Chapter 1
Thursday May 22, Charleston, South Carolina
Drew Garner would never have willingly chosen this season to visit Charleston, South Carolina. In June the city was full of tourists, cameras, and—God help him—brides with full entourages. Too bad his target wasn’t as discreet.
Though he successfully avoided most of the subtle security cameras around town, it was impossible to dodge the myriad photographers eager to document each minute of vacations, weddings, and every perfect flower blossom.
With too many cameras for him to steal and too many people to follow and corrupt the pictures, the whole thing was obnoxious. Worse, it meant trouble. He felt it like an itch at the back of his neck. He’d been officially deceased for years and, for his benefit and the safety of others, it should stay that way.
Charleston was too close to people who were both capable and willing to stop his heart for good this time. If they got wind that they’d been duped years ago, he couldn’t imagine it would take long for them to correct the error.
It might already be too late. This morning he’d suspected someone was following him, though he had yet to pinpoint the precise individual. More likely a team, but even a team could unravel if Drew only identified one member—just one weak link in the system.
A smart man would leave, walk away from the temptation responsible for dragging him into this gently decorated hell. But Drew had to stay, had to seize the opportunity in front of him, or he’d always be looking over his shoulder. Freedom was a lovely ideal, and something no one valued enough until it was gone.
He scanned the crowded marketplace, waiting for his target to make contact. He didn’t need to check his watch to know the man was nearly ten minutes late for his morning trek for coffee. Drew couldn’t just wait around and serve himself up to whoever was tailing him, and he couldn’t walk away and risk missing the meet.
As yet another carriage full of tourists ambled around the corner and away from Market Street, he caught the unmistakable clicking of camera shutters. Drew stifled the dread rising like the tide inside him. Anonymity was an unattainable goal in the age of social media. He knew it, accepted it, and took precautions to survive it.
Still, even a dead man could dream of simpler times gone by.
He walked on, the risks dogging his heels. He needed a cover, someone to lend doubt to whoever had eyes on him. The people in his past, those who’d celebrated his early demise, remembered him as a man who worked alone.
Drew scanned the vendors and customers nearby for an appropriate distraction. Dresses, signs with southern sayings, two t-shirt stands, and a candy vendor were his closest options. While the dresses were popular with young women, he didn’t see making an easy play there among the girlfriends and mothers shopping with daughters. Two women weren’t easily divided by one man oozing charm.
He’d been overseas more than stateside and the sayings on those kitschy signs weren’t familiar enough despite his forty-eight hours in the area. The guy at the t-shirt booth was an option and, based on the stock, he looked like he could talk patriotism and free enterprise all day long. But it was the sudden collapse of the food vendor’s display that offered his best solution for evasion.
He moved closer to the sudden chaos as a mother and her young son tried to gather up the landslide of candy and treats scattered across the cement floor. Tubs labeled as beignets and lemon cooler cookies were stacked beside cones of sugared pecans and candy-coated almonds. The vendor soothed the little boy as she righted the table, gracious to a fault.
That fit Drew’s vague recollection of Southern hospitality. Then the table covering shifted and he caught sight of the strap tied to the broken support and realized his mistake. The boy hadn’t toppled the display, the vendor had done it. He’d been here two days and hadn’t seen an underhanded sales tactic like that used before.
Good thing he didn’t believe in coincidence. The vendor had to be tied to the team tailing him. Whoever had found him, he wasn’t na?ve enough to believe they wouldn’t want to know why he’d come to Charleston.
He wasn’t inclined to share, or to be turned from what might be his only chance to right a serious wrong. Giving the frazzled mother his best smile, Drew placed a stack of cookie tubs on the righted table and eased away, only to trip over a broom and hit the pavement hard on his hip.
“Oh, my. I’m so sorry,” a woman said, but her voice didn’t carry any remorse or any of the warm southern drawl of the locals.
Survival instinct in high gear, Drew used the momentum of the fall, rolling backward and over his shoulder, coming to his feet near an older woman with ebony skin weaving local sweetgrass into artistic baskets and décor accents. She waved her hands, shooing him away, and he danced backward, managing to leave her display mostly intact.
A man shouted and he jerked around, coming face to face with a carriage horse. He spun out of the way and across the street, ducking into the nearest shop for cover. Another mistake, he thought as wind chimes made of thin slices of colorful geodes clattered musically around him. Christ, this city was worse than an unmarked minefield. With a well-practiced impersonation of a fumbling tourist, he apologized, aiming for the displays at the back of the shop. Removing his ball cap, he stuffed it into his pocket as he shrugged out of his windbreaker, tying it around his waist.
