A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Kiss Me Goodbye

Harry tossed an overnight case in the back of his car, glanced at his watch to make certain he still had more than enough time to make his noon flight, and went back into the house. As he was loading his breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, the phone on the wall rang and he picked it up. "Hi, beautiful," Louis Tomlinson's voice was warm and crisp, an odd combination, Harry thought. "I know it's short notice, but I'd love to see you this weekend. I could fly in from Dallas and take you to dinner tomorrow night for Valentine's Day. Better yet, why don't I fly you here, and I'll cook?"

Harry had already decided that if he were actually being watched, an "innocent" trip like the one this weekend might actually fool his spies into letting down their guard. "I can't, Louis, I'm leaving for the airport in a half hour."

"Where are you going?"

"Is that an official question?" Harry asked, cradling the phone between his shoulder and chin and rinsing out a glass.

"If it was official, wouldn't I be asking it in person?"

His instinctive liking and trust of Louis warred with the wariness Zayn made him feel, but until he actually got into his car to leave Keaton for the last time, it seemed wisest and easiest to stick completely to the truth. "I don't know whether you would or not," he admitted.

"Harry, what can I do to make you trust me?"

"Quit your job?"

"There has to be an easier way."

"I still have some things to do before I leave. Let's talk about this when I get back."

"From where and when?"

"I'm going to visit a friend's grandmother in a little town in Pennsylvania—Ridgemont, to be exact. I'll be home late tomorrow."

He sighed. "Okay, then. I'll call you next week and we'll make a date?"

"Mmm. Fine," Harry said absently, pouring detergent into the dishwasher and shutting the door.

Louis Tomlinson hung up the phone in his office, placed a second call, and waited for the answer, drumming his fingers on his desk. He snatched the phone on the first ring, and a woman's voice said, "Mr. Tomlinson, Harry Mathison has reservations on a flight out of Dallas connecting through Philadelphia to Ridgemont, Pennsylvania, on a commuter flight. Will you need any further information?"

"No," he said with a relieved sigh. He got up, walked over to the windows, and frowned at the scanty weekend traffic moving down the Dallas boulevard. "Well?" Dave Ingram said, coming in from the adjoining office. "What did he tell you about the suitcase he put in his car?"

"The truth, damn it! He told me the truth, because he has nothing to hide."

"Bullshit. You're conveniently forgetting that phone call from South America he waited for at school the other night."

Louis swung around. "South America? Have you gotten a trace then?"

"Yep, five minutes ago. The call he got came through a hotel switchboard in San Lucia Del Mar."

"Malik!" Louis said, his jaw tightening. "What name did he register under?"

"José Feliciano," Ingram said. "That arrogant son of a bitch actually registered as José Feliciano!"

Louis stared in disbelief. "He's using a passport with that name?"

"The clerk at the desk didn't ask for a passport. She thought he was a native. Why not, he's dark, he had a Spanish name, and he speaks Spanish—helpful when one lives in California, no doubt. He has a beard now, by the way."