Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“You’re an ace with the press,” Brock comments, snapping me out of my reverie and eyeing a text message on his phone. The slightest hint of irritation flashes on his face before he refocuses on me. “Listen, Addie, I want to take you to dinner, but I have unexpected business to attend to. Can we do it tomorrow night?”
Relief over the escape plan someone else created for me, I’m quick to approve his plan. “I’m tired anyway,” I say, packing up my briefcase. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten in the morning to head to the airport.”
He doesn’t move; his eyes are fixed on me in a hot, intimate way that I do not like. It’s too attentive, too filled with an interest that I will never return. “You didn’t respond to my dinner offer.”
My first instinct is to shoot him down, but I check that reaction. I need a copy of his hard drive. Making him an enemy won’t allow me to achieve that goal.
“Let’s play it by ear,” I say. “You’re kind of stuck with me tomorrow as it is. We have a long day of travel tomorrow.”
“And we’ll need to eat. We might as well do it together.” His phone vibrates with another text message, and he sighs. “I better go. I’ll see you in the morning.” He starts to get up and motions to my glasses on the table. “I like the sexy schoolgirl look. It suits you.” With that shocking declaration, he pushes to his feet, and then just that fast, he’s walking away. I stare after him with an odd sense of unease over his abrupt exit. My brow furrows. Who was that message from, I wonder.
I gather my things and head to my room, my mind and body dismissing Brock and replaying my encounter with Creed. He’s no doubt miles away now, but one call from me to him on that phone he’d left me, and I know he’d be with me in mere seconds. Part of me wants to throw the cellphone off the hotel balcony for fear I’ll use it—maybe dial it to scream at him, dial it to demand to know how he could have left me without one single word for so very long. Dial it to beg him into my bed to make this ache and loneliness go away. “Damn you, Creed,” I whisper, and open my room door, stepping into a dark room and leaning against the hard-wooden surface of the door. “I didn’t want to feel this again.”
A voice sounds in the hallway—Brock’s voice, I realize. I’d known we were on the same floor, but not this close. “She’s in her room,” he says to someone. “Where I was planning to be too, until you called.” He listens for a moment. “I told you I’d get it, and I will. And she’s a part of my plan, which you’re interrupting.” A few seconds of silence. “Fine. I’ll be there.” A low curse follows as the door next to mine opens and slams shut.
He’d been talking about me. Lord help my father if that was him on the other line. And get what? Red Dart? Oh, no. Maybe that wasn’t my father. Maybe it was…Julian?
I flip on the light and set my briefcase and purse down on the floor. I give myself a moment to talk myself out of what is probably a stupid idea before kicking off my shoes and unzipping my skirt. Sixty seconds later, I’m in jeans paired with sturdy boots.
Wherever Brock is going, I’m going too. I’m nervous. I’m not certain this is the right move, but too many died at Groom Lake, and maybe, just maybe, if I’d seen through my father’s real self sooner, I could have saved them. I can’t sit back and watch it happen again. Not when I have a way to find out who’s who in this mess.
Right or wrong, I’m doing this.
Chapter Thirteen
I fish my rental keys from my pocket, step back to the door, and luck out as what I believe to be Brock’s door opens and shuts. Footsteps sound and then fade, and I open my door, scan the hallway, and when my path is clear, head for the stairwell. Once I’m there, I all but run down fifteen flights of stairs, hoping Brock’s elevator has had a few stops—enough to allow me to catch up to him.
Once I’m at basement level, my chest heaving, I pause in desperate need for air as well as caution. Bursting into the parking lot could well garner me the wrong attention. With a gentle tug, I open the door, and with perfect timing, I watch as Brock slides into his rental. Nervously, I slip into the garage and rush to my rental, one row over.
Only a few minutes later, I’m following Brock, only to curse as he pulls his rental into an alleyway behind a cluster of three white stone buildings near the National Mall District. And I’m officially screwed. At this point, honking and waving my hands would be more discreet than following him.