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“Aaron,” I say, grabbing at his shirt.
“Later. Later, we’ll be alone and safe.” He strokes my hair, and then his fingers are laced with mine, bags back in our hands. We exit the car, heading through the subway.
For the next few hours, this continues until we sit down at the back of a diner side by side in a booth, our view of the front door clear. The back door is through a hallway just behind us. Aaron pulls out two MacBooks, giving me one of them.
“Who do you think found us?” I ask, before I ask about our plans for anything going forward.
“It could be Walker checking me out.” He hands me a phone. “Call Smith and find out. Don’t talk to him any longer than two minutes. We’ll call him back once I know what we’re dealing with.”
“What if it wasn’t him?”
“Call him,” he says. “I need to know.”
“What if he lies?” I ask.
“Then he can’t be trusted. We shouldn’t be dealing with him at all.”
I purse my lips and pick up the phone. “I trust him.”
“Then make sure he’s straight with you because I don’t trust him.”
“I know,” I say, and I only grow more determined to prove that’s a wrong decision. We need help. We have help, though Smith admittedly did a crap job of proving that to Aaron today.
I dial Smith. He answers on the first ring. “Ashley?”
“Yes. Did you have someone search our hotel room?”
“What? No. I didn’t know where you were. Shit. You’re in trouble. Get out. We’ll protect you. Come here—”
Aaron takes the phone. “Listen to me. Your people could end up dead, too, if the people after me think you can hurt them. I’m taking us off-grid. You need to stay off-grid as well. I’ll be in touch.” He glances at me. “We’ll be in touch.” He hangs up and sets the phone down, taking it apart and then submerging it in a glass of water.
“You believe him, right?” I ask. “You know it wasn’t him.”
“I heard the conversation. I believe him, or I wouldn’t have taken the phone.”
“The CIA found us,” I say, my stomach knotting.
“Our enemies found us,” he replies. “Does that mean the CIA? Yet to be determined.”
“Now what?”
“We find an Airbnb and stay there.” He hands me two IDs. “Mr. and Mrs. Samroy. It’s not a common name. Common names get attention. Find a place to stay that takes dogs. We’re going to get a dog. No one expects that. We’ll go to the shelter tomorrow.” He sets one of the phones next to me and slides a piece of paper with the number on it beside me.
“Only if we’re keeping the dog. I’m not adopting one and then deserting it.”
He gives a shake of his head. “We can’t keep the dog.”
“Then we have to pretend to have a dog. I’m not doing that to a dog. End of discussion.”
“Ashley—”
“No. No. No.” I open the computer and start searching for a place. “What flavor? Nice? Elegant? Ghetto?”
“We want a place where neighbors won’t be able to watch us. If possible, something with security.”
“A standalone,” I say. “Got it. Price?”
“Whatever it takes.”
