The Hunted

12

“Shit.”

Michael Chambers broke out into a cold sweat. If the men in suits were indeed coming for him, he didn’t have much time. He turned his attention to the keyboard and began tapping out a message.

He paused, glanced back to check on the approaching men. His eyes found them, no more than thirty yards away now. But they didn’t have the appearance of store security personnel, and they obviously were not the cops who had been searching for him in the hospital.

Maybe they weren’t looking for him after all.

Chambers entered a few other variations on the “rose” theme of the e-mail address in case his jumbled memory was incorrect. He quickly scrolled down, hit SEND, and received the MESSAGE SENT confirmation.

He logged off and peered around the edge of the kiosk. The men — whoever they were — were now a few strides away. He pulled the bill of the hat lower on his face and slid out of the seat, strolling casually down the other side of the mall, in the opposite direction of the men.

He had walked no more than twenty paces when he realized he had left Ellen Haskins’s MasterCard at the GlobalNet kiosk. He stopped and turned to look in the direction from which he had just come and noticed the two suits huddling over the Internet terminal.

Okay, store security. All they want is the credit card. Slap on the wrist probably. I’ll explain the amnesia and that’ll be that.

Chambers turned and headed off in the direction of Dillard’s, where he would leave the mall and grab the taxi that was waiting for him. He had gone another five yards when two other men in navy blue suits suddenly stepped out in front of him. As one of them held up a two-way radio to his mouth, Chambers spun and ran off, back in the direction from which he had just come.

Within seconds, his path was blocked by the original two men, the tall one holding Ellen Haskins’s credit card in his hand. The shorter man locked eyes with Chambers and pressed the button on his two-way.

“We’ve got him.”