“No, I’m good.” He looked down. “This the couch?”
“Yes. Sorry, I’ve only got the one bedroom. But even though you’re tall the couch is extra long.”
“I’ve slept in a lot worse conditions, trust me.”
“Can I?”
He folded his jacket over the arm of the couch. “Can you what?”
“Trust you?”
“You invited me here.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
He walked to a window overlooking the water. To the north he could see the lights of D.C. The triumvirate of the Lincoln, Jefferson, and Washington monuments were plainly visible. And rising above them all, the colossal dome of the Capitol.
She joined him.
“I like getting up in the morning and seeing that,” she said. “I figure it’s what I work for. Fight for. Defending what those buildings represent.”
“It’s good to have a reason,” said Robie.
“What’s your reason?” she asked.
“Some days I know, some days I don’t.”
“How about today?”
“Good night,” he said. “And thanks for letting me stay here.”
“I know we only just met today, but it feels like I’ve known you for years. Why is that?”
He looked at her. From her expression it wasn’t an idle question. She wanted an answer.
“Looking for a killer bonds people pretty quickly. Almost dying together bonds you even more.”
“I guess that’s probably right,” she said, though her tone spoke of disappointment with his answer.
She got him sheets and a blanket and pillow and fixed up the couch for him over his protests that he could do it himself.
Robie walked over to the window and looked at the monuments again.
Tourist sites, really. Nothing more.
But there could be more, if one thought about it. If one did something about it.
He turned to find Vance next to him.
“You can, you know,” he said.
“I can what?”
“Trust me.”
Robie couldn’t look at her as the lie rolled off his tongue.
CHAPTER 37
They rose the next morning, took turns showering, and had cups of coffee, orange juice, and buttered toast. While Vance was finishing dressing in her bedroom Robie sent Julie a one-word text.
Good?
He counted the seconds until she texted him back. There were only ten of them.
Her text was equally terse.
Good.
He stretched out his wounded arm and checked the bandage. Vance had done a good job rewrapping it after he’d finished showering.
A few minutes later he and Vance settled into her BMW. Neither spoke as they drove toward D.C. The traffic sucked, the horns blared, and Robie could tell that once or maybe twice Vance had been sorely tempted to trot out her fancy blue grille lights and maybe even her gun.
“Robie, I would appreciate if you didn’t mention you stayed at my place last night. I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea. And some of the guys I work with could really make something out of nothing with it.”
“I don’t talk to people about the weather, much less where I spent the night.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She shot him a glance. “I hope you didn’t think I invited you to stay for some reason other than a place to sleep.”
“Never crossed my mind, Agent Vance. You don’t strike me as the type.”
“You don’t strike me as the type either.”
“I need to pick up a fresh set of wheels.”
“You want me to drop you by DCIS?”
“There’s a car rental place on M Street near Seventeenth. Drop me there.”
“What, DCIS can’t spring for fresh wheels for one of its own?”
“What they have is crap. Probably hand-me-downs from the Bureau. I’ll get my own.”
“FBI doesn’t do things that way.”
“FBI has a budget that allows for that. DCIS doesn’t. You’re the eight-hundred-pound gorilla. We’re the underfed chimpanzee.”
She drove to the rental place on M.
Robie got out.
“Do you want to meet me at Donnelly’s?” she asked.
“I’ll get there, I’m just not sure when,” he said.
“Other things to do?” she answered in a surprised tone.
“Some things to think about,” he said. “Some things to dig into.”
“Care to share?”
“A mom and kid dead. A bus blown up. A shooter trying to take you or me or both of us down. I’ll call you when I’m on my way to Donnelly’s,” he added.
He walked into the rental place and requested an Audi. They didn’t have one, so he took a Volvo instead. The rental agent told him that Volvos were very safe cars.
Not around me they’re not, thought Robie as he pulled out his license and credit card.
“How long will you be needing the car?” asked the agent.
“Let’s just leave it open,” said Robie.
The man blanched. “We actually need to have a turn-in date from you and the place where it will be returned.”
“Los Angeles, California, two weeks from today,” said Robie promptly.
“You’re going to drive to California?” said the agent. “You know, a plane is a lot faster.”
“Yeah, but not nearly as much fun.”
Ten minutes later he sped out of the rental garage in his very safe silver Volvo two-door.
What had scared him the most about last night was not nearly being killed or seeing others die. It was Julie. The feeling in his gut when he’d thought something had happened to her. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like someone else having that much power over him. He’d spent most of his life getting rid of those ties and avoiding any new ones.
He drove faster, pushing his nice, safe Volvo probably beyond its comfort zone.
That appealed to Robie.
He didn’t much like comfort zones, his or anyone else’s.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Blue Man needed to meet with him again. Right now.
I bet you do, thought Robie.
CHAPTER 38
No public place this time. No Hay-Adams with lots of witnesses.
Robie didn’t have much of a choice. There were rules one had to play by or one was out of the game.
The building was sandwiched between two others in a part of D.C. that tourists would never tread. Even though the area was a high-crime one, none of the street punks ever bothered this place. It was not worth a bullet in their head or twenty years of their life in a federal cage.
Robie had to part with his cell phone before entering the secure room, but he would not give up his gun.
When the guard asked for it the second time, Robie told him to talk to Blue Man. The resolution was simple. Either he kept the gun or Blue Man could meet with him at the McDonald’s across the street.
Robie went in with his gun.
Blue Man sat across from him in the small room. Nice suit, solid-color tie, neatly combed hair. He could be somebody’s grandfather. Robie assumed he probably was somebody’s grandfather.
“First, Robie, we have not found your handler. Second, there was no man with a rifle found in the alley you identified.”
“Okay.”
“Next,” said Blue Man. “The attempt on your life last night?”
“The shooter was in a vehicle that looked a lot like a U.S. government ride.”
“I don’t think that is likely.”
Robie pointedly tapped the tabletop. “You can’t find my handler or a shooter I knocked out in an alley, but you think somebody gunning for me in a set of federal wheels is unlikely?”
“Who’s the girl?” asked Blue Man.
Robie didn’t blink, because he’d been trained not to. You blink, you lose. A blink was like a weak throw into triple coverage because you lacked the stones to wait for another receiver to break open as a three-hundred-pound lineman was about to plant you in the grass.