“Now, let’s have you slip this on and we’ll run a quick
memory scan, okay?” the credit planner said in a professional, cheerful voice.
She stood next to me and slid the headset over my hair, resting the pads behind
each ear. I reached up to make sure they were steady and brushed her fingers by
accident. She didn’t move away immediately. I wondered if I should ask her out
for coffee when we were done.
“Mr. Thomas? Mr. Thomas?” She was kneeling beside me,
headset in hand, shaking my arm, which was resting on the chair arm. Wide-eyed
and white-faced, she looked scared. I didn’t understand? We were just putting
the scanner on?
“I don’t—”
“Mr. Thomas. I think you should go.” She stood up and
stepped away, smoothing her skirt with nervous, fluttering hands. Dropping the
headset on her desk with a clatter, she jumped at the sound. “Please….go….now.”
She was eyeing the door as if mercs might leap through at any minute. I shook
my head to clear it and stood up.
She took a step toward me and reached out her hand, resting
it on my forearm. It didn’t feel like flirting now. “Be careful,” she said
quietly. “I’m trying to think where you might go with that—” she waved her
other hand toward my head, and I grimaced. What had happened? What was
happening? What had she seen?
“You might go to the FBI. Not any other agency, do you hear
me? Or, to tell you the truth, if I were you, I would go straight up to LAX and
fly to either the Cayman Islands or Switzerland.”
I’m sure my eyes bugged out. She nodded seriously. “Be
careful,” she said again, dropping her hands to her sides. I couldn’t think of
a thing to say, so I nodded and left.
Walking to the transit, I felt the hairs on the back of my
neck prickling. Was I being watched? Jeez, she had really freaked me out. I
tried not to look around like a paranoid. Tried to shrug it off. But when I got
to the transit, I didn’t head south to my apartment. I headed north to Los
Angeles.
TBC?
|
Dogs in house:
|
Houdini, Brindle
|
|
|
|
|
May word count:
|
|
No comments:
Post a Comment