He heard the door open again and looked for an assist from a reflective surface, but came up empty, finding himself surrounded only by stones and fantastical pewter statues. He picked up a large piece of amethyst, cut and shaped into a bookend, testing the heft. Good enough for a fight in close quarters. He didn’t want a scene, didn’t want to cause any damage, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be hauled in by anyone representing authority.
Moving down the display of book ends, he edged toward the back room, eyeing the lock. Praise God for old buildings and comfortable, confident shop owners. The door jamb would crumble with a hard look. He just had to get over there.
“Mr. Garner?”
He didn’t so much as twitch. He wasn’t Garner, hadn’t been for years. Today he was one more husband desperately seeking the right purple bookends for his wife’s library.
“Mr. Garner? Sir? I believe you dropped your wallet.” Good play, but his wallet was secure behind the zipper inside his jacket. He had to make a conscious effort to stay relaxed as he felt the screws tighten. It was a mighty short list of people from his past who could have found him so quickly. A shorter list of people who’d known him by that name.
The woman speaking was gaining on his position. Same flat Midwestern inflections as the woman with the broom. Damn it. He knew better and still he’d assumed the people tailing him would’ve been mostly men. He heard the shuffle of footsteps as customers moved, felt their gazes on him.
There was a camera over the register in the center of the store. Another would be aimed at the office door. He peered over his shoulder as the woman cut off the angle for the stairs to an upper-level showroom. Her expert move, her familiar face, brought the worst possible scenario to glaring reality. Somehow Ross Carpenter had found him. Found him and contacted Army Counterintelligence Command before Drew’s job was done.
Damn it.
And the Army hadn’t sent just any officer in response. No, they’d sent his worst nightmare: Army Counterintelligence officer Laura Talbot.
There wasn’t time to worry how Ross had realized Drew was not just alive but in Charleston, seeing as Charleston was hours from the Cypress Security offices. No, Drew’s concern revolved around the immediate future, surviving the here and now. Had Ross called in a favor or assembled a take-down team?
“Mr. Garner?”
She was directly behind him, likely holding out a wallet they both knew didn’t belong to him. If she reached out, got a hand on him at all, it was over. Anyone in her position, with her training, would be lethal in hand-to-hand combat, not to mention armed with a concealed handgun. A fight meant more unwanted attention than he could afford.
“Sir?” She tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hmm? Yes?” He shifted, and turning he caught her knee with his, gaining a scant precious inch or two. Enough room to flee.
“Oh, dear,” he said, stretching an arm to steady her and plowing the bookend into her midriff at the same time. “Sorry,” he repeated when her eyes went hot with fury as she gasped for air.
He knew those changeable hazel eyes and the classic beauty of her oval face. Knew she recognized him too. In the split second he had to decide, he dropped her back on her ass and rushed toward the office, putting a knee into the weak lock and breaking through the door.
People shouted at him, but he kept moving forward. They couldn’t hurl any insults worse than those already flying around in his head. He was weak. A dumbass weakling who’d found a previously undiscovered ethical streak at the wrong time. Apparently returning to the States had made him soft, sympathetic. Chivalry had no place in this business. But he couldn’t hit her, couldn’t damage that face with a punch, though he knew she could take it. And more.
On top of that, he was burned, as much so as the tourists whose pasty-white skin would be fried lobster red by the bright sun. The temporary identity he had put together for this operation was well and truly toast. Even if, by some miracle, they didn’t already know his target, with Carpenter and the Army working together it would only be a matter of time.
Drew bumped into another man, dropping his phone into the guy’s pocket. He kept moving, his easy stride belying the desperate, frantic thud of his heart as he wound his way to the escape route he’d plotted long before arriving in the city.
With certain dread he walked on, knowing any minute he’d go down with a double-tap of small caliber bullets in the base of his skull. Officer Talbot wouldn’t ask questions, wouldn’t hesitate to remedy what she surely considered an error of fate.
Instead of breathing easier with every passing moment that he remained alive, his tension mounted. He hid at the fringes of a walking tour passing by a church, peeling off before the guide could ask to see his ticket. Easing through an open gate he found himself in the thick, cool shade of a cemetery. It was like a miniature rain forest, the tall trees embraced by vines and ferns crowded among the monuments and headstones.
It was an appropriate place to wait for her to find him.
