Intuition - Part Two
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1999
"I have no idea who she was."
John slammed his fist on the table. "I saw you with her. She yelled at you and took off. You killed her because she rejected you."
"You were spying on me?"
"That's not the point. What did you say to her at the bar?"
Trevor sighed. "I was trying to hook her up with my friend. She wasn't interested. She left. The next time I saw her...she was in the lot."
"Is that where you attacked her?" John asked as he leaned on the table.
"I told you, I didn't attack her! When we found her, she was already dead."
"Cut the crap, Hale. All that matchmaking must get frustrating after a while. Always setting people up but never getting the girl yourself."
A hint of a smirk crossed Trevor's face. "You're underestimating my personal charm."
"I seriously doubt it."
Sam's entrance silenced Trevor's response. "Mr. Hale, you're free to go." Trevor rose as John began to protest, but Sam put her hand on John's arm to stop him. "His alibi is solid. He was with his friend all night."
John kept silent, but a muscle twitched in his jaw as he glared at her hand until she removed it. After a moment, John realized Trevor was standing by the door, watching them, and not leaving. "Is there a confession you forgot to give us?" John asked through clenched teeth.
"No," Trevor answered with a smile. "Just...watching."
"She said you're free to go. So go." As Trevor opened the door, John offered a parting command. "Just don't go too far."
***
Claire sat back in her chair as she was transferred to yet another extension in the police phone system. She'd been trying to reach Dr. Waters for five minutes, and everyone seemed anxious to help her with anything they could--as long as it wasn't putting her through to the FBI agent she was looking for in the first place.
Finally, the ringing stopped. "Grant."
"Agent Grant?" Claire asked in confusion. "I was trying to reach Dr. Waters."
"Who is this?"
"Claire Allen. Is Dr. Waters there by any chance?"
John was silent for a moment. "Dr. Allen--Hale's keeper, right?"
"I'm his psychologist, yes."
"Is there something I can do to help you?"
"Yes, actually, I'd like to talk to Dr. Waters."
There was another slight pause before he answered, "She's not here at the moment, but I can have her call you."
"That's fine." She gave him her office and cell phone numbers and hung up the phone wondering briefly about the security surrounding the agent before returning to her own work.
***
It was almost lunchtime when a knock at the door distracted Claire from her reading. "Come in," she called as she sat up and made sure she wasn't too wrinkled from being slouched over her desk for the last hour. Her eyes widened in surprise when the door opened. "Dr. Waters," she said as she stood. "You didn't have to stop by in person."
Sam smiled as she crossed the room. "I was at the scene of last night's crime and your office was on the way. I figured I might as well come by."
"Please, have a seat," Claire offered, indicating the chair in front of her desk. Both women sat down. "There was another crime last night? Was it the same killer?"
Sam nodded. "I figured Mr. Hale would have told you."
"Trevor was involved?"
"He found the body."
"Again?" Claire sighed. This just kept getting worse. She didn't know how much more Trevor could take. She had no idea what he was repressing from his past, but the trauma he'd experienced over the last two days couldn't be helping his state of mind. Of course, the FBI might be able help her with his past. "Dr. Waters--"
"Please, call me Sam."
"Sam...Trevor is sort of a special case for me." She wondered if telling the FBI about Trevor's delusions would make him look guilty somehow, but then she realized that if they didn't know already, they'd find out soon enough. It would be better not to hide it, or at least what she could tell of it. She took a deep breath. "He thinks he's Cupid."
A hint of a smile appeared on Sam's face. "John mentioned something about that. Apparently your Mr. Hale declined to answer any questions until John called him Cupid."
"I'm not surprised," Claire responded with a slight laugh. "I don't think he liked your partner very much."
She was surprised when Sam bristled a little at that comment. "He's not really my partner. We're part of a whole team."
Her reaction was puzzling. Unless...maybe Trevor was onto something after all. Claire gave herself a mental shake. Trevor. He was the reason for this conversation. "I'm almost certain that Trevor's delusions stem from something in his past that was so painful he's completely blocked everything about himself from his mind, and he truly believes he's Cupid."
"Then where did the name 'Trevor Hale' come from?"
Claire ducked her head, ashamed to admit to one of the things she'd kept from the state. "From a sign in the courtroom at his sanity hearing. I didn't realize it at the time, though."
