Page 9 of A Shot in the Dark
“I don't think that sounds as reassuring as you think it is.”
His eyes roll up as if he’s reading his most recent words. Lips pressing together, he thinks about it a moment before adding, “Oh, yeah. Sorry. You are kind of an obvious target.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I think I don’t have any choice but to go somewhere else, but I don’t really have any placetogo right now.”
“No boyfriend?” His brows tug together. “Girlfriend?”
“Neither. And I do prefer the former to the latter,” I offer, realizing that suddenly it seems a little more like a potentially bloody meet-cute than a police officer advising a citizen.
“Not judging one way or the other,” he says with an easy smile. “Look. If I were you, I’d get out of here. Go somewhere safe. Maybe it’s a place you have some history with, maybe it’s not. Throw a dart at a map.”
“I own no darts and I doubt my phone would appreciate the impact if I did.”
He chuckles, and despite the circumstances I feel a vague sense of relief. “Regardless, I would pack my things now and go.”
“Okay,” I concede, standing.
“Okay?”
“Yes, I’m going to pack and go. I don’t have a reason to stay other than a kick-ass condo. If I’m safer somewhere else and I have no job keeping me here, no relationship keeping me here? Why would I stay?”
He inclines his head. “Good,” he says. “I’ll get you a car that’ll take you at least outside of the city limits. You may need to transfer vehicles at that point, but at least it gets you on the road and moving. Use the car ride to figure out where it is you’re going and if there’s anyone there to provide a safety net,” headvises. “Consider getting a brand new phone and using it for most things. Before you leave the city, grab a wad full of cash. You’re not going to want to use any card for a while if you can help it. Once you get safely settled, contact me.”
He slips me his card. It’s the same dimensions as Andrei’s, but made of a cheaper, more mass-produced-feeling material. I tuck it into the slender pocket of my skirt.
“Now get upstairs, pack everything that you think you need as quickly and efficiently as you can, then come straight back down to the lobby. I’ll stay here and make sure you are safely loaded into the car.”
I do exactly as he instructed, and in half an hour I am standing back in the lobby of the building that has acted as my home for the past eight years, my most important and precious items in two suitcases, one rolling bag, a duffel, a backpack, and three purses. I am the most stylishly dressed pack mule ever.
The car is already waiting for me. It’s a sleek black Town Car, impeccably waxed to a high gloss. Mac opens the building’s door for me, dipping his head to say, “Miss Jenkins—if there is ever anything else I can do… Do not hesitate to reach out.” He looks up, his expression tight as he shoots a gaze toward the car and grabs my arm, giving me a tender squeeze. “Please be careful.”
Tommy is suddenly beside me, his eyes darting up and down the sidewalk. Anxious—he’s so anxious…
I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to walk back outside so close to a recent shooting either. In the city, life can’t help but move on, so we all do, too. Tommy takes more than his fair share of the luggage and we stand there, waiting for the signal from Newbuck that finally comes. I peel off a few bills for each of them—it’s both the least I can do and the best I can do given the circumstances.
A private driver in a sharp black suit, cap, and sunglasses so dark I can’t fathom how he sees out of them sits behind thewheel, head turned our direction, the small amount of his face that I can see is unreadable. Stoic. “He’s the best driver I know,” Newbuck says as the driver’s door opens and he seems to unroll himself, tall enough he towers over me. I may be 5’8”—but he makes me feel small. “Little Sylva Waters” the boys used to tease me years ago—before I changed everything about me: my hair, my clothes, and my name. Newbuck continues, “I was surprised he was available on such short notice. He’s ex-special forces,” he adds as he opens the back door for me.
The driver takes almost everything from me and pops the trunk. My eyes follow him. He looks sharp, everything crisp and shiny about him, like he was freshly minted just for me.
“We served together back in the day,” Newbuck explains as I slide into my seat and buckle up. “Do whatever he tells you to—he won’t steer you wrong. And respect the rules of the road. He’s particular about his car.” I slide in and buckle up.
The driver returns to his seat and looks Newbuck’s direction, giving him a sharp nod of acknowledgement. “Dossier?”
“Nope. As previously stated.” Newbuck shifts his attention to me, leaning slightly in the open door to see me better. “Okay, remember exactly what I told you to do. Cash, new phone for the important stuff as soon as you feel safe. Radio silence otherwise. Call when you get settled. I’ll make sure we figure out who’s behind this. We’ll take care of it.”
Then he closes the door, taps the roof twice, steps back onto the sidewalk, and turns away.
Chapter 4
Ifollow every bit of Newbuck’s advice, loading up on cash, and being cautious otherwise, too. I don’t check my social media at all—even though Tyla’s nanny’s daughter’s baby is due any day. I think about that: Tyla’s original nanny’s daughter’s baby. Have I ever met Tyla’s original nanny? Oranyof her nannies? Do I know her name or the name of her daughter? Then why does any of it matter so much to me? Is it just the dopamine rush of feeling like I’ve connected? What if that’s all it is? The tiny rush anyone gets from feeling seen, heard or recognized?
“Hey,” I say to the driver, “I never got your name.”
“I didn’t give it.”
What a dick. None of my building’s staff would ever give me attitude like this guy. They allloveme. “I need to know what to call you.”
He sighs like I’m the biggest thorn in his side. “Boots.”
