he was awake.
“Good morning.” He flinched, but the figure wasn’t Groucho; it was Chloe. She came out of the bathroom, through the parting steam, one large hotel towel wrapped around her torso—showing just the right amount of cleavage and leg—and the other wrapped around her head.
Czarcik contemplated his options. This was uncharted territory. The women he was used to left long before he fell asleep and certainly never stayed the night.
He supposed he could pull her back down onto the bed. Or join her in the shower for a quickie up against the mildewed wall. He could even go against his nature and play Casanova, whispering soft nothings in her ear.
Instead, he said good morning in return.
Chloe sat down on the bed and began drying her hair.
“I could justify it a million ways,” she began, an answer to his unspoken question. “Just in the shower, I came up with half-a-dozen reasons: I needed to feel protected. I was subconsciously furious at Daniel for leaving me and wanted to punish him. I wanted to have something to hold over you. Most of these even have some truth to them. But if I’m being honest, which I always am, the only reason last night happened was because, at the time, I wanted it to.” She looked at him for the first time since he had been inside her. “You OK with that?”
Czarcik didn’t know if he was OK with it. But he couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t be. So he just nodded and gave her a wink. She smiled and tipped her head toward the bathroom. “I’m going to finish up.”
The bathroom fan rumbled to life, dispersing the last of the warm vapor still hanging in the air.
Czarcik rolled over onto his side and grabbed his BlackBerry with its rudimentary browser. He pulled up a map of the United States and estimated that it would take them about half a day to reach their destination in Tennessee.
Daniel could already be there. Of course, if history was any guide, he needed time—days, at the very least—to prepare for the kill. Only now, Czarcik no longer had the benefit of surprise. He could no longer travel unfettered. Daniel knew the detective was following him. Although now that Czarcik thought about it, who was actually following whom?
Even after Chloe had brought him the Rosetta stone of the folders, Daniel had still been a step ahead. How long would he allow Czarcik to nip at his heels like some overeager pit bull? Or would the knowledge that Czarcik was so close force him to alter his plans?
There were a panoply of options that Czarcik had to consider. Daniel could continue to Tennessee on schedule, simply avoiding—or toying with—the detective, as he had done thus far. Or he could make a beeline for Florida, then double back to the Volunteer State. Of course, if he felt his plans were compromised, he could ignore Tennessee altogether, just as he had done with Edgar Barnes in Minnesota.
And one final possibility also loomed. The nuclear option. Daniel could blow up his plan altogether. He could trade vengeance for sport and zero in on a far more formidable target—Czarcik.
The thought intrigued the detective more than it alarmed him. In a battle of equals, he had little doubt he would prevail. Daniel was smart and resourceful, and certainly inspired, but in many ways he was still an amateur. He had been successful thus far because his victims had absolutely no idea they had been marked for death, certainly not by a complete stranger who had no more of an emotional attachment to them than the hundreds of other people they passed on the street each day. The element of surprise had been absolute.
Such an extreme pivot didn’t seem particularly likely, but Czarcik thought to himself, Daniel had proved unpredictable before. Willing to deviate from his painstakingly prepared plan for seemingly unnecessary detours. His appearance at the diner and the mustache on the pillow were nice touches, if a tad theatrical, but in the grand scheme of things, they were really nothing more than diversions.
And then there was the biggest X factor of them all—the tumor. The growing mass could just as easily obliterate reason and common sense as it could gray matter.
Chloe returned from the bathroom, fully dressed, her thick hair still wet and unbrushed.
“I think you should come with me,” he told her, before she could say anything.
She sat down in the chair next to the bed and picked up