"Sounds like he's a pretty resourceful man. And a quick thinker."
"He is." She didn't like the sudden speculative look on Sam's face. "But he couldn't kill anyone."
"How do you know that? Isn't it possible that he did kill someone, and that's what was so traumatic that he had to hide from himself?"
Claire blinked. She'd forgotten for a moment that she wasn't just talking to another psychologist; she was talking to an FBI agent. "He thinks he's been sent back to Earth to match up one hundred couples before he'll be allowed back on Mt. Olympus. Murder would hardly be a means to achieve that goal."
"True, but delusions manifest themselves in strange ways. If those women had rejected him, or his choice of a mate for them, he could very well have lost control and killed them in a fit of rage because they're keeping him from completing his task."
She had the feeling she wasn't helping Trevor at all. "You have to believe me. Trevor did not kill those women."
"I know he didn't."
Claire blinked again, something she was beginning to imagine people often did around Sam Waters. ""Then why...?"
"That still could happen at a later point. But these killings weren't done in rage. The scene would have been very different if that had been the case."
"I see," Claire said, even though she didn't. "If you've dismissed him as a suspect, that might make my request a little difficult."
"Maybe. I've dismissed him as a suspect. Some of the other members of my team are a little harder to convince."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Agent Grant?"
"Let's just say he doesn't always take my word for things."
"I see," she responded again, and this time she was fairly certain she was beginning to see what was going on. She hated it when Trevor was right. "I was wondering..." she still hesitated to ask this, but she was getting desperate, "would it be possible for you to let me know if you find out who Trevor really is, say from his fingerprints?"
"I don't think we can help you there."
"Oh, if it's against policy or something, I understand."
Sam shook her head. "It's not that. I can tell you that we ran his fingerprints, and there were no matches. I'm sorry."
Claire didn't even try to hide her disappointment, although she wasn't completely surprised. "I should have expected it. It would never be that easy. Not with Trevor."
"Everyone meets someone now and then who challenges them beyond anything they'd imagined, I guess Mr. Hale is your challenge."
"You could say that again," Claire answered dryly. "So is Agent Grant your challenge?"
Something flashed across Sam's face too quickly for Claire to read. "John Grant can be difficult, but I have far worse challenges than him."
For some reason, the words reminded Claire of the trouble she had in reaching Sam that morning. "Is that the reason for all the security surrounding you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
"My challenger does things that make Trevor Hale look like a merry-go-round." Sam rose from the chair. "But there's nothing I can do but meet the challenge and try to beat him at his own game."
Claire wasn't sure what Sam meant, but she sensed the topic was closed for the moment. Everyone repressed from time to time, even psychologists. "Thank you again for coming by."
"No problem. I hope your situation with Trevor turns out for the best."
"Thank you." Claire thought about warning the agent about Trevor's intentions, then decided against it. The woman had enough on her mind as it was. So she remained silent as Sam left the office.
When Sam was gone, Claire picked up the phone and called Taggerty's. "Taggerty's Emporium, home of the weekly Lovefest."
"Trevor?" As if she really had to ask.
"Claire! What can I do for you?"
"You seem to be in a good mood."
"I am. A state I get the feeling you're about to invade like Sherman rolling into Georgia."
Claire rolled her eyes, even though she knew he might be right. "I was wondering if you could stop by my office before the group meeting tonight?"
There was a moment of silence on the line. "Why, Dr. Allen," he said in a prim voice, "are you asking me out?"
"Hardly. My office. Be here." She hung up before he could make her laugh openly and destroy what little control over him she might have left.
***
"Trevor Hale is not our guy."
John looked up from his notepad. "And a good afternoon to you too. Why so quick to jump on the Hale bandwagon?"
"It's not exactly quick," Sam said as she sat down opposite him. "For one thing, he doesn't even come close to fitting the profile."
"Oh, well then we can dismiss him without another thought."
It took all of her self-control to ignore his barbs. "His alibi is solid and every shred of forensic evidence points to anyone but him. I'd say those are good enough for most people. Even skeptical, paranoid detectives."
"Am I interrupting anything?" Bailey asked as he walked into the room.
"No." Sam accepted a folder from him. "What's this?"
"Autopsy protocol on last night's victim. Grace works fast."
"So does our killer," Sam commented as she opened the file.
