“Welcome to the Red Lion.”

  “Huh?” Linda’s mind pulled back from thinking why the presidential announcement, expected for months, was being treated as big news. “What?”

  The middle-aged woman’s voice came from behind the hotel counter, she smiled and repeated, “Welcome to the Red Lion.” Her face had that fresh-scrubbed look, her skin taut, her eyes bulged slightly, her lips too plump to be naturally so. The name badge hanging on her yellow blouse made it sag unevenly on one side, pulling it open to a measure that fell between shy and brazen, her visible chest skin dotted with freckles. A Becky Thatcher with bigger, bolder boobs.

  After Linda finished at the front desk, she walked into the bar and took an overstuffed chair in a quiet corner near the river-rock fireplace. Normally, she ordered a wine, but this was not sophisticated drinking time. She ordered a martini, a double. Minutes later, the waiter returned and, without spilling a drop, skillfully put down a small cocktail napkin, centered her drink upon it, and left.

  While her mouth played with the first sip, a man weaved carefully around nearby chairs. He approached slowly, his stern manner that of a well-trained pit-bull. He was average built with broad shoulders, but had a behaved hardness about him. Given his direction she assumed he came from the bar.

  “Hello Linda.”

  She didn’t recognize this man, yet he knew her name. Perhaps he’s a parent from Steffi’s school? A student’s father she met at some past school function and forgotten.

  He stopped at her left and used one of his unexpectedly small, well-manicured hands to lean onto the back of the chair next to her. “How have you been?”

  “I don’t know you, sir.” Then, her nerves fully on alert, she challenged the approaching stranger. “Did you send me roses?”

  If he didn’t, he’ll conclude I’m daft and scurry away. Good riddance.

  He raised the drink in his hand toward her, showing small patches of hair on the backs of his fingers. “I hope they were all right. I told them to send their very best. Roses don’t last long. I wanted them to be as fresh as possible when you received them.”

  Linda sat forward. Her stare fixed on his narrowed eyes. “What the hell is this about? How dare you threaten my daughter to get my attention.”

  He ran his fingers across the hard edge of his square chin. “Call me Brad. Of course, that’s not my real name, but it’s the name you’re to use.”

  “I want to know what this is about.”

  “You usually stay here. It’s close to the Hobart School. I was simply stationed here to confirm your arrival. To buy you a drink and help you relax.”

  “Relax?” After a pause and a calming breath, she lowered her voice. “Relax,” she repeated. She leaned toward him, with hate behind her quiet eyes. “I’d like to puncture your scrotum with a serrated steak knife.”

  “Oh, that’s descriptive.” The slight slant to his hooded eyes widened. “But, please, no.” He grinned, his voice matching Linda’s for low. “Without consideration of the obvious pun, it would be pointless. I could tell you nothing. Patience, dear lady. The situation in which you find yourself, above all, calls for calm. You’ll learn everything you need to know.” He placed his open palm on his chest. “But not from me. I’m just a walk-on in this drama. I suggest you remain at ease. You’ll need a clear head. Now smile. Limit yourself to the one martini, a double is more than plenty. Then go up to your room. Get a good night’s sleep. Your daughter, Stephanie, is warm and safe in her bed at Hobart. You’ll see her in the morning.”

  The man glanced at his watch and spoke in a normal voice. “Sorry, love, I’m a bit behind schedule. He touched two fingers to his lips and leaned down to touch Linda’s cheek. She jerked away, her body pressing against the opposite side of her chair. “Gotta run. Ta ta.” He dropped a twenty on the table and walked away.

  Linda waited until he left the bar before she got up and followed. He walked out of the hotel and across the parking lot to the front street. A dark SUV immediately, but unhurriedly, pulled to the curb, its broadside facing Linda who remained in the hotel lobby. She couldn’t see the license plate. The window glass was tinted. Brad got in behind the driver. That indicated there were likely at least two others, possibly three, in the vehicle which promptly pulled out onto the dark street and disappeared into the night. Local lights reflected off the wet northwest pavement.

