been responsible. As if there weren’t enough problems without journalists lighting a fire of suspicion and conspiracy theories.
The door to the bedroom opened, and Val almost swallowed her tongue. Smith wore a pair of jeans and a sweater. My god, they formed to his body like a glove and showed off his muscles and build. “Thank you for the clothes. There’s more than I need.”
“You’re welcome, and I disagree. You only have the basics.” She changed the subject. “Have you seen any of this yet?” She waved at the television.
He turned and crossed his arms, immediately tuned into the coverage. Every now and then, his eyes narrowed, or his cheek twitched, but other than that, he was motionless until the segment broke for commercial. “Too few facts, too much speculation,” he said, dropping down on the couch opposite her.
“That’s what drives the ratings. Speculation.” She muted the television and turned toward him. “I know it’s not our position to know, but that air marshal really surprised me. How did he do it?”
Smith shook his head. “A friend doing a favor for someone running late? Who knows. It could be there are others at JFK involved.” Smith turned to look at her. “I would have walked past you on the street and not known it was you.”
“That’s the idea. You need an exit strategy when you do what I do; a hint of confusion works wonders. Sometimes only a second’s hesitation will suffice. Confusion is always good. Confusion and emotion are the best.” She’d use anything she could to escape situations her unique talent got her into.
Smith nodded. “Why the Hague?”
“Komal?” She shrugged.
“Following that logic, if he were to escape custody, where would he go?” Smith crossed his arms again and stared at his feet. The silk socks she’d purchased him moved rhythmically. She’d noticed he bounced his foot whenever he was thinking.
“A country without extradition?”
“Yes.”
A knock at the door jolted both of them. “That would be dinner.”
“I’d feel more comfortable having a weapon,” Smith said as he stood and headed to the door.
“I have a way to get some, but we’ll need to make a road trip to get it.” A place about forty-five minutes to the north of London was where she’d rented a small cottage. It was her safe house in the country. Miles from anyone and stocked to the gills with everything she’d ever need.
“Tomorrow,” Smith said before looking through the peephole. His body was canted to one side. A move only people who were used to being shot at used. He opened the door, and two servers rolled in carts of silver-domed plates. They placed a tablecloth on the small bistro table and unloaded the carts. Val had ordered a bottle of wine for herself and a bottle of Scotch for Smithson. It was his drink of choice if he drank. Val followed the men to the door and grabbed some money from the table, tipping each. Smith shut and locked the door behind the men.
“Let’s have a drink.” Val went to the small mini-bar and grabbed the wine opener.
Smith picked up the bottle of Scotch. “Rather expensive.” The Glenmorangie single malt scotch was the best the hotel had in stock.
“We deserve this tonight.” She lifted her bottle of Chardonnay.
He sat down his bottle and extended his hand. “I’ll open that for you.” Taking the bottle from her, he unwrapped the foil from the cap, then expertly uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass before pouring himself a scotch and adding one small chip of ice to the tumbler. She knew it helped the liquor bloom but wondered how Smith knew. Then again, with the man’s intelligence, it wasn’t surprising.
She lifted the cloches over the food until she found the plate of appetizers. Placing the dish in front of him, she sat beside him and leaned over to grab a small cracker with a delicious crab spread. He popped one of the crackers into his mouth before taking a sip of his scotch. Then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “This has been a heck of a day.” He looked over at her. “I told you bad things follow me.”
Val blinked and laughed. “There is no way that what happened today was caused by either of us. If anything, those people are damn fortunate we were on the aircraft. So I’d say good things followed you today.”
Smith’s jaw tightened for a moment before he spoke. “I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.”