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CHAPTER THREE

A lyssa trembled as if they’d stepped into an Alaska winter, not a mild Boston spring night.

Her teeth chattered.

She’d kept it together, so far. She’d kept it together while listening to the scuffle a floor below, though she was mortified that she’d run away. She, the woman who’d wanted nothing more than to be a spy like her father and her cousin Michael, had hidden like a mouse.

Shame heated her face.

But what had her choices been? No weapon, no training, no…clue. Callan had told her to hide, so she'd hidden.

Stupid, obedient coward.

Or maybe that made her wise.

She’d kept it together as she’d packed, though she would surely have forgotten something important if not for Callan’s gentle reminders.

She’d kept it together while they stood in her building’s foyer, her watching out the window for enemies, him tapping on his phone.

Now, they walked along the sidewalk, exposed, and she still kept it together. As far as he could tell, anyway.

“Can you pull your suitcase?”

“What?” Then Callan’s words registered. “Yeah, okay.” She plopped her purse on top and then took the handle.

“Thanks.” He kept his voice low. “I want to be ready, just in case.”

She scanned their surroundings, certain that new enemies were going to pop out from an alley or drive up in a dark van.

They crossed Comm Ave, a wide, divided road. The heavy traffic made it impossible to talk.

On the far side, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“South.”

“That’s really helpful. Thanks.”

He shot her a smile. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Not really, but he was kind enough not to call her on it. “Seriously.” She stopped on the sidewalk, causing people to stream around her. “Where are you taking me?”

He gripped her arm and tugged. “Could you just trust me?”

Considering she was with him, she clearly trusted him. But why didn’t he trust her enough to give her an answer?

He turned toward the Hynes Convention Center and snaked along walking paths that led around it.

“You’re trying to lose them.”

“Darling.” His smile was tight. “Would you please shut up?”

“Why? Nobody can hear?—”

“You don’t know that.”

“Fine.”

They reached the Prudential Center, one of the tallest buildings in the city. The lower floors—all restaurants and shops—were open to pedestrians. They meandered to the entrance. As soon as the doors closed behind them, he grabbed her arm and started running.

On the opposite side of the giant atrium, he pushed open a door, slowing as they exited the Huntington Avenue side. He led her down the steps and across the courtyard to a waiting car.

A man stepped out and popped the trunk. “Caleb?”

“That’s us! Hop in, darling.” He reached for the suitcase handle. “I’ll get this.”

She grabbed her purse and sat in the backseat while Callan plopped her luggage into the trunk.

It slammed, and he slid in beside her.

The driver settled behind the wheel. “South Station, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Callan exhaled a long breath. Though his tone had been casual, tension tightened the skin around his lips.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to the driver. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

For crying out loud. Did they have to keep up the stupid charade with an Uber driver?

Callan took her hand and squeezed. “Just trying to figure out where we should go. My place won’t work because of the exterminator. And now your place won’t work.” He raised his voice. “Her apartment was broken into. Jerks made a mess of it.”

“Frickin’ thieves,” the driver said. “Imagine if they used their powahs for good, not evil, eh? Got jobs like the rest of us.”

“You’re not kidding, man.”

Seemed Callan was the kind of guy who made conversation with strangers.

She’d never been able to do that.

Callan leaned in and whispered. “I know a place. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but they don’t ask any questions.”

There were places like that on both ends of the cost spectrum. Cheap by-the-hour dumps, and high-end boutique hotels. At the second, the patrons paid very well to ensure their privacy would be honored above all.

Not that she was a snob, but if she had to choose between the two, she’d take the second, thank you very much.

“Why don’t we go to?—?”

Callan coughed, shaking his head.

Right. Discretion.

She tapped a note on her phone and showed it to him.

He read it, then looked up the place she’d suggested on his cell. His eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Why not?”

He rubbed his thumb against his fingers, telling her his objection was the cost.

She whispered back, “I got it.”

Not that she could afford the price tag, but Dad had an account, and he’d told her she could use it anytime she needed. What he lacked in affection, he made up for in cash.

Callan didn’t look happy, but he agreed. It was the first battle she’d won since this whole bizarre thing had started.

It took two Ubers, a taxi ride, a quick stop at an office supply store, and a two-block trek. All the while, she worried, tried not to look over her shoulder, and told herself they were safe.

Finally, they reached the place she’d chosen, a five-story brick brownstone in Cambridge that, aside from the small sign outside that simply read Rooming House , looked like all the other brownstones on the block.

The door opened as they approached, and a uniformed bellman said, “Welcome back, Ms. Wright.”

She felt Callan’s surprise but didn’t react to it. “Thank you.”

The small lobby tucked into what used to be a sitting room consisted of a tall counter that was either an antique or a good replica. The fifty-something man on the far side gave them a practiced smile. “Good evening, Ms. Wright.”

“It’s good to see you, Jonathan. Is the suite available?”

“It is.” He tapped on a laptop. “Will your father be joining you?”

“Not this time. And we would appreciate your discretion.”

“Certainly, Ms. Crenshaw.” He shifted to the false name seamlessly as he tapped his keyboard. He handed a small folder containing their key-cards to Callan. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Crenshaw.”

They took the elevator to the fifth floor. Though the building looked narrow from the front, years before she was born the hotel had expanded into the brownstones on both sides. It was much larger—and more confusing—than anybody would guess from the street.

Alyssa led Callan along a maze of corridors that had them going through open doors, stepping up in one place, then stepping back down in another.

Callan asked, “Should we drop breadcrumbs?”

“Almost there.” She led him down one more hallway and stopped in front of Dad’s favorite suite.

Callan unlocked it, and she stepped inside and exhaled, blowing out her fear. Nobody would be able to find them here. They were safe. For now.