Miraculously, Helen still did not demand an explanation. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No.”
She squeezed Claire’s hand before leaving.
Claire waited until her mother disappeared into the FBI building. She walked down the street. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder as she reached the corner. She crossed against the light, dodging around a yellow taxi. She took West Peachtree toward downtown. She finally looked behind her.
Harvey was thirty yards away. His arms were bent at the elbows as he tried to catch up with her. His jacket billowed out. His gun was dark and menacing against his white dress shirt.
Claire picked up the pace. She regulated her breathing. She tried to keep her heart rate under control. She looked behind her.
Harvey was twenty yards away.
Lydia’s phone started ringing. Claire pulled it from her back pocket as she started to jog. She looked at the screen. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Paul said, “Did you enjoy your time at the FBI?”
“Is Lydia okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
Claire crossed the street again. A car screeched to a stop inches away from her hip. The driver yelled out his open window. She asked Paul, “Do you want that USB drive or not?”
“Lydia is fine. What did you tell the FBI?”
“Nothing. That’s why they kept me so long.” Claire looked over her shoulder. Harvey was closer, maybe fifteen yards away. “A cop is following me. One of Mayhew’s guys.”
“Get rid of him.”
Claire ended the call. She jogged across the street. She knew this area of town because she had worked in the Flatiron Building when they first moved to Atlanta. Claire had hated the job. She took long walks during lunch and came back late and flirted with her boss so he would let her leave early.
She started jogging again. Harvey was quickly closing the gap between them. He was a big man with a long stride. He was going to catch up with her soon.
Claire turned the corner onto Spring Street. She lunged into a full run. She was at the next corner by the time Harvey rounded the building. Claire went halfway down the side street. She checked over her shoulder. Harvey hadn’t made the corner yet. She frantically looked for an escape route. The Southern Company’s side entrance was the closest option. There were six glass doors and a large revolving door at the far end. She tried the first door, but it was locked. She tried the next one, then the next one. She looked back for Harvey. Still not there, but he would be running now, catching up fast. She tried another door, then wanted to kick herself for not going to the revolving door first. Claire ran full-bore into the open mouth of the door. She pushed so hard against the glass partition that she heard the motor grind.
The lobby was cordoned off by glass turnstiles. The sleepy guard behind the counter was smiling. He had probably watched her try each door.
“I’m sorry.” Claire pitched up her voice a few octaves so she sounded helpless. “I know it’s awful of me to ask, but can I use your restroom?”
The guard smiled. “Anything for a pretty lady.” He reached under the desk and opened one of the turnstiles. “Go straight through to the main lobby on West Peachtree. The bathrooms are on the right.”
“Thank you so much.” Claire walked briskly through the partition. She looked behind her. Harvey raced past the side-entrance doors.
She had two seconds of relief before he came back.
Claire darted into an elevator alcove. She kept her head turned so she could see him. Harvey started toward the building. He pulled on one of the locked doors. He was clearly winded. His breath fogged the glass. He wiped it away with his jacket sleeve. He cupped his hands to his eyes and peered into the lobby.
The guard mumbled something under his breath.
Claire pressed her back against the elevator doors.
Harvey pushed away from the glass. Instead of leaving, he moved toward the revolving door. Claire tensed herself. She would tell the guard that Harvey was stalking her. Then Harvey would flash his badge. She could run toward the front entrance, dart back into the street.
Or she could stay here.
Harvey hadn’t pushed through the revolving door. He was still standing outside. His head was turned to the right. Something on West Peachtree had caught his attention.
Claire held her breath until he ran off toward whatever had distracted him.
She peeled herself away from the alcove. She went back out the glass turnstile. She told the guard, “Thank you.”
He tipped his hat. “You have a blessed day.”
Claire pushed open the door. She knew better than to think she was safe. She ran back toward Spring Street. She hooked a left onto Williams. Her feet pounded against the cracked sidewalk. There was a mist of rain in the air. Claire scanned the area behind her as she kept running. She tried to orient herself. Staying on the street was not on option. There had to be somewhere to hide, but it was too early for any of the cafes to be open.
Lydia’s phone rang. Claire didn’t slow as she answered, “What?”
Paul said, “Take a left. Go to the Hyatt Regency.”
Claire kept the line open. She took the left. She saw the Hyatt in the distance. Her knees hurt. Her legs were screaming. She was used to running on the treadmill, not up and down hills and over cracks in the concrete. Sweat dripped from her scalp and down her back. The waist of her jeans was starting to chafe. She gripped the phone in her hand as she ran. How was Paul tracking her? Was Mayhew tag-teaming Harvey? Were they trying to funnel her into a location where they could grab her?
The bellhop outside the Hyatt opened the door when he saw Claire round the drive. If he thought it was odd that a grown woman dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt had gone for a run at six in the morning, he didn’t say.
Inside the building, Claire slowed her pace. She followed the signs to the women’s restroom. She pushed open the door. She checked the stalls to make sure they were empty.
Claire locked the last stall door. She sat down on the toilet. She was panting for breaths when she said, “Let me speak to Lydia.”
“I can let you hear her scream.”
Claire put her hand to her mouth. What had he done? Twelve hours. He could have Lydia in Key West or New Orleans or Richmond by now. He could be torturing her and beating her and—
Claire couldn’t let herself think of the “and.”
Paul asked, “Still there?”
She fought back the overwhelming agony that came from knowing exactly what her husband was capable of. “You said you weren’t going to hurt her.”
“You said you were going to call me back.”
“I will drive over that fucking USB drive with a Mack truck.”
Paul had to know that Claire would do it. She had never been averse to burning bridges she was still trying to cross.
He asked, “Where is it?”
Claire tried to think of an area she was familiar with but Paul was not. “It’s at the Wells Fargo on Central Avenue.”
“What?” He sounded concerned. “That’s a very dangerous area, Claire.”
“Are you really worrying about my safety?”
“You need to be careful,” he warned. “Where is the bank exactly?”
“Near the main post office.” Claire had driven to the post office several times to drop off mailers for the Humane Society. “I’ll go get it right now. We can meet somewhere and—”