Hard Target (A Jon Reznick Thriller) by J. B. Turner

Author:J. B. Turner [Turner, J. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-20T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

Thirty minutes later, Rosalind spotted a mud-splattered white Chevrolet Suburban driving into the parking lot. A young woman was driving, smoking a joint, waving through the window at them. She wondered if the girl should be behind the wheel but decided to let it slide. Her main concern was getting out of sight. “Interesting.”

Reznick turned to Trevelle. “Is this her?”

Trevelle grinned. “Oh yeah. She’s great.”

“Is she stoned?” Reznick said.

“Probably.”

The young woman rolled down her window. She was in her late twenties and had high cheekbones and long brown hair. She had a nose ring in her right nostril. “Trevelle, what the hell’s going on, man?”

“Fifi, it’s a long story. I know it’s late and this is all pretty weird. And I know I’m expecting a big favor, but you mind if my friends get a lift too?”

“Plenty of room. Jump in, guys.”

Rosalind slid in the back seat beside Reznick. Trevelle sat up front.

Fifi turned around and offered the joint to Dyer. “You want some grass?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Fifi shrugged. “Not a problem.” She looked at Trevelle. “Man, I haven’t seen you since . . . forever!”

Trevelle turned around and rolled his eyes. “We left the NSA on the same day. Fifi’s a lot of fun.”

Fifi laughed and drove off. “Lot of fun. Were the NSA pissed or what?”

“Mighty pissed,” Trevelle said.

Rosalind interrupted the love-in. “I appreciate you helping us out.”

“Don’t sweat it, hon,” she said.

“Fifi, we’re looking for a place to disappear until tomorrow,” Trevelle told her.

“Disappear? I love it. Are you guys fugitives from the government?”

Trevelle laughed. “That’s exactly what we are.”

“Then I’m 100 percent your guy.”

“Got any suggestions?”

“Let me think. Oh yeah, I’ve got a suggestion. So as long as you guys haven’t murdered anyone or aren’t planning to kill anyone, I’m cool with it.”

Reznick said, “Appreciate that. And no, we haven’t murdered anyone. At least not yet.”

Fifi burst out laughing. “You guys are crazy. I love it! Well, here’s the thing. My parents are out of town. They have a cool place in Georgetown. I have the keys. Skiing in Europe or some such shit.”

Rosalind leaned forward. “And they won’t mind?”

“Probably. But if you’re just staying for a day or two, no problem. They won’t be back for another week. You mind telling me what this is all about?”

Rosalind said, “It’s complicated. And we’re going to need your discretion.”

“Whatever.” Fifi negotiated a few tight bends before she found a straight bit of road, just outside town. “OK,” she said, taking a long drag of the joint, “we’re finally on the move.”

“I owe you one,” Trevelle told her.

“Damn right you do.”

Fifi and Trevelle struck up an animated conversation, oblivious to the two adults in the back seat. They talked about South Beach, why she hadn’t visited him for six months, Fifi setting up a new cybersecurity consulting firm with two former NSA staffers, marijuana laws in Colorado, and why the President should be certified.

Rosalind zoned out and wound down her window, grateful for the cool night air rushing in. “That better?”

Reznick cleared his throat and did the same.

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