The Blonde

12:25 a.m.

Sheraton, Room 702

They sat on the couch in the upper level of the room, three steps up from the bedroom pit. It was a soft couch, decorated in a bland pattern of light tans and browns. Look at it too long and you’d fall asleep. That was the point, in a hotel like this. Spend most of your time unconscious. Then pay us and head back home. Jack sat on one end, while Kelly sat on the other. She removed her shoes and put her bare feet up on the couch, mere inches away from Jack.

“Okay, let’s get to it. First, I have to tell you why I selected you.”

“So this wasn’t random.”

“Hardly. Had you picked out on the plane from Houston. I was sitting two rows behind. I can’t blame you for not noticing me. You walked to the bathroom in the rear of the place only once, but the plane was rocking a bit. You fought hard to keep your balance. Remember?”

It was true. Jack damn near sprayed his own pants in the rest room, with all the turbulence.

“I heard you talking to the guy in the next seat. He was a lawyer, and you told him you were a journalist. Were you telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I’m a reporter. I work for a weekly newspaper in Chicago. You know, if this is about a story pitch, you could have explained this to me. We could have set up interviews on tape, on the record. I could have helped you, whatever kind of trouble you’re in. Why did you do all of this?”

“Because without you, I’d be dead.”

“Oh.”

Jack paused.

“What does that mean}”

“I mean that literally. If I don’t have someone within ten feet of me at all times, I’ll die.”