Bailey nodded. "That's why we have to come up with a lead, and soon."
John looked through his own copy of the report. "Why would you plan a murder method, perfect your skill so that one quick slice across the throat would kill almost every time, then carry out the plan so carelessly?"
"He didn't perform the act carelessly. He was very precise about the method and where he left them. He wanted to show how unimportant they were, not give the impression that he was being careless."
"Okay, then, if they're so unimportant, why is he going through all the trouble to kill them?"
"His thinking isn't based in the same logic we use. It's skewed to his own particular neuroses. The planning has nothing to do with these particular women. It's something he probably feels he has to do. It might be a form of penance or retribution--no, not retribution, he'd put more anger into it if that was the case."
"So we can rule out the jilted lovers."
"Probably."
"Probably. Maybe. Might be. The only thing you seem to be certain of is that it's not Trevor Hale."
Sam lost the battle with her self-control. "Maybe if you bring me a different suspect instead of going back to the same one over and over again I'll have a different answer."
Bailey cut into their argument. "John. Go see if Grace managed to pull any prints off the Salente woman. Maybe we can get a match with the one on Melissa Whirley's shoe."
John continued to meet Sam's eyes for several moments before he snatched up the autopsy report and walked out. When he was gone, Bailey turned to Sam. "What was that all about?"
"Nothing," Sam answered, shaking her head.
"Nothing? Every time I turn around these days the two of you are arguing about something."
"We've had our share of disagreements on cases before. It'll work itself out."
He didn't look as if he believed her, but he let it go. "So what are our options? Two victims in two days--we need to find this guy fast."
"He's probably aware of our involvement. He wants to get as much work done as he can in case we catch him."
"Work?"
Sam shrugged. "I think he believes it's his duty to get rid of these women. Melissa Whirley and Joan Salente were both seen arguing with men before they were killed."
"The first victim had a very loud, very public fight with her boyfriend the night she was killed," Bailey confirmed. "Chicago PD had him down as the suspect until this became a serial case."
"Any word on whether victim number two was seen arguing the night of her murder?" Bailey shook his head. "Maybe she did and no one saw it--except the killer. I think he's killing them because of the arguments."
"Because they don't know their place?"
"Maybe. He thinks they're worthless. Taking up space that's better off empty."
Bailey frowned. "He seems to be using night clubs to hunt for his prey. There are too many clubs in Chicago to cover them all."
"I might be able to narrow it down some."
"Okay. Then what?"
"Then we give him something to go after."
***
Claire took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Her brain had been doing double duty all day, covering her normal workload while constantly trying to work out Trevor's problems at the same time, and as a result she felt like she'd been up for twenty-four hours straight. She didn't know how she was going to get through the single's group tonight.
A quick knock preceded Trevor's entrance. "Trevor Hale, reporting to the principal's office as ordered, ma'am."
Claire wasn't in the mood for his behavior. "Sit down, Trevor."
He took the seat in front of her desk. "So should I ask what I've done, or just start banging your erasers?"
"Can you be serious for a minute?"
He composed his face into a somber mask for about three seconds before he burst into laughter. "Guess not." Despite her frustration, Claire had to smile. "See, that's much better," Trevor commented. "You were way too serious when I came in here."
Her smile disappeared. "We need to talk."
"Why?" When she didn't answer right away, he sobered as well. "This doesn't have something to do with the psych board, does it? Did they find out about what's happened?"
"No, Trevor, they didn't." She hadn't even thought about that. If they so much as caught a whiff of the possibility that Trevor was involved in a murder investigation, he'd be off the streets and in a straightjacket faster than she could say 'Cupid.' "But they might. And I need to be able to tell them that you're dealing with this."
"So tell them."
"How can I? You won't talk to me about it. I don't know how you're dealing with it, and if I don't know, I can't tell them."
"I'm dealing just fine."
Claire studied him for a moment. "I don't think you're dealing at all. What you must have seen...life is fragile--"
"I know how fragile life is, Claire. I know how fragile humans are. Remember Dan? One day he was coaching a hockey team, the next day he was being used for spare parts."
"Accidents and health problems are one thing, but to witness something somebody did on purpose like that is another thing--"
"Don't you think I know that? It's one thing to read in a book that the body has five liters of blood in it, but it's totally different to see it all laying on the ground from a gaping hole in someone's neck!"
