“Yeah, theme.” She went to her purse and got the pendant to wear. She gave it to him to put on her.
Jack obliged.
“Speaking of phi,” she said, “look closely at the pearl. See anything?”
“I see a very expensive pearl. Why?”
She turned around to face him. “The setting is shaped like a phi symbol. The pearl is the round part of the symbol, and the setting completes the shape.”
“Very pretty.”
June tucked it under the layers of shirts.
“Which one of your many boyfriends gave it to you?” Jack asked.
She smiled. “My sister, actually. You met her, remember?”
“Oh yeah, the pretty one.”
She socked him in the belly.
“What was it for?”
“Birthday present. Which reminds me, I still need to get something for her.” June grabbed her wallet, took out the cash and a couple cards, and shoved them in a pocket along with the room key card. “Come on, Big Shot, we’re wasting time. And this little excursion is on me.”
Chapter 32
TREVOR WOKE UP. He heard noises below, footsteps. Hushed voices. He stretched his legs, loosened up his neck muscles. Got the blood flowing again. The voices were getting louder, heading for the elevator. A man and woman saying something about going outside. Trevor figured it was Melendez, probably taking his girlfriend out for a late breakfast. Or something else.
Better make the most of it, Jack. In the last two days, Trevor had memorized every last bump of concrete, every crack in the wall, every detail of his tiny muted environment. His food was almost gone, only one last bottle of water. The waste bucket was nearly full of cat litter. But it would all be worth it.
Just a few more hours.
Trevor allowed himself a smile and settled into his final meal. He unwrapped the last protein bar, picking off tiny bits to nibble, washing each morsel down with sips of water. When he had finished, he used the baby wipes to freshen up, tossing the used towelettes into the waste bucket along with the food wrappers. He flicked on his flashlight and set to work cleaning up trace evidence. No sense in making the FBI’s job any easier.
He wiped down the empty water bottles, lining them up along the wall, positioning each carefully so that the label on each faced directly out. He fluffed and folded his small blanket. He sorted through his box of gear, positioning everything in size order to allow for easy packing later. He cleaned down the walls and floor, careful to cover every inch. He knew he couldn’t avoid leaving fibers, but he could at least make sure his DNA wasn’t plastered all over.
Finally, with nothing left to do, Trevor flicked off the flashlight and settled back into position, lying on his back. Listening.
Melendez should arrive back at the hotel late afternoon. No doubt he’d grab an early dinner like last night, then retire to his room. Trevor had panicked after the two Secret Service agents had shown up, but his fears had been quickly alleviated. They wouldn’t be dropping by again. Just the two bodyguards to worry about, and only one of them seemed to know what he was doing.
“Nearly over now, Jimmy,” Trevor whispered in the dark, old memories of his dead partner rushing through his mind. “In a few more hours, it’s show time. And that son of a bitch is going to pay.”
Chapter 33
HARPER RUBBED HER eyes. Three days of pulling fifteen-hour shifts and lack of sleep was catching up. The glare of the laptop screen wasn’t helping. She sifted through her never-ending inbox of email, not taking anything in. She shut the lid, blinked a few times. Cleared her head.
Recently given operational command, the President’s visit to Seattle was supposed to be Harper’s chance to prove herself. Since she had arrived on site, every square inch of the convention center and hotel had been painstakingly searched for any hint of danger. Every storage locker had been swept, every member of staff vetted. Harper had waited years for this opportunity, and she was damned if anything was going to happen on her watch. She had sacrificed too much. Too many personal relationships ruined, too many missed opportunities outside work. It had all been worth it.
But something about Blake didn’t sit right with her. Sure, he was arrogant, entitled, possibly even a liability. Didn’t mean he wasn’t right. There was always more to be done, better measures to implement. Tighter security. In the one-hundred-plus years the Secret Service had been responsible for keeping the President safe, there had only been one fatality. Countless attempts, only one successful. And that had been over fifty years ago. The Secret Service’s success rate was as close to 100% as to make no statistical difference, but none of that helped Harper sleep better. None of it mattered today.