***
Laura Talbot fumed, embarrassed that her mark had put her on her ass before she could blink. Worse, she was still sitting on her ass, stunned by the now-confirmed reality that Garner had managed to successfully fake his death in the middle of a combat zone. With a trusted team of special operations soldiers providing his security.
Flashing her ID badge, she rolled to her feet, leaving her apologies and a Cypress Security business card with the owner as she chased after Garner. Ross had promised to take the heat for any damages or bad publicity. Now she’d find out if he meant it.
She held her .22 caliber pistol up and ready as she eased her way through the tight office, storeroom, and out into the alley. Nothing like being a sitting duck, she thought as she left the minimal cover of the alcove sheltering the back door. No bullets came at her, no mad rush of Garner’s solid body.
She stalled, not even able to convince herself the pause served as part of an intelligent, professional assessment. Garner being alive and stateside scared the crap out of her. Accepting that fact was an essential first step in getting past the fear, she decided.
Keeping the gun low now, she marched down the alley, hoping she was on the right trail. The man still had moves. Good ones, she thought, her diaphragm burning from the blow he’d delivered. Reluctantly, she put a tally mark on his side of her mental scoreboard. Two points really, for winning two skirmishes in less than ten minutes. But unless her instincts were more than rusty, there had been fear in his face when he’d recognized her.
Which meant he was a man. Not a ghost, not an illusion. Not a doppelganger unfortunate enough to have similar features. Drew Garner was alive. For now. She’d happily change his status just as soon as she knew what illegal purpose had brought him to Charleston.
She holstered the gun and boosted herself up to check the dumpster, then the recycling bins nearby, for a phone or anything else he might have unloaded in his escape. But she found nothing.
The perfunctory searches were a long shot. Garner wouldn’t leave such obvious breadcrumbs. She looked up and down the street, but didn’t see him. At more than six feet tall with blond hair instead of the brown she remembered, he should’ve stood out in the crowd. But she couldn’t spot that sunlit hair or the dark ball cap he’d worn in the market.
She swore and tucked her weapon out of sight. Hazard of working solo, she thought darkly. The only bright spot was now Ross Carpenter owed her a favor. She called the number, pleased when Ross picked it up on the first ring. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” she said. “It’s really him.”
Ross swore.
“Preaching to the choir,” she said.
“Do you have him contained?”
“Not yet. I lost him after the first contact.”
“Not surprising, considering.”
The words, meant to soothe, only irritated her. “Could you send me some help? We can’t ignore him.”
“I don’t have anyone to send.”
“Bull.” Her teeth clenched as she bit back a scathing rant. “Why not lead by example and get your ass down here?” Her suggestion was met with a prolonged silence. “Don’t you dare tell me you want to walk away from this.” She paced down the street, her gaze slicing through the shifting humanity in search of her target.
Ross’s sigh filled her ear. “That’s not it.”
“What then? Embarrassment? Shock? There’s plenty of that for both of us to enjoy once he’s contained.”
“I saw the man die,” Ross murmured.
Out here on a very public street wasn’t the place to remind him she’d signed off on the body and wrapped up her investigation based on his account and the grim evidence in the body bag.
“And you reported it. We went by the book the whole way through.” It was the best comfort she could offer. Not that it made any difference when he’d called her yesterday. There weren’t any indicators Garner had staged his death. Nothing suggested he might have survived the attack. Whatever Ross decided, Laura would move forward on her own, determined to solve the riddle of Garner’s survival if nothing else. The man—hell, the CIA—owed them that much.
“Where’d you find him?”
“Strolling through the City Market like he’s on vacation.”
“That hardly narrows down the potential connections,” he said.
“Tell me about it.” She’d watched Garner for an hour this morning, but if he’d met with anyone, made any exchange, she hadn’t caught it. “No confirmed contact. No trail. No obvious observers, besides me.” That last one worried her though. Drew hadn’t picked up on her until she’d cornered him in the store, but something or someone had spooked him in the market.
“I’ll get Eva started and we’ll see what we can find using security cameras in the area.”
“When I get back to my hotel, I’ll go through the records again, look for what might have brought him here. Call me if you get anything.”
“You, too.”
“Of course.” Dropping the phone into her pocket, she felt more frustrated than ever. She’d taken a few vacation days to chase down what shouldn’t have been more than a rumor and she’d already lost the man. She was better than this—or had been during her days in the field.
“Those days weren’t so long ago,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t need the archived records, she’d committed Garner’s case and the circumstances of his death to memory.
Ross’s team had been the security force for Garner when they’d been attacked just outside of the village where Garner had been scheduled to meet his contact.
