The Easy Way Out

34

Rachel's car wheeled into the parking lot of an opulent hotel. She turned off the headlights then found a parking space concealed in the shadows at the edge of the lot. With disinfectant wipes, meticulously, she swiped the steering wheel, the glove box, and the door handles.

She popped the trunk, gripped her overnight bag, then crossed the parking lot into the lobby. She rode an elevator up to the fourth floor. In the tight space, she could smell herself. She'd been craving a therapeutic long, hot shower to unlock her shoulders and untangle the knots in her neck. And a thick-cut steak. Nice and rare with just enough fat to provide a burnt, buttery flavor.

When the elevator door slid open, two men in suits stepped in, eying her lustily. She exited, surveying the vacant corridor. She scanned the room numbers on her way down the hall and stopped at room four-twenty-four. The door opened to reveal Damon wearing a lopsided grin, his scarred forehead a souvenir from his car accident.

"Whoa! Dig the hair, chicka," he said.

She skimmed past, tossing her satchel onto the bed. He pulled Rachel close, kissing her hard. As she withdrew he asked, "You got something for me?"

"It's someplace safe."

His grin evaporated when he realized that she wasn't joking. "You put my money someplace safe?! You made that executive decision on your own?!

"We'll get it tomorrow."

When she abruptly broke the embrace, he grimaced, rubbing his aching ribs. "This is way fucked up!"

"You called them from the payphone, right?"

"You think I'm stupid?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes. I called them from the payphone."

"Why do I feel like you might've gotten lazy?" She looked him dead in the eyes with a sharp coldness that seemed to penetrate all the way into his brain. "Convince me."

"You think I wanna see those faces again? Especially up close? Hell, no."

She held him in a long gaze before her eyes finally softened. "I'm gonna take a hot shower. And then we can get cozy." She planted a cursory kiss on his cheek, unzipped her overnight bag, and tossed a long dark-haired wig on the bed. On her way to the bathroom, she said, "I'm starving. Order me a steak. Rare. The biggest one they got. And maybe some champagne? To celebrate."

"Gotta pick him up at the airport tomorrow at eleven," he grumbled. "That means we need to be on the road by nine."

With a seductive grin on her pretty face, she closed the bathroom door.

Damon fumed. "This is so not cool, Rachel."

His thoughts drifted back to that momentous Tuesday evening at Booty's Sports Bar, eighteen months ago. While the weekday crowd thinned, Damon had his pick of empty barstools. Four beers beyond buzzed, he planted himself on a stool near the raven-haired bartender.

"Drinking light beer, Damian?" she asked.

"I can take a not-so-subtle hint." He leaned forward to hide his generous waistline. "And it's Damon."

She drew a beer from the tap. His glassy eyes went from her breasts to Karas and Pat lumbering through the exit. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Hey, Rachel. You know where those dudes are going?"

Half-listening, she rinsed glasses behind the bar.

"They're going to a garage in Greenfield," he said. "To pick up a bag full of money."

"Really."

"That's where I work. That garage."

"Fascinating." She attempted to curtail his rambling with an oblique glance.