He pulled the sheet aside and stood. He went to the window and pressed his face against the screen to get an angle on the front door.
A girl was standing there. Not the neighbor’s girlfriend. Not drunk, either. She was standing on the walk, a few feet away from the pad. She’d pressed the button and stepped back from it. She was staring up at the open window of Travis’s bedroom—had been staring at it even before he appeared there—and now she flinched when she saw him. She looked nervous as hell. The vehicle idling thirty feet behind her was a taxicab.
The girl looked about twenty, but it was hard to say. She could’ve been younger than that. She had light brown hair to her shoulders. Big eyes behind a pair of glasses that covered about a quarter of her face—they were either five years behind the style or five years ahead of it.
Travis had never seen her before.
She’d seen him somewhere, though, if only in a picture. It was clear by her expression. She recognized him even by the glow of the lamppost in the parking lot.
She stepped off the concrete walkway into the grass. She took three steps toward the window. Her eyes never left his. She stopped. For another second she just stood there looking up at him.
Then she said, “Travis.”
In the time it took him to pull on a T-shirt and jeans, he ran through the possible implications. There weren’t many. He thought of Paige, two summers ago, setting up the Rob Pullman identity. He’d watched her insert it into every database that mattered—federal, state, local. Retroactive for four decades. Then she’d erased every digital footprint she’d left in the process, and scrubbed the information from even her own computer in Border Town. No records. No printouts. It was no more possible to tie his new name to his old one than it was to reverse-engineer an ice sculpture from a tray of water.
No one but Paige could have sent this girl.
Travis stepped into the hallway and descended the stairs. The girl was standing at the glass front door waiting for him. She’d already sent the cab away.
Travis pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.
“What is it?” he said. “What’s going on?”
Up close her nervousness was more apparent. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder and she was fidgeting with the strap. There must have been something in his expression that put her even more on edge. She looked like she wanted to back away from him, but she didn’t.
“You drive,” she said. “I’ll talk.”
“I–285. Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.”
Travis took a right out of the complex.
The girl seemed about to speak again, and then her cell phone rang. She twisted in her seat and took it from her pocket. She pressed the talk button and rested the phone on her backpack, which was now in her lap.
“Hello?”
A man said, “Ms. Renee Turner?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. This is Richard with Falcon Jet. I just wanted to let you know your aircraft is refueled and standing by, ready when you are. Flight time to Washington Dulles International will be an hour and fifteen. Does your guest have a preferred beverage?”
The girl glanced at Travis. He shrugged.
“We’re fine with what’s aboard,” she said. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”
“Very good.”
She ended the call and set the phone on the console. She still looked anxious. She hugged the backpack against herself. It flattened out. There wasn’t much in it.
“Renee,” Travis said. “Nice to meet you.”
For a second she looked confused. “Oh, sorry, no. I’m Bethany. Bethany Stewart.”
She stuck out a tiny hand. Travis shook it.
“Renee’s a cover,” she said. “She doesn’t really exist.”
“She sounds well off for someone who doesn’t exist.”
“I’ll tell you all about her sometime.”
“All right.”
“I’m with Tangent. I guess you assumed that.”
Travis nodded.
“I would have called ahead,” she said. “I was just afraid you’d hear the first five words and hang up, and you’d be long gone by the time I got here.”
“Why didn’t Paige call? She wouldn’t expect me to hang up on her.”
Bethany was quiet for a few seconds. “Paige is the reason I’m here. She didn’t have time to call anyone but me. She barely had time for that.”
Travis waited for her to say more, but instead she picked up her phone again. She switched on the display and brought up what looked like a file directory.