The ambush had felt like a set up, but there’d been no logical reason for it. While terrorists didn’t always need rational reasons, CIA agents typically did. As a counterintelligence officer, she’d worked closely with Ross on more than one occasion. When it came to Garner, there had been too many rumors to ignore. The man was a gas can looking for the right fire to turn into an inferno. She hadn’t trusted Garner then, though she’d never proven he was dirty. She had proof now—maybe. He couldn’t be here for the pleasant weather and he couldn’t be here on official business. Unless his fake death had been a gateway into another covert agency.
Doubtful. On paper and in person, Garner had embraced his CIA credentials. The agency had been his anchor, his sole pride and purpose in life.
Laura headed back toward the market. There was no point wandering around hoping to spot him. A determined operative as good as Garner could be on his way to the Bahamas by now.
She retraced her steps, aware and alert, her mind turning over the myriad possibilities that could’ve brought Garner to Charleston. There were sensitive military and defense department operations nearby, a few targets that would make terrorists drool. She couldn’t think of any political leaders in town that would have Garner risking this kind of exposure, but what did she really know about the man?
The question brought her up short and forced her to think. She paused at a gelato stand and ordered something, just so she’d have an excuse to stand still while her mind shifted into overdrive.
Why would a highly trained, highly intelligent man who loved his work fake his death? His record had been clean, although that didn’t mean much within a system where identities were scrubbed and altered to fit the job. If the ambush in Afghanistan had been a surprise to Garner, why disappear afterward instead of coming forward to clear his name?
Getting nowhere fast with so many unknowns, she let the cool, creamy treat melt on her tongue as she switched gears. What did she know about him as an individual?
She knew his instincts were spot on. He’d caught the scent of a tail before she could make her approach. He was light on his feet and quick to dodge out of sight. It had been the burst of sound from the wind chimes that tipped her off and led her to him.
His reflexes were sharp, which meant he hadn’t been lounging on a beach since his early demise. He’d thought of hitting her while she was down, she’d seen that in his eyes. Why pull the punch when he knew what she was capable of?
He might just as easily have killed her there on the floor. He should have killed her if he didn’t want his secrets or identity revealed.
Instead, he’d run.
That she was alive was the good news. He could’ve killed her and didn’t. Following that logic, it was a good guess Garner wasn’t in South Carolina to kill Ross or anyone else from that team. Bringing her right back to square one. What, or who, would bring a formerly dead spy to Charleston?
Laura sighed. So many questions…and not nearly enough facts to create even a loose outline of a working theory.
Her phone rang and she fished it out of her pocket. The screen showed a blocked number. “Hello?” she said with a bright happiness—the polar opposite of how she really felt.
“Unitarian Churchyard. Come alone.”
The call dropped and she nearly laughed at the theatrics. As if she’d trusted anyone to join her on this unauthorized field trip. Her coworkers would’ve laughed at her. Aware of his inability to stay objective, Ross insisted on keeping himself and his team away from this situation. Garner didn’t seem to realize how alone she was out here. She would use that to her advantage.
Taking a last bite of the sweet gelato, she dumped the rest into the nearest trash bin. With her phone, she confirmed the location of the Unitarian Churchyard and zoomed in on the maps, reviewing the approach and escape options.
“Great,” she muttered as she started in that direction. Unless she wanted to scale a vine-covered wall, access to the cemetery was limited to the narrow side gate and the path to the church building. She wondered how much of his choice came down to convenience and how much she should blame on gallows humor. There were plenty of cemeteries in the area and nothing would set such a perfect stage for a meeting with a dead man like a few gravestones.
The gate stood open, a casual invitation to the public, as she approached. On this side everything was sunshine and heat, but the quiet, cooler shadows within beckoned. Her hand steady on the grip of her gun, she braced for the trap Garner would surely spring. If he wanted to talk, why run from the marketplace? He might easily have played along with the wallet ruse or waited for her in the alley behind the store.
What had changed in the span of—she checked the display on her phone as she silenced it—thirty minutes? Only one way to find out, she thought, easing closer to the gate.
She hesitated, taking in the full view of vine covered trees and shrubs stretching up and out over the walls, seeking the light. He could corner her in any number of places once she stepped inside. Her imagination leaped to the possibility that he’d already dug a shallow grave, intending to put her in it.
Nonsense. She could more than hold her own in a fight, the result of their latest encounter notwithstanding. In the relative privacy of the churchyard, she wouldn’t be distracted by potential collateral damage to innocent bystanders. If he wanted her dead, she’d make him work for it.