  Linda went back into the bar, chose a different chair on the other side of the room and, ignoring Brad’s advice, ordered a second martini, also a double. With her drink in hand, she searched her memory for some connection between her past calamities and this present threat to Steffi. As for Brad’s identity, who he worked for, and the objective of whomever that was, she had no clue.

  3

  Before shutting the door to her hotel room, Linda slid the plastic do-not-disturb tab into the outside slot for the cardkey lock. After closing the door, she reached over and flicked on the wall switch. The light didn’t come on.

  “Leave the room dark.”

  Linda gasped, dropping her small suitcase to the floor. Another man. Another voice. Not Brad. This voice was different. Deeper. Older. It couldn’t be Brad. She had watched him leave in the backseat of the dark SUV. She reached for the doorknob.

  “I have a gun on you, Linda Darby. Don’t try to leave. You’re safe. So is Steffi, for the moment.”

  Linda froze.

  “Move toward my voice. Keep your right hand in contact with the wall. After you turn the corner, you’ll touch a chair. Sit it in.”

  Linda slid her hand along what felt like a vinyl-covered wall. She reached the corner, moving around it to her right until her hand touched the rougher fabric of a chair. “Okay. I’m at the chair. What do you want?”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “I asked you what you wanted.”

  “Right now, this isn’t about what I want. It’s about you seeing your daughter in the morning, so I’d suggest you keep your wits about you. Take off your sweater and slacks. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re wearing a sweatshirt, not a sweater. In any event, get them off—right now.”

  Linda stood still, willing herself to remain under control. She stiffened and pulled her green sweatshirt over her head. After tucking the hoodie to the front, she folded it once lengthwise, then across the middle before dropping it where she stood.

  The man remained quiet.

  A moment later, she unfastened the belt at the top of her slacks, unhooked the clasp, drew down the zipper, and, after bending slightly at the waist, stepped her first leg, then the other, out of her pants. She folded them lengthwise, then in half near the knee, and dropped them where she imagined they might fall on top her sweatshirt.

  “Sit.”

  She did.

  “There’s a lamp to your right. Turn it on. Don’t touch the shade. I have it angled to shine on your face. Keep your eyes forward. And don’t move the piece of two-by-four wedged along the cushion behind you.”

  Linda’s reached back. Her hand touched the wood. “What the hell’s this for?”

  “Now stand up.”

  “Stand, sit, stand, what are you some kinda control freak?”

  “Call it practice. You need to become accustomed to doing what you’re told, when you are told to do it.”

  She stood, absentmindedly sliding her fingers under the elastic waistband of her panty. She tugged them a bit higher.

  She heard his low, gruff, chuckle, a mature voice, throaty, perhaps from too much smoking or alcohol. She imagined a neck swag of purposeless flesh vibrating with his moment of perverse gaiety.

  “A woman and her vanity, I love it. No need to be self-conscious. You’ve got a hell of a body, honey. Must be all that beach running you do. It’s wonderful for the legs and butt.”

  “I’m not shy. I’m frightened.”

  “No need. As long as you play by my rules, follow orders.”

  “What do you want?” She self-consciously put her hands behind her. The position made her feel even more vulnerable. Unsure what to do with her hands, she brought them back around in front and intertwined her fingers. Her joined hands settled against her pubic area.

  “We’re going to have you kill someone.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Sit down. No need for you to remain standing. Killing this man is a simple thing.”

  “I’m not a killer.”

  “I told you to sit down.” His voice now riding a hardened edge.

  She glared at the dark image of the man sitting some eight or ten feet away, directly across from her. Then she sat.

  “About two years ago, you evaded Blue, a trained assassin, on the beach at night. Eventually, you killed Blue while he had his attention on you. That took real talent. When we learned of that, you became a woman worthy of our attention. We kept an eye on you like a professional football team watches a hot-shot high school quarterback. Compared to Blue, your kill for us will be a piece of cake.”