Claire stared at him in silence. He looked a little stunned himself. After a moment, he looked at his watch. "You're going to be late for the meeting."
She blinked. She'd had her chance and in her surprise, she'd missed it. He had closed down again, but the fact that he'd opened up at all was progress in itself. He was dealing with this on some level; it was too close to the surface for him to have completely repressed it. So she'd let it go for now.
"Yeah, we'd better go."
"I'm not going," he said as he stood and headed for the door. "I've had enough psychoanalysis for one day."
She didn't try to stop him. She just watched in silence as he left, then picked up her coat and purse and followed him out the door.
***
"Agent Grant?"
John looked up at the uniform officer in the doorway. "Yes?"
"There's a Trevor Hale on the phone for Dr. Waters, but I don't know where she is," he said as he nodded at the phone on the table in the conference room. "Line three."
"Thanks." The officer left as John picked up the phone and punched the line. "Grant."
There was a momentary pause before Trevor said, "I was looking for Dr. Waters."
"She's not here. What can I do for you?"
"Not much, I'm sure."
"Look, Hale, if you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, we're a little busy trying to find someone other than you who might have killed these women, so I would think you'd want us to get on with our work. Unless, of course, you are responsible...."
"Fine. I remembered something else about Melissa from that night."
When he didn't continue, John prompted him. "And that is?"
"Something I'd like to tell Dr. Waters."
"She's not here."
"Then tell me when she will be and I'll drop by."
John closed his eyes briefly. "Tell you what. Why don't you drop by at one this afternoon and I'll see if I can't get her to be here."
"Okay, but if she isn't I'm not talking to you."
"Whatever." John hung up before he could say something to convince Hale not to come by at all. He turned his attention back to the report on the table and shoved his irritation with their main witness to the back of his mind to deal with later.
***
Champ glanced at his watch, then checked the clock to be sure of the time. "Hey, Trevor, it's one o'clock, aren't you supposed to be at the police station?"
Trevor smiled as he continued pouring a soda. "I'll get there soon enough."
"Aren't they waiting for you?"
"I certainly hope so."
***
"I can't believe we didn't get anything from last night's set ups."
Sam didn't look up from her reading. "So he took the night off. He won't rest long."
"So we all go out and party every night until he decides to kill again? That's efficient crime solving."
"You have a better idea?" she asked, still absorbed in her report.
John looked impatiently at his watch. "Where is he?" He stopped pacing beside the conference room table long enough to glare down at her in her seat as if this were her fault.
Sam shook her head. "You're sure he said one?"
"I'm not an idiot, Sam. Hale said he'd meet us here at one o'clock."
"Okay, fine." She turned her eyes back to the file in front of her, but after he'd checked his watch three times and two minutes had gone by, he noticed she still hadn't turned the page. "Interesting report?"
She blinked up at him. "What?"
"I just asked if the report was interesting?"
"Fascinating."
"Must be mesmerizing, since you haven't been able to get past that first page."
"There's a lot to read."
He glanced down at the paper lying in front of her. "That's the death certificate, Sam. Name, address, next of kin, cause of death, doctor. That's pretty much all you can get from that."
She checked her watch. "Where is Hale? He should be here by now."
"Any particular reason you're distracted?"
"Who said I'm distracted?"
"I did. Just now."
She sighed. "It's hard to concentrate on anything with you pacing around like that. Have a seat or something, you're making me nervous."
He dropped down into the seat next to her, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers. "And here I thought it was just because you were missing Peter."
Her eyes narrowed. "Paul. His name is Paul."
"Sorry. Paul." She continued to glare at him. "Hey, at least I didn't call him Mary."
"I think Hale is rubbing off on you."
"There's no need to insult me."
She gave up the battle for personal space and hopped up out of her chair to begin her own round of pacing. "It's a quarter after. Where is that man?"
"Stuck in traffic?"
"He only works a few blocks from here."
"Stuck at work?"
Sam picked up the phone, checked a list in front of her, and called Taggerty's, asked for Hale, then thanked the person and hung up. "He's on his way."
"How long has he been gone?"
"She didn't say."
"Why didn't you ask?"
"Because I didn't. Are you going to keep harassing me like this, or will it stop eventually?"
John leaned back in his seat with a lazy smile. "I'm harassing you?"
