Page 7 of No Time Off (Lexi Carmichael Mystery #15)

SEVEN

Lexi

T he drive to Dulles was mostly uneventful. Slash adeptly steered the limousine as if he had been driving it his entire life. In the back, Hands and Gray were sipping champagne from the limo’s minifridge and keeping Slash and me abreast of our tails. It appeared only one car had left the house with us, but Gray was convinced a second car had joined while we were en route.

“They’re such amateurs,” Hands said. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Slash?”

Slash didn’t respond, but I saw the small smile on his face.

“How can you be sure we have two tails?” I asked Gray. I didn’t see it and didn’t dare turn around to check from the front passenger seat, but she seemed confident, and Slash wasn’t contradicting her. Of course, as a CIA agent, she had a lot more experience and training in this area than I did.

“That gray Toyota has been staying just behind us since we got onto the freeway,” she said. “He’s totally the pap.”

“I believe you, babe,” Hands said and then gave her a kiss. “Let’s play up our part. If anyone is checking us out, they will see the happy couple starting off their honeymoon in the back seat of a limo drinking champagne and making out.”

Gray smacked his arm. “Knock it off, Hands. We’re on a mission. Stay focused.”

“I am focused,” Hands said, and we all laughed.

At one point, our main tail attempted to pull their car alongside ours to look inside. Hands and Gray ducked down, and Slash kept changing speeds and maneuvering around other cars to make it difficult for them. Finally, they gave up and settled in behind us for the rest of the trip to the airport.

When we arrived at Dulles, Slash guided the limousine into a small slot near the international departures doors. Our main tail and the gray Toyota pulled in behind us. Gray had been right—we did have two tails.

“Have a good trip, you two,” Gray murmured as Slash opened her door. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks for everything,” I said as she slipped out, followed quickly by Hands.

They kept their heads down, their faces still hidden as much as possible. Slash handed them the luggage from the back like a good driver, and they hurried into the terminal. The paparazzi hung back slightly, but one person from each car followed them into the terminal as Slash and I drove off.

We left the terminal area and headed toward the business aviation hangars and warehouses. One of the paparazzi followed us, but we pulled up to a gate and spoke to the guard. We waited while she made a call on her phone.

Soon afterward, the gate swung open, and we pulled into a secure parking area inside a large, mostly empty hangar. The paparazzo, unable to follow, peeled away, headed in a different direction.

Slash and I exchanged a smile.

We retrieved our luggage from the back of limo that we’d placed there the day before and entered a small office area. We went into the restrooms and changed into our traveling clothes: I removed my hat and porter outfit and put on a pair of soft traveling pants, a white shirt, and a long tan sweater. Disguise or not, I was going to be comfortable on the plane.

I finished off my new look with a blond wig in a blunt cut and some badly applied makeup. We are who we are.

I met Slash outside. He looked ravishing in slacks, a polo, a jaunty sailor’s hat, and a neatly trimmed mustache. Slash had determined there should be no issues with our passport photos since women dye and cut their hair all the time, and Slash could certainly grow a mustache. Nonetheless, the overall effect, according to Slash’s trained eye, was we now appeared to be two completely different people.

My phone vibrated as we caught the parking bus back to the airport terminal. It was Gray. I swiped my phone on and pressed it to my ear.

“Hello,” I said.

“How’s it going?” Gray asked. “All’s well?”

“All’s well,” I confirmed. “We lost them. How about you?”

“We got busted in line at the ticket counter. It was hilarious. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. The paparazzi were livid, especially when I told them they’d got the wrong airport…suckers.”

I stifled a laugh. “Good for you.”

“Trust me, I’ve never seen faces so mad. They might have even gotten violent if Hands wasn’t there looking so menacing in his long, dark toupee.”

“I bet.” Now a laugh escaped, and Slash looked at me questioningly. He’d only heard my side of the conversation, so I’d have to fill him in later.

As we got off the bus at the terminal, I could see one of the paparazzi cars returning to pick up the two men. They never even glanced our way.

I nodded in their direction to Slash. “I think they’d be quite disappointed to know how close they really were to getting us.”

He chuckled. “Au contraire, cara . They were never really close at all.”