Sheikh's Rescue. Ryshia Kennie
I always react like this after a flight. Kind of a delayed reaction.”
An outright lie, she thought, noticing how his voice sounded thinner and he wouldn’t look at her. With any luck it was a temporary case of fear of the unknown. “Let’s get you settled,” she said. She got out and slid open the back door to get his luggage.
“The photography will be amazing,” Stanley said from just behind her. Now his voice sounded normal, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. There was nothing but anticipation in his tone. It was like he was trying too hard to hide his unease. “I can’t wait.”
“Wyoming is known for that, scenery. A photographer’s dream,” she agreed as she tried not to let her prejudice for all things Wyoming show. She supposed she’d already failed at that mission with her last sentence.
She went to step back and was stopped by Stanley. “Give me a bit of room,” she said as she leaned in and pulled his too-heavy suitcase from the backseat. Too heavy for anyone visiting for only ten days.
“Stanley,” she bit out as she backed up and her elbow bumped his soft midsection. “Move.”
A few minutes later, she slipped the key in the lock to the apartment door. She could almost feel him breathing. She swung around.
“Look, Stanley.” She hesitated, almost stumbling on the name. “If you want me to do my job properly, I need some space.” She wondered how many times she’d have to repeat that phrase.
He took a step back. He looked puzzled and anxious. It was becoming like a dance with two mismatched partners. She took a deep breath. As soon as she got his luggage inside, it was a dance that was going to end.
“In fact, wait here. Hold this.” She slipped the handle of the suitcase into his hand and turned to push the apartment door open. She was only mildly amused to hear the suitcase thump onto the floor.
“Having trouble?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder. He was fumbling with his vintage suitcase. It had no wheels and a worn faux-leather cover. It was an oddity. Like Stanley, she thought.
Her hand dropped to her Colt. She had just purchased it. The gun had replaced her old standby Glock that had seen her through her training and first year. The Colt was an exciting purchase. She could hardly wait to see action with this in her hand. But so far, other than target practice, she had yet to use it.
She moved past the entrance, noting everything. White laminate floors, gray walls, a couch to the left, table to the right. There was nothing else. She had to be sure. Stanley and his suitcase were forgotten. This was business. There was nothing but silence and the ticking of... She pulled the Colt, reveling in the feel of it in her hand. Other women loved new clothes. She loved guns. The thought made her smile. Something clicked. She swung, pointing the Colt in the direction of the sound. It was nothing but a wall clock in the kitchen. Someone had plugged it in since the last time she’d been here.
“Is this necessary?” Stanley’s frightened voice came from the hallway.
She held up a hand to him, motioning him to be quiet. On another assignment, in a different place, ticking had meant something so much more sinister. This wasn’t such a case, she reminded herself. Still, she needed to make sure. No matter the high probability that there was no threat. If there was, she needed to eliminate it. After all, someone had paid her to do just that.
The kitchen and living area gleamed as if they’d been recently cleaned and infrequently used. She took a step in and then two—she did a visual sweep of the area. It was overkill, she knew that, but one could never be too safe. She’d learned that through her arduous FBI training. The experience had been put into practice during the last year with Nassar.
A minute, two—she went through the small one-bedroom apartment. All clear, exactly as it should be. She went to the hallway and gave Stanley what she hoped would be interpreted as a friendly smile. One more come-hither look from him and she might punch him, she thought, knowing that of course she wouldn’t. She was too professional for that, but...the thought was out there.
“Let me take that,” she said. She lifted his duffel bag and set it on the coffee table. “You might want to take the suitcase into the bedroom.”
“Fine,” he said, looking slightly bewildered.
She opened the blinds that masked the balcony, letting in a stream of feeble sunlight. The snowstorm was on its last legs. The snowfall was a thin curtain, unlike the thick flakes that had blanketed the area in a layer of white earlier in the day.
“You’ll have a good view, and I’ll be just downstairs while you’re here.”
“Living?” he asked in a puzzled voice.
“Yes. As long as you’re here, I will be, too.” Exactly ten days, she wanted to say, no more.
His face lit up at that like she’d told him she’d be his best friend. And she supposed that in a way, for a time, she would be.
“There’s a beautiful view of the mountains,” she said as she slid the glass patio door open. She could smell his aftershave as he approached. She’d first become aware of the scent at the airport terminal, where it had preceded him as he’d disembarked in a cloud that was as pleasant as the lingering smell of cooked fish. She’d felt some sympathy for his seatmates on the flight and even those who might have been sitting nearby. Stanley wasn’t one to slide into the background; everything about him was distinctive.
She turned her attention to the street. A vacant lot was directly across from them. Beside it there was a parking lot with only a few snow-shrouded cars. The lot was blanketed in snow and shadowed by the stark branches of winter-dead trees. She frowned. The trees and shrubs blocked her view. She could see nothing between the parking lot and the low-rise brick building beside it.
“This place is small,” Stanley said as he came up too close beside her.
She moved one step over and thought again how this game was getting very old. She glanced at him, but he was looking not at the view but behind her, at the apartment. She turned back to the street.
“That’s because it’s temporary.”
And because they were staying away from the luxury homes and condos that would be harder to secure. She pressed a finger to her temple. She could feel the beginnings of a headache.
He wasn’t going away. She needed to deal. She turned to face the only headache she had—Stanley.
“Often the hunters and skiers use this same lodging, but there aren’t many around this time of year. Right now there are a few permanents, or longer stays, I guess you’d call them, and you. But you won’t spend much time in the apartment.”
“I suppose.” He turned his attention back to the apartment. “What channels do I get?”
“No idea,” she said, not caring if she was abrupt. She watched as he went back inside. That was one thing no one had checked, television channels. She knew there would be something wrong with them. Stanley was a complainer. Since the airport, he’d had a list of minor complaints. They ranged from the length of time it took for the luggage pickup, to the hard seats in the rental van. The apartment was no different. It was too small, too little light, too... He was in the kitchen now, running a finger along the counter.
“What’s around here? To do, I mean,” Stanley said a few minutes later as he came up beside her. “Other than great scenery.”
“You didn’t research before you came?” She supposed he’d want to do something other than take pictures, but that wasn’t her problem.
“Yes, but... I thought you might...” He smiled a slightly slick smile, obviously another ploy for her attention.
That was it.
“Have a seat,” she said pushing him toward the couch just off the kitchen. She picked up a couple of brochures she’d seen resting in a small squat bookcase and tossed them at him. “Looks like