"Yes, and you know it. You've been harassing me for weeks now."
"Gee, maybe you should press charges. I bet your boyfriend, Phil--"
"Paul!"
"Whatever. I bet he'd help you."
"I think we should drop this."
"By the way, did you tell him we were playing a couple in this little sting operation?"
Sam stopped pacing suddenly to lean on the edge of the table right in front of John. "You're doing all of this just because of Paul, aren't you?" John didn't answer, he just sat there without so much as a change of expression. "What's wrong, did you get rejected for the state's attorney's office too?"
The smile on his face disappeared. "No. I prefer to catch the bad guys and lock them up, not let them off on technicalities and legal loopholes."
"Did Paul do something to you? What, did he lose a case you had a stake in or something?" John didn't answer. "Or is it something else?"
John dropped his eyes to his watch. "I'm going to string Hale up by his toes when he gets here."
"And I'll sue you for police brutality," Trevor said from the doorway.
"It's about time," John grumbled as he stood up and faced the witness. "What took you so long?"
"Lunchtime rush, couldn't get away on time. A guy's gotta make a living."
"Not if he's in jail."
Trevor smirked. "I wouldn't know about that."
Sam gave John a warning look. "You said you had additional information for us?" she said to Trevor.
"Right. It's Melissa. When she left the bar, she was wearing a barrette. When I found her, it was gone." He shrugged. "It's probably nothing, but...."
"No, you did the right thing. Did you remember anything else?"
Trevor shook his head. "No, sorry."
"Well, thank you for that. And if you remember anything else, please let us know."
"I will. Nice to see you again, Dr. Waters." He nodded gravely at John. "Grant," he mumbled before walking out.
John frowned he watched Trevor leave. "Why do you suppose he had to come down here just to tell us that?"
"I have no idea," Sam responded with a shrug. "But now that he's gone, I have work to do." She snatched up her folders from the table and bolted for the door. John's frown deepened as he watched her go, then he sat down at the table and opened the nearest file to distract himself until they had to go play couples that evening.
"**
"Hey, Trevor." Trevor grimaced at the sound of Claire's voice. He wasn't in the mood to be checked up on, but at the same time he felt bad about dumping on her and leaving the night before. Or at least mostly bad. After all, she had asked for it...in a way.
"Dr. Freud, I presume?" He forced a smile on his face as he turned around. "A little early for dream interpretation. I usually have my best dreams at about three a.m. You're welcome to be there if you like--in fact, you can just stay over, it'll make it easier."
"Thanks, but as attractive as that offer is, I think I'll have to pass." She pulled her gloves off as she settled in on the barstool. "Can I get some coffee, please?" Trevor poured the drink and handed it to her, automatically shoving the cream and sugar closer before going back to putting glasses in the overhead holders. After a moment, Claire apparently decided he wasn't going to be the first to talk. "Trevor...about last night..."
He shook his head. "How did I know that was gonna come up?"
"Because whatever you may be, you're not stupid?" When he didn't comment, she prompted him. "I take it from last night that you've been thinking about Melissa and the other victim?"
Trevor blinked at her in surprise. "How did you know about the second one?"
"I talked to Dr. Waters yesterday right after she'd been to the crime scene." Her eyes never left him as she took a sip of her coffee. "Do you know if they have any new leads?"
"They didn't seem any closer to solving the case when I saw them at the police station a little while ago." A smile crossed his face. "You should have seen those two agents going at it. I stood outside the room and just listened to them argue for a couple of minutes before I went in."
"What were you doing at the police station?"
"Talking to the police? I tell you, Claire, those two have such a thing for each other that if they don't do something about it soon they're likely to attack each other across some police station table."
Her lips thinned as she gave him a level stare. "And what did you talk to them about?" she asked patiently.
"Oh, I remembered something else about the night Melissa...the night I found her."
"Something important?"
He shrugged. "She was missing something when I found her, that's all. I don't know if it helped them."
"So you've been thinking about what happened?"
"You think I have a choice?"
"Well, you could always just push it so far in the back of your mind you never think about it."
"Right, with the Feds on me constantly and the story on the news every fifteen minutes? I don't think so."
Claire tilted her head to one side and studied him carefully. "Are you okay with this?" she asked after a minute.