  My God. Who are these people? They know about Steffi, my running on the beach, and even my killing Blue.

  “Blue, as you called him, invaded my home intending to kill me. I defended myself. What you’re speaking of is murder.”

  “Labels. What do they matter? The man you will kill deserves to die. If you don’t kill him, we’ll have someone else do it. You should consider that too. He’ll be dead either way. You can’t save him, but you can save your daughter. Given that choice, I expect you’ll do my bidding.”

  “I don’t kill people. You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Make no mistake. The decision you make tonight, in this room, will kill someone. Either you’ll act to kill a man who deserves to die, or your inaction will end the life of your lovely young daughter, who doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “You monster. … You son of a bitch.”

  “An understandable response, but it changes nothing. The target isn’t someone you know. In fact, if you knew all that I know, you’d agree he deserves to die. He’s interfering with the future of our wonderful country. But, your consent or agreement is not important. I require only your obedience—to be sure, precise and exacting obedience. Don’t worry, I’ll provide everything you need, including a perfect alibi.”

  “I won’t do it. Now, do what you came to do and get the hell out.”

  “How amusing. You think I’m here merely to ravage your body. Not a bad idea. You’re a lovely woman. You look very sexy in those black boy-short panties. Let me be clear. The man you will kill is a whoremonger. Your luscious curves will get you close enough to do the job. But, me, tonight, no my dear, of that you have no concern. Tonight, is strictly business. I came only to hire you for a necessary execution. … Forgive me, I should’ve mentioned the hiring part sooner. We’ll pay you a quarter of a million dollars when it is done.”

  “Never.”

  “Take off your bra.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The odor from a silenced shot immediately stunk the room. Wood splinters struck Linda’s neck and cheek. Reflexively, she flinched, twisting away from the sound and bite of the splinters. Her right knee jerked up toward her chest. All this happening in a quiet instant that started with the muffled shot and ended with the jerk of her knee.

  “Look at the piece of wood, my dear.”

  She did. The angled lampshade clearly showed a wallet-sized picture of Steffi stapled to the top end of the wood, her face torn by the bullet that remained embedded in the wood.

  “I could’ve as easily hit your arm or your breast as I did that piece of wood. Or Steffi during recess on the playground at Hobart School. The camera we used to target Steffi can be a gun next time.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The dark blob she knew to be him moved within the chair. Maybe he shrugged his shoulders, or crossed his legs. She couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. It would change nothing. His threat remained.

  “Throw me the two-by-four . . . easy.”

  Linda lobbed it softly, with an arc. She saw his dark silhouette lean to his left. From the slap-sound, she knew he caught it.

  “Now stand up and toss me your bra. . . . Do it.”

  Linda reached behind her, unhooked her bra and threw it toward his outline.

  “Move back a step and turn to your right, just a little. . . . That’s good. A lovely woman shouldn’t stand totally in the dark. Take off your shoes and keep ahold of them.”

  Linda did so, holding one in each hand.

  “Throw one toward each side of the room, hard enough for them to hit the walls. I ask this with some reluctance. A woman’s naked legs look delicious in high heels. You are to wear heels when we put you in touch with your target.”

  Thud.

  Linda had thrown her first shoe to her right, his left. She threw her second shoe to her left, his right. Thud. She moved her feet to shoulder’s width, put her hands on her hips, and glared at his shadowy presence. Her arms eventually slid lower to hang at her sides.

  “Now what?”

  “Now I leave. Don’t be sad. We’ll be watching Steffi, and we’ll be aware of you at all times. We’ll be in contact. Give up the silly notion of trying to figure a way out of this. You have no choice. If you go to the police, I’ll know. That’ll break our bond of trust. As punishment, Steffi will die. You don’t know who I am and have no idea who the target is. In the end, the man will still die. Thus, Steffi will die in vain.”

  Linda’s hand went to her face. Realizing he could see her, she lowered her hand and cleared her face of the reaction.