“I won’t harm you,” a low tenor voice seeped through the shadows to her left. “We should talk this out.”
“You just turned down a perfect opportunity.”
“The store was too public.”
“Fine.” Hadn’t she made a similar argument in her mind? She wondered who he thought was watching them. And how could she get him to reveal his purpose? “Go on then. Start talking.”
“Holster your weapon.” This time his voice was accompanied by a soft rustle of leaves as he stepped into view.
His blond hair, in need of a trim and dappled with sunlight, gave him a halo he didn’t deserve. Why couldn’t the light have cooperated when she’d been trying to spot that thick, bright hair out on the street? She couldn’t tell if she liked him better this way or with the brown hair he’d had when he died while they were all rooting out terrorists in the mountains on the other side of the world. His hands were loose at his sides, his hat gone and jacket tied loosely at his waist. All in all, it was a nice show of unarmed good faith.
With deliberate care, she shoved the gun back into the nylon webbing of her holster, grateful he didn’t ask her to empty it or kick it away or something equally absurd.
“You’re alone?”
Grim doubt edged his words and the question floated in the humid air between them. She held up her hands. “We both know I am.” If he’d found her cell number, then he must already know she’d taken leave from her training post at Fort Bragg. In the past half hour, he must have run everything possible on her. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like that he remembered her. She liked being impressed with his resourcefulness even less.
“You had good help over at the market. That candy spill was inspired.”
Candy spill? News to her, but she couldn’t admit it without looking inept. It was something she’d pass on to Ross so Eva could research it. At the time, she’d grabbed the broom just to keep him from bolting. The failure to contain and control him irritated her. “Why shouldn’t I haul you in?”
“Good luck with that.”
“You surprised me once.” Thank God no one she knew had been around to give her crap for the mistake. “Won’t happen again.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
Great. A pissing match with a spy turned ghost. “What do you want, Off— Andrew?” She stopped short before she gave him the respect of the title he’d once held.
“Time.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Three days. After that, win or lose, I’m out.”
“Of Charleston?”
“Out of the United States and all her territories. For good.”
A surprising offer. One that would certainly please Ross and his team. And her, though she didn’t believe it would be that simple even if she had the authority to grant his request. “I suppose you expect me to give you carte blanche to cause trouble in the meantime.”
His short laugh sounded rusty and out of practice to her ears. “It’d be nice.”
She crossed her arms and looked into those dark blue eyes. “I guess that depends on what you want to do with your time.”
“I’m not here for revenge.”
“Yay,” she said with zero excitement, zero belief. “Convince me.”
“I don’t hold grudges. Too much baggage to lug around.”
“Of course you don’t,” she said, ignoring his grumbling reaction to her sarcasm. “But others do.” She watched his mouth flatten and his eyebrows draw close into a frown. He took a deep breath and she could practically hear him counting to ten in his head.
“Carpenter sent you.” His shoulders rolled back.
“You know he did.”
“To kill me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m no hired gun and you were already dead to him.”
“How did he learn differently?”
She shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.” Did he think she’d just hand him everything on a silver platter? “Want me to set up a meeting so you can clear the air?”
“No thanks. No time. Let him know my business here has nothing to do with him or his precious team. This doesn’t have to get ugly. If you leave me alone, I’ll do my job and be gone before you know it.”
“He’ll be so relieved.”
“Check with my handler—”
“You don’t have a handler.” Research access was a two-way street. She’d poked around his personnel jacket as far as her security clearance allowed. There’d been no way to be sure he was working outside of the blurry CIA lines until his eyes flared wide, confirming her instincts were right on target. It took the sting out of him noticing someone in the market that she’d missed. “Tell me what you’re really doing here. Last chance.” She cracked her knuckles while he debated which lie to feed her next.
“That’s classified.”
She felt her lips curve. “My clearance is up to date.”
“If I tell you anything, you become a target.”
“How long have you been in town?” He didn’t give her any reaction. She sighed, “You want me to believe that’s classified too. Garner, you’re not in the official system anymore.” She planted her hands on her waist, studying him. “Interesting how the Spoleto Festival has rubbed off on you.”
“What?”
He wasn’t an idiot and his timing couldn’t be a coincidence. He was in Charleston, along with people from all over the world, during the annual arts celebration for a specific reason. She wanted that reason. “I’ll give you credit, your theatrical skills are top notch. Too bad I’m not the gullible kind of audience.”
