Page 9 of Grave Peril

Passengers filtered by, but there was no sign of gang members. Lela slipped out of the restroom, then the door clicked shut behind her. Running would attract attention, so she walked in step with a small group headed toward the exit.

Lela’s heart pounded and her legs were wobbly, but she maintained as calm an outward appearance as she could. Behind the dark glasses, she glanced around. But no threat emerged. When she reached the exit, she strolled to the parking lot like an employee leaving work for the day.

If only this was the airport, with cabs and hotel shuttles lined up at the curb. But Lela’s options were few. The train station was close to the freeway, but she needed a vehicle. It would only be borrowing, long enough to get away. Walking would make her a target, since pedestrian access to the station was limited.

At the far side of the lot, Lela slowed and turned. She held her breath, but didn’t see anyone looking her way. She chose an older-model sedan and reached in her bag for an implement. It was her habit to be prepared, and it was about to pay off.

With the narrow metal strip, she swiftly opened the car door and got into the passenger seat. She prayed her skills weren’t too rusty. She reached under the steering column and hotwired the car. Newer models were difficult, but this well-used vehicle provided no challenge.

The engine firing was a welcome sound. Lela still wore the cap and her sunglasses, plus she’d be harder to recognize behind the wheel of the car. She pulled out of the parking spot and rolled down the aisle toward the exit.

Several other cars were moving in that direction. As she pulled in front of one, some motion at the station caught her eye. It was the two gang members, and even from a distance she could see their murderous expressions. Since it was unwise to look at them, she faced straight ahead and followed the car in front of her out of the lot.

When Lela pulled onto the street, she looked back. The gangsters were in the distance, milling about the lot as if looking for some sign of her. But she was gone. She headed toward the on-ramp, more than a little relieved. The bad guys had lost her scent—for now.

But there would be others. There would be repercussions for the gang members sent to grab her, since they’d botched the job. The cartel would send more artillery next time. Lela had tipped her hand; it was no longer a secret that she could fight.

It had all led to this. After sneaking into the senator’s office and copying his hard drive, Lela had reviewed the data she’d obtained. Added to what she’d already compiled, it could put the nail in his coffin. She’d kept up on news about corruption stemming from the drug culture.

The FBI had a task force in the Houston area to curb the broad range of corrupt practices. The illegal activities involved federal border officers, courthouses, and, much to her dismay, corrupt police units.

Now it seemed the cartel’s evil arm had reached dirty politicians. Senator Ortiz was a prime example. Lela had balked at turning over the evidence, but not for long. There was no way to avoid that coming forward with what she knew would affect her life.

Once she’d known about the crimes Ortiz had committed, there had been no way that Lela could look the other way. It was her duty to see him answer for his acts, and to do otherwise would dishonor her father. Besides, it was all so wrong, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it.

Lela had initiated talks with the task force. A series of secret meetings had ensued. When appropriate, she’d turned over enough documentation to nab the senator, which resulted in his arrest.

It wasn’t a simple matter to prosecute a politician. The senator had money and connections. He was out on bail before his jail cell had clanked shut. The FBI was adamant that Lela’s life was at risk.

It hardly seemed fair that she should suffer for doing the right thing, but she’d had to face reality. How silly she’d been to argue that she wanted to stay at the law firm to keep an eye on the senator. Clearly, she’d underestimated the man’s support from the underworld.

About a mile from the station, Lela ditched the car at Market Street Park. It would be returned to its rightful owner fairly quickly. Driving a stolen vehicle wouldn’t do, since she needed to stay out of sight. Once the car was reported missing, the police would be looking for it.

The park was a serene spot in the middle of downtown. Lela would have liked to stroll around, to let the peaceful surroundings calm her nerves. Her father had once taken her to a wrestling event held there. But this was not a moment to go all sentimental.

Lela needed a safe place, and downtown had a wide variety of hotels. Although it might take the gangsters a while to find her, that wasn’t true of the FBI. And for now, she intended to avoid both. Assessing her choices, Lela figured the Hotel ICON around the block on Congress was her best pick.

They’d assume that a woman on the run with little resources would get a cheap room, or find a friend to stay with for a night. Since using a credit card would make her easy to track, she’d have to pay cash, making an expensive hotel out of the question.

So that was precisely where she intended to stay. It wasn’t the first place that her pursuers would look. So by the time they discovered that she’d stayed at the ICON, she’d be long gone. What she shouldn’t do was stay out in the open and run the chance of being spotted.

At a brisk pace, Lela headed for the hotel. It was busy, so she could meld with the throng of guests. But one of the staff looked her over, which reminded her that she was dressed like a kitchen worker. That wouldn’t go over well in a fancy hotel, so she went directly to the lobby gift shop.

Lela selected vacation wear that suited her, plus a jacket and a hat. She paid for the items and went to the women’s restroom to change. Instead of tossing the old outfit in the trash, she rolled it up and carried it under her arm. If the woman reported that her clothes had been taken, the authorities would have another clue on how to find Lela. Ditching the garments would be like marking the trail, signaling that she’d been at the hotel.

Dressed like a tourist, Lela went to registration and paid for a room. She told a believable story about losing her wallet, but she had cash. That was acceptable, and since it was only an overnight stay, the clerk waived the necessity for a credit card.

Using the new identification supplied by the FBI would be foolhardy. The agency would track her if she used it. She needed to get rid of the photo ID and credit card, but that would have to wait. She took her room key and caught the elevator to her floor.

Lela found the room, went inside, then flipped the deadbolt. Light streamed through the windows, so she closed the drapes for privacy. After dumping her wad of clothes and her bag on the floor, she flopped onto the bed.

It was soft, and well it should be, for what she’d paid for the room. She put her arm across her forehead and closed her eyes. It wasn’t difficult to figure out how the thugs had recognized her at the train station. Ortiz would have gladly provided a photo of his errant paralegal, likely some dorky shot of her at an employee event.

Drugs were big business in the city, and the cartel’s tentacles reached into law enforcement. With police co-operation, the gangsters had a good chance of finding her. But what she found the most disheartening was that she couldn’t go to the FBI for help.

There had been a leak; that much was clear. Only a select few had known that Lela had been assigned to witness protection. And even fewer had known that she’d be at the train station.

That meant there was no one Lela could trust. She couldn’t use her real name or identification. And using the false ID was out of the question now. She was so screwed.

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