“Snooping around in stuff that doesn’t concern you part of your vacation plans?”
“I wish it wasn’t.”
“Guess you screwed up somehow to get stuck on the obit page before you turned seventy.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’ve actually been to hell. It’s just as bad as people think it is.”
He said this so matter-of-factly that even the seasoned journalist could only stare at him before stammering, “What do you mean by that?”
“If you have to ask, then you wouldn’t understand the answer.”
Actually, Katie thought she knew exactly what he meant, yet she chose to say nothing. They drove on in silence. Thirty minutes later the Cooper pulled up next to the Balmoral.
Shaw turned to Katie. “Okay, now get out of town as fast as you can.”
“How about you? They were shooting at you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
She reached over and grabbed his hand as he started to climb out. “What’s your name?”
“I’ve followed your work over the years, so I know you’re not that dumb.”
“Can you at least tell me what happened back there?”
He hesitated.
“I’m not going to write the story, if that’s what you think. I don’t know enough to write it anyway.”
“If you do write the story, you’ll ruin a lot of hard work and help the bad guys.”
“I’ve never been into helping the bad guys.”
He paused, studying her closely. “It was a drug transaction. We’re trying to keep cash out of the hands of terrorists. There, now you know all.”
“Good guys don’t open fire like that.”
“I know,” Shaw admitted. “I don’t know why they started shooting.”
His candor seemed to melt away most of Katie’s doubts. She added in a cautious tone, “But then why were your own people shooting at you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” He leveled his gaze directly at her. “And get out of Edinburgh. You survived tonight. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
In a few seconds he’d disappeared.
Katie sat back into the leather of the Mini. She’d seen much death in her career, heartbreaking stuff that you never really got over. But there had been something about tonight… And she had never met anyone quite like this guy.
Had everything he’d told her been a complete lie? As a veteran journalist she often found that to be the case. But he had let her go. And he had saved her life. She realized a little guiltily that she hadn’t even thanked him for that. If not for him she would’ve been bits of flesh scattered across Scotland.
Katie snagged her bag from the backseat and drew out a notepad and a pen. Before she’d switched to journalism, she’d been an art major. She flipped open the pad and quickly sketched a drawing of Shaw. She also jotted down notes.
She talked to herself as she wrote. “Dark hair, about six foot five, two-forty. Shoulders the size of Nebraska. Amazing blue eyes.” She put down her pen. Amazing blue eyes? Where did that come from?
It didn’t matter. The odds of her ever seeing him again…
She climbed over into the driver’s side, drove down an alley, left the car, and ducked back in the Balmoral through the delivery entrance.
CHAPTER 25
SHAW DIDN’T BOTHER to get his clothes from the hotel. He’d placed any personal items he had with him in a storage locker at the train station. He called Frank as soon as he was safely away from the hotel. The man waited until the fourth ring to answer.
“What the hell game are you playing?” Shaw barked into the phone.
“You should be celebrating another successful mission. We got the drugs, the bad guys didn’t get any cash, and we got one guy left standing who’s talking like a mynah bird as we speak. I’ve personally already popped the champagne.”
“Your guys opened fire unprovoked.”
“Wow! Really?”
“Yeah, really. What happened to you have the right to remain silent and keep the blood in your veins?”
“So we took out some of the Tajiks, so what? You know how much those suckers can eat? And my budget is strained as it is.”
“And your guys were shooting at me.”
“Then maybe you should pay attention.”
“Pay attention to what?”
“We don’t like retirees, Shaw. You go when we say you can, if ever.”
“My deal-”
“Your deal is shit. Your deal has always been shit, but you never wanted to face up to it. Well, tonight was your wake-up call, my friend. Your only one. Next time maybe they don’t miss. And consider yourself lucky. Oh, by the way, your orders for Heidelberg are waiting at the airport. Chartered jet, wheels up in two hours. Man will meet you at the front entrance of the airport. Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of your evening in lovely Scotland.”
Frank clicked off and Shaw simply stood there on Princes Street in the middle of the ancient city of Edinburgh with thousands of people all around him.
He had never felt more alone.
Katie took an empty notebook from her bag, inserted something in it, and walked into the lobby of the Balmoral. The receptionist on duty was a tall, thin young man. Katie strode up to him and held up the notebook.
“A man dropped this in the lobby. There’s no name in it, but he may be staying at the hotel. He got in a cab before I could stop him.” She described Shaw in detail.
“Yes, he is staying here, miss,” said the young Scotsman. “A Mr. Shaw. I’ll put it in his box here.”
She watched as he placed the notebook in the slot for room 505. When he turned back around she’d skittered away.
God bless the Scots, she thought. If she’d tried that stunt in New York they would’ve thrown the book in her face, wrestled her to the floor, and then called the cops.
She waited for two hours in the lobby, her gaze flitting to the front desk from time to time as she sipped a Coke and chewed her nails till they bled. She stirred when the young Scot turned his position over to a middle-aged woman whom Katie had never seen before. As soon as the man was out of sight Katie approached the front desk.
“I’m staying in room 505 with my fiancé,” she began. “I gave him my key when he misplaced his, but he was supposed to put it in a notebook he left for me so I could get back in the room.”
The woman glanced at the wall of slots behind her. She reached into 505’s box and pulled out the notebook.
“This notebook?” she said.
Katie nodded and took it from her. She looked through the notebook and was careful to let the object she’d placed in there earlier fall out on the front desk. The woman picked it up for her. It was Katie’s American driver’s license. The woman looked at the photo and then at Katie, who said, “I’ve been looking all over for that. He must have found it in the room and put it in the notebook for me.”
“And where is your fiancé?” the woman asked pleasantly enough, but with the tone of someone who had a job to do and intended to do it.
“Glasgow.” She flipped through the pages. “He’ll be back tomorrow, but he didn’t leave the key. How can I get in the room?”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“Yes, he doesn’t answer. Service can be a bit spotty.”
“Don’t I know it,” the woman agreed heartily.
She glanced at the driver’s license again.
“Well, we can’t have our guests sleeping on the sidewalk, now can we?” She pulled a spare key from the slot and passed it and the license to Katie.
Katie glanced at the woman’s nametag. “Sara, I can’t thank you enough. I still can’t believe he forgot to leave the damn key.”
“I’ve been married to my Dennis for twenty-six years and the poor bloke can’t remember birthdays, anniversaries, or, on occasion, all the names of our five children. So if it’s just keys your man forgets to leave I’d go ahead with the marriage and count your blessings, ma’am.”