“Where are we heading?” he said.
“To a house. It’s a private club that operates as a type of bed and breakfast, except that one rents the entire house. I paid for two nights.”
“In kilodollars.”
She nodded. “This owner accepts them on a website, and they’ll be transferred from there. The site is anonymous, so untraceable, and the money is as well.”
“But the transaction still left a footprint.”
She shrugged and then winced. “Yes, but a minor one. I first accessed an anonymous service that blocked my computer’s cookies, never mentioned the address of the house, nor did the owner. I’ve used it once before. Anyone tracking me won’t be able to determine where the house is located.”
Smith was impressed. “You don’t need a CIA safe house, you can arrange your own.”
She flashed him a small smile. “Only for two nights. Then we need to move on.”
Ten minutes later they pulled up to a square beige brick building on a quiet street as far north as one could go and still be in Manhattan. Smith paid the cabbie and joined her at the steel door. The structure was four stories high and had multiple, evenly spaced doorways along the sidewalk. Each doorway had a small red metal awning with white trim, some with rusted supports as an overhang, which gave the building an old-fashioned air of faded former glory. The window-unit air conditioners that protruded from the façade at various locations only added to the impression that the building had been constructed many decades ago, before the onset of central air. Nolan punched in a code for the second door in the row, and there was a buzzing sound as the lock disengaged.
They entered a narrow foyer that contained a bank of steel mailboxes attached to the wall on their left. In front was another door that separated a small lobby area. Nolan pressed a different code on a second keypad and again the door buzzed. The lobby had an aging marble floor in a white and black checkerboard pattern. A single elevator was on their right. It seemed like an afterthought added to a vintage building. In front of them was a narrow stairway. They hiked up stairs covered in industrial gray carpeting to the first landing, which contained two doors. The door on the left was also steel and had a small round peephole and a keypad in place of a deadbolt. Nolan punched in a code on the keypad and the clicking sound indicated that the door was unlocked.
The duplex’s configuration was a shotgun, with a foyer, living room, and kitchen in the back and a narrow stairway on the right that led to a second level. The wood floors gleamed, and a piece of modern art hung above a fireplace on the living room far wall. The disparity between the interior of the apartment and the exterior was marked. Nolan waved him to the stairwell that led to the second floor. At the bottom of the stairs she paused.
“What’s wrong?” Smith said.
“I don’t know if I can climb them. It was different when we were running away. I didn’t really feel it so acutely then. But now, the pain might be too much.”
“Would you like me to carry you?”
She shook her head. “Maybe just lend your arm.”
He did, and she mounted up the first step, hissing through her teeth in pain. Despite it, she continued and gave a sigh of relief at the top.
“The master’s to the right,” she said.
He escorted her into a fairly large master bedroom with a king-size bed and a dark dresser against one wall. A flat-screen television rested on a console, and nightstands on either side of the bed held reading lamps. She waved him to a door next to the closet that led to the master bath.
The bathroom was spacious. Smith opened a cabinet and found a hair dryer, toiletries, and, most important, a box containing first aid items.
“I’m glad to see these. I’d just purchased some before I found you. They’re currently resting under a bush near that building,” Smith said.
Nolan shivered. “I never want to see that building again.”
“Looks like I’ve managed to ruin the shirt you gave me.” Smith turned to show her his left sleeve. She gasped.
“Is that a fresh wound?”
He nodded. “Yes. Who first?” Smith held up the alcohol swabs.
“I wasn’t shot. You first,” Nolan said.
“Could you do the honors once more?”
He unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off, taking care not to yank at the fabric that was stuck to the wound with dried blood. She opened an alcohol swab and wiped it down. Now it was his turn to hiss in pain. She rooted around in the first aid box.
“No tweezers.”
“I don’t think the bullet embedded. It’s a graze wound only.”
“Ah, good, because I honestly don’t think I could do that again.” She wrapped the second injury in gauze and used some white tape to secure it. She twisted a bit to put the tape back and groaned. Her face turned white. He put a hand lightly on her arm.
“Let me see your back.”
“I don’t think I can take off the sweater. If I lift my arms would you take it off?”
He nodded. She lifted her arms and he pulled the sweater up and over, taking care not to let it scrape against her back or sides. She was wearing a raspberry-colored bra of mesh fabric that left nothing to the imagination, but though Smith noticed, he was more concerned about what he’d see when she turned around.
She pivoted and he gaped at her back. Huge red welts in straight lines bisected her from side to side. One had split open and oozed blood. More blood ran in a thin line from the steel hook and eye fastener of her bra. Her entire back was swollen and purpling from severe bruising, and he could see where the rod had hit her vertebrae. Smith felt his anger rise. He swallowed it and focused on the spine.
“I’m going to run my hands along your vertebrae—”
“I don’t think I can take that,” she said.
“Very lightly. I just want to see if they chipped one.”
“Okay,” she said.
He carefully ran his hands down her spine. She made no sound, but at one point jerked away from him. He was relieved to see that her bones seemed intact. A crushed vertebra would have consigned her to a lifetime of pain.
“I don’t think they broke anything.” He fished through the first aid box.
“What are you looking for?” she said.
“Some sort of salve, or antibiotic ointment. One of the welts is open.” He found an antibiotic gel. He first swabbed the cut with an alcohol wipe and then dabbed on the antibiotic. When he was finished, he put a large bandage on it, taking care to attach the adhesive edges with a light touch.
She turned. Her eyes were large and held a sad look. He wanted to comfort her somehow. He put his palms on either side of her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. He pulled away but kept his palms on her face.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find you before they did that,” he said.
“You were right,” she said.
“About what?”
“What you said at the office. I wasn’t prepared for them to kill anyone, and I’m not prepared for this level of viciousness. Any of it. I can’t imagine how I thought I would be. Arrogance, I suppose. Once they have their money, they’ll kill me without a thought.”
He shook his head. “I won’t let them kill you.” Her sad expression shifted and a glint of light and hope returned to her eyes.
“I believe you,” she said.
“So you now think I’m one of the good guys?” He smiled at her.
“After what you just did for me in that building, I’d be crazy to think anything else.”
She reached up and pulled him back toward her. This kiss was different. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and he felt his body start to hum. She stepped into him and flattened her breasts on his naked chest. The image of her in the red bra rose in his mind. He put a hand on her through the sheer material. He reached an arm around to draw her closer and remembered her injury right before he touched her back. Instead he lowered his hands, grabbed her hips and pressed her into him. She moved in tight and rotated against him. After a moment he lifted his head.