Inside Out

63

Richmond, Virginia

Sean luxuriated in the tub for an hour. She didn't feel safe but, for the first time since she'd returned from Argentina, she felt relaxed. When she'd told Paul Gillman her abusive husband was a federal agent, she'd unconsciously cast Winter Massey in the role. But Winter was probably one of the least violent people she had ever met. He'd killed to save her life. It was a strange feeling to have such a strong emotional bond with a stranger. Winter was a complex individual who had gotten more interesting with every conversation. Why couldn't she have met Winter instead of Dylan? Would she, could she, have told him the truth?

Her skin was wrinkling so she got out, toweled off, and went into the bedroom, where her coat was hung over a chair. She reached into the pocket and removed the cash and the passport.

Sally McSorley's passport had a five-year-old picture of Sean Marks in it because it was the phony passport her mother had acquired for Sean's emergency kit. In the picture, Sean had auburn hair tucked behind her ears. Sean decided the picture made her look innocent. Had she ever been innocent? As a young girl in Catholic schools? As a college student? As the bride of a murdering son of a bitch masquerading as a human being? Had she ever had any choice? She wasn't going to waste time feeling like a victim-self-pity was a waste of energy.

She snapped open the revolver and looked at the shells in the cylinder. They might well come for her, but one thing was certain-she'd be one kill that somebody was going to have to work hard for.

After dressing, she picked up the backpack containing her computer, and slipped the pistol into her coat pocket. She considered dipping into the bundle of cash hidden inside a secret pocket in her duffel, a feature that Hoover had used to sell her the bag, but decided to leave it and her passport alone. After closing her door, Sean hooked the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob.

In the lobby, she got five dollars' worth of quarters from Max and walked to a pay phone down the street. She dialed information.

“United States Marshals Service. How may I direct your call?” The young woman's voice was pleasant and very Southern.

“I'd like to speak to Deputy Winter Massey.”

“I'm sorry, he's not in the office. Would you care to speak to another deputy or leave a message on his voice mail?”

Sean listened to Winter's recorded voice and hung up before the tone sounded. She dialed information again and asked the operator for the listing in Charlotte for Winter Massey.

“Sorry, no Winter Massey in Charlotte.”

Of course he wouldn't have the phone in his name. She had an idea how he might list it. “Do you have a listing for Lydia or a Rush Massey?”

After checking, the operator told her, “I show a Lydia Massey in Concord, North Carolina. Same area code.”

Sean didn't have anything to write with and she fought to remember the number as she pulled out her computer and opened it. She repeated the number until the computer booted up, and she typed it under a folder icon on her desktop, changing the file's name from “Misc,” to “7045529988.”

Staring down at the number, Sean felt suddenly insecure. She wanted to decide exactly what she would say to him. Would she ask for his help? How could she do that without putting him in danger? How much could she tell him? How many lies would she need to tell? She just needed to talk to him; maybe then, she would feel anchored again.

Nervously, she dialed the number, then dropped in the required number of coins. The voice that answered brought a rush of relief to her. She realized she was holding her breath.

“Winter?”

“Sean? Is it you?”