His features turned to stone and his gaze drifted to a point over her shoulder. “Give me a break.” He moved, quick as lightning, spinning her into his body and back into the cover of the overgrown plants. With her back against his chest, he held her tightly with an arm across her waist and his other hand pressing a cold blade to her throat. This close, feeling the tension radiating from every muscle in his body, she registered the size difference that gave him a distinct advantage.
The hold wasn’t anything she couldn’t break with leverage and the right angle, but she reconsidered as her vantage point changed. She reached back for her gun.
“Don’t,” he hissed at her ear.
“I can help,” she whispered. The stubble on his jaw rasped against her cheek as he shook his head ‘no’.
“Game’s up, Garner. Come on out.”
She felt the soft, cool earth under her shoes and knew they were standing on someone’s grave. She could only hope it didn’t become hers as well.
“You said you were alone,” he muttered in her ear.
“I am,” she replied between clenched teeth. From the shadows, with so much plant life between them, she couldn’t get a good look at the man who’d interrupted them, didn’t recognize the voice.
“You’ve lost a step. That old passport set off an alert at the airport.”
That did seem like a major slip for a man of Garner’s previous reputation and skill.
“Let’s all just chat a minute. You, me, and your friend Talbot, too.”
Who was this guy? She was clearly a hostage, not a friend. Her mind raced, wondering who’d sent this new player and how much he’d overheard. She didn’t have time to analyze further as Garner crept backward, his knife still at her throat, forcing her to move with him. Her shoe caught in a vine but stopping or going down risked injury—purposeful or otherwise. Shaking free of the vine’s grasp, she made too much noise and Garner muttered something uncomplimentary, jerking her bodily around a headstone and ducking low.
She heard the crunch of quick footsteps on the pavers and caught a glimpse of the menacing matte-black barrel of a serious weapon, complete with silencer.
That one detail changed her mind about everything. A stranger with a deadly weapon who knew both of their names. It didn’t give her much confidence that this would end in a good way. She was about to suggest they work together when Garner pushed her through a hedge and into an open courtyard flooded with sunlight.
Squinting, she rushed forward, looking for cover, but Garner caught her and hauled her in a different direction. The top rail of a wooden bench splintered as Garner passed it and Laura realized the shooter wasn’t trying to deter or disable, he was going for a gut shot. Someone wanted Garner to suffer as he left this world. Based on the little she knew about the former CIA officer, he probably deserved it.
Drawing her weapon, she aimed, but Garner reached back and knocked the gun away as he grabbed her, pulling her along. The gun skittered across the stones and she couldn’t recover it without making herself an easy target.
Livid at being a pawn in a game she didn’t understand, she followed him, taking shelter behind the solid granite corner of the church. “We should separate,” she suggested. She had a backup revolver at her ankle. “I’ll call the police.”
“No.” His hand enveloped hers in a crushing grip. “The police can’t stop him. Just stick with me. Don’t make a scene,” he ordered, moving toward the sidewalk.
“You know him,” she accused. Using the reflections of store windows to check if the shooter was trailing them, she noticed Garner doing the same.
“Not personally. Just his type.”
Questions, options, and resolutions raced through her mind. The first problem she should’ve been working on was how to get the upper hand over Garner. She might’ve made that a priority under normal circumstances, but instead she was stuck on the minutiae. “He knew my name.”
“I heard.” Garner hurried her around a corner, walking so quickly she nearly had to jog to keep up with his longer stride. “This way.” He zigged and zagged around couples and families clogging the sidewalks in search of the next historical landmark, attraction, or restaurant.
“Let me go. I can circle back, get behind him.”
“Not a chance. I need you alive.”
She couldn’t effectively debate or demonstrate her ability to take care of herself without causing the very scene he wanted to avoid. He marched them up the stairs to the valet stand of a stately hotel and asked for a cab.
A minute later the shooter strolled by on the sidewalk without sparing them a glance, but she knew they’d been spotted. She hadn’t registered much beyond the gun and the voice in the churchyard, but out on the street, she forced herself to catalog each detail. Average height, dark aviator sunglasses, medium brown hair trimmed short. Wearing a polo shirt and khakis, he blended easily with the Charleston businessmen and tourists. In passing, he’d be interchangeable with Garner—before the blond hair.
When the cab pulled up, she intended to slide right across the seat and out the other rear passenger door, but between Garner’s hold and the shooter casually snapping pictures at the end of the drive, she stayed put.
“You’re pretty popular for a dead man,” she murmured.