Peachtree had caught his attention.
Claire held her breath until he ran off toward whatever had distracted him.
She peeled herself away from the alcove. She went back out the glass turnstile. She told the guard, “Thank you.”
He tipped his hat. “You have a blessed day.”
Claire pushed open the door. She knew better than to think she was safe. She ran back toward Spring Street. She hooked a left onto Williams. Her feet pounded against the cracked sidewalk. There was a mist of rain in the air. Claire scanned the area behind her as she kept running. She tried to orient herself. Staying on the street was not on option. There had to be somewhere to hide, but it was too early for any of the cafes to be open.
Lydia’s phone rang. Claire didn’t slow as she answered, “What?”
Paul said, “Take a left. Go to the Hyatt Regency.”
Claire kept the line open. She took the left. She saw the Hyatt in the distance. Her knees hurt. Her legs were screaming. She was used to running on the treadmill, not up and down hills and over cracks in the concrete. Sweat dripped from her scalp and down her back. The waist of her jeans was starting to chafe. She gripped the phone in her hand as she ran. How was Paul tracking her? Was Mayhew tag-teaming Harvey? Were they trying to funnel her into a location where they could grab her?
The bellhop outside the Hyatt opened the door when he saw Claire round the drive. If he thought it was odd that a grown woman dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt had gone for a run at six in the morning, he didn’t say.
Inside the building, Claire slowed her pace. She followed the signs to the women’s restroom. She pushed open the door. She checked the stalls to make sure they were empty.
Claire locked the last stall door. She sat down on the toilet. She was panting for breaths when she said, “Let me speak to Lydia.”
“I can let you hear her scream.”
Claire put her hand to her mouth. What had he done? Twelve hours. He could have Lydia in Key West or New Orleans or Richmond by now. He could be torturing her and beating her and—
Claire couldn’t let herself think of the “and.”
Paul asked, “Still there?”
She fought back the overwhelming agony that came from knowing exactly what her husband was capable of. “You said you weren’t going to hurt her.”
“You said you were going to call me back.”
“I will drive over that fucking USB drive with a Mack truck.”
Paul had to know that Claire would do it. She had never been averse to burning bridges she was still trying to cross.
He asked, “Where is it?”
Claire tried to think of an area she was familiar with but Paul was not. “It’s at the Wells Fargo on Central Avenue.”
“What?” He sounded concerned. “That’s a very dangerous area, Claire.”
“Are you really worrying about my safety?”
“You need to be careful,” he warned. “Where is the bank exactly?”
“Near the main post office.” Claire had driven to the post office several times to drop off mailers for the Humane Society. “I’ll go get it right now. We can meet somewhere and—”
“It’s almost six in the morning. The bank won’t be open until nine.”
Claire waited.
“You can’t leave now. You’ll get carjacked if you park the Tesla on Central for that long.” She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Stay in the hotel. At eight thirty, drive down to Hapeville. That should get you there right when the bank is opening.”
“Okay.”
“Traffic will be bad coming back. Get on seventy-five and wait to hear from me.”
Claire didn’t ask how he would know where she was because she was beginning to think Paul knew everything. “Nolan told me what you did.”
“Is that right?”
Claire didn’t elaborate, but they both knew Nolan had only seen what Paul wanted him to see. “He said you wanted to be in witness protection.”
“That wasn’t going to happen.”
“He said you wanted me to watch you die.”
Paul was quiet for a moment. “It had to seem real. I was going to come back for you. You know that.”
Claire didn’t respond.
Paul said, “I’m going to take care of this. You know I always do.”
Claire took a stuttered breath. She couldn’t stand the soft, reassuring tone of his voice. There was still an infinitesimal part of her that wanted her husband to somehow make it all better.
But Fred Nolan was right. The Paul she had known