"I'm fine, Claire." She gave him a skeptical look. "Okay, I'm not fine," he admitted as he stopped stocking the glasses and faced her over the bar. "But I'm dealing. And I will be fine. Eventually."
She watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "I have to get back to work." She took another drink of her coffee, then slid off the barstool and started putting on her gloves. "You know where to find me if you need me."
"Okay, because I'm planning to play 'Catch the Love Slave' at eight, so I'll give you a call then?"
"Very funny," she called over her shoulder on her way to the door.
"Who said it was a joke?" he yelled as she walked out. When he didn't get an answer, he just smiled and shook his head before turning back to the glasses.
***
John looked around the dim, smoky room, then leaned down next to Sam's ear. "You're sure this is really necessary?" He had to raise his voice to be heard, but even so the room was so loud the risk of anyone eavesdropping was non-existent.
"It's the best shot we have at catching him before he kills someone else." Sam spoke in a voice that didn't match her smile. "Try to look like you're having a good time. I'm the one who's supposed to get angry."
"I'm having a great time," he said as he brushed her hair back behind her ear, then moved his mouth even closer to her ear. "Pounding music and too much smoke is the ultimate fun evening."
"I would have thought you'd like this place."
He pulled back, and she was surprised to see a hint of anger in his eyes. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do." Before she could respond, the anger was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. "The women here are a little young for me," he said with a smirk.
Sam looked around. The average age of the females in sight was about 22. Several rather mean retorts that sprang to her mind, but she kept the uncharacteristic thoughts to herself. "Maybe you're right."
His eyes opened wide. "I'm sorry, it's very loud in here. Did I hear you say I could be right about something?"
Sam glanced at her watch, fighting to keep her annoyance level down. "We still have about seven minutes before you're supposed to pick a fight."
"Oh, right. Heaven forbid we should get off the schedule."
She took a deep breath. "Bailey," she called, reminding John they had an audience, "anything from the other bars?"
Bailey's voice came though Sam's earpiece. "Two fights started, but nothing yet." Sam shook her head slightly to John to convey Bailey's answer. Her hair hid her earpiece, but his would have been visible, so he'd had to settle for a small radio attached to his belt in case he needed to communicate with the rest of the team.
"So," John said with a sigh, "how'd you choose these bars?"
"It's...it's complicated," she answered as she picked up her drink.
"You think I wouldn't understand?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
She slammed the drink back down. "What is wrong with you?"
"What?"
"You seem to have made making me angry your life's work these days."
He grinned. "Don't flatter yourself. The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Sam."
"Did I do something to you that I don't remember? Or is it just that you don't like me?"
At her last sentence his eyes narrowed. "Maybe I don't like lawyers."
"Here we go, back to the lawyer thing again. You don't like me just because I'm dating a lawyer?" Her volume increased with each word. "That's the only reason you've been such a jerk?"
"Sam, calm down, we still have five minutes--"
"To hell with the minutes!" She picked up her purse. "I'm leaving!" She turned on her heel and strode out of the bar.
***
John stared after her, mouth open, unable to believe that she'd stormed off. Samantha Waters wasn't usually the storm off type. Of course, she had been rather high-strung lately. But to storm off without regard to the schedule in the middle of a case....
The case. He looked around, but didn't see anyone paying particular attention to him, so he pulled the radio, made to look like a small cell phone, off his belt. "Bailey?" he said into the mouthpiece.
"What's going on, John?" His boss didn't sound happy.
"Um...slight change in plans. Sam just blew up and left."
"I heard. She's early."
"I know. The opportunity just presented itself, so she went for it."
"I heard that too." Suddenly John wasn't sure he wanted to get back to Atlanta. "We were a little far out, but we're trying to pick up her route."
John closed his eyes for a second. He'd been angry, and now he'd put Sam out there by herself, possibly with a killer on her tail. "Can't you hear her?"
"She's not responding."
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw something resembling a button on the floor. He bent to pick it up, then started cursing under his breath.
"She lost her comm."
"WHAT?" Bailey's voice came out of the radio and the earpiece John held in his hand.
"I said she's off radio. And I'm out the door," he added as he pushed his way out of the bar.
He followed the route she was supposed to take on her way back to the hotel, hoping she hadn't been so mad she'd walked a different way. When this was all over he was buying super glue for the earpieces. And then he was going back to the hotel and kicking himself. Hard.
***