  “We know all about you, all about your friends. Your lovers. And my, my how you do get around on that score. The only one we won’t kill is that no good loser who knocked you up, then abandoned you to raise Steffi on your own. Shame on him. What’s this world coming to? Perhaps we can help you eliminate him, after you’ve completed your mission for us. Think of it as a bonus for a job well done.”

  “If you’re leaving why did you have me take off—?”

  “What were you wondering, my dear? What kind of man do you think I am?” He laughed as if what he said had been a good joke. “I only wanted to slow your ability to follow me. Like most men, I’m visual and you’ve got a great set of jugs. Go along with all this, my dear, and keep your world safe. Take the quarter million smackers. To raise a daughter today, private school, college, it’s expensive. More expensive that K-6 at the Hobart School. All that needs to change for you and Steffi to live happily ever after, is for a no good bastard to die. Think of him as your ex-husband. Frankly, the two men have a lot in common.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Take off your panties.”

  The bastard is proving he controls me. For now, I need him to think he does.

  Linda eased her thumbs under the elastic top, expanded her panties, and lowered them down over her hips. After a momentary pause, she pushed them below her knees, leaving them to fall to the floor, and stepped one leg out of them, then the other. In an irrational fragment of thought, she remembered that two nights ago, while thinking of Dix, she’d trimmed her pubic hairs. Using a razor, she had reduced the patch to a two-inch wide swath. Fortunately, she’d abandoned the thought she gave to further shaping what remained into a down pointing arrowhead.

  “Throw them toward the door. Try to hit it. Go ahead, now. Give ‘em a good toss. Okay. Good job. Nice jiggle. Now come back and sit down.”

  Linda sat down and crossed her legs.

  “Turn the lamp off.”

  She did.

  A small penlight illuminated her naked breasts.

  “Lie on the floor. Face down with your feet toward the door.”

  She lowered herself onto the carpet. Glancing back, she saw the beam from the penlight brighten her butt.

  “Crawl toward the window until the top of your head is against the wall.”

  She began to crawl.

  “Goodbye. Oh, I almost forgot, I left twenty-five thousand dollars on the bed. Consider it a good faith gesture, a modest ten percent down payment for services to be rendered, the killing of a two-legged cockroach.”

  After momentarily stopping to listen, Linda resumed her crawl to the wall.

  “Tomorrow morning go to Hobart School as you’ve planned. Assure yourself that Steffi is okay, at least for now. We’ll be in touch. Be ready.

  The door shut.

  She got up and turned on the lamp, instinctively realigning the shade. Her bra was still on the floor, although not as near her slacks and sweatshirt as she imagined it would be. After a moment she found her shoes, the second one in the space between the bed and the wall. On the mattress lay several neat, modest sized rubber-banded bundles of cash.

  The piece of wood with Steffi’s picture was gone. She shivered. Not from cold, but from unwelcome awareness.

  Her panties were gone too. A clue perhaps? Maybe to be left near the body of the man they intended her to murder. They wanted her to take the fall for the murder. For now, her only defense would be a wild story about men she couldn’t identify and threats made against the daughter almost no one knew she had.

  4

  Linda engaged the deadbolt for her room and closed the clasp that prevented the door from behind opened from the outside, even with a passkey. Next, she opened her suitcase and put on a fresh pair of panties and pulled her sweatshirt back over her head. She grabbed her purse from behind the chair where she’d dropped it when the man first ordered her to sit, and tossed it in the center of the bed. She closed the drapes over the window, turned on the lamp on the nightstand, pulled back the bedding, and sat on the bed. She tucked her bare feet under the mostly white bedspread adorned with roses. She pulled her purse to her, and dug around inside until she found the cell phone she rarely used. Before leaving Sea Crest she put that cell phone, one she normally didn’t carry, in her purse. She charged it while driving to Portland. The cell phone Ryan Testler gave her for whenever she needed him.