Free A Blind Eye by G. M. Ford Page B

said. “You’re not under arrest for anything. For all I know you merely tired of our hospitality and decided to seek warmer climes.”
    “There’ll still be a lot of heat.”
    “I won’t melt,” she said.
    “No guarantees.”
    She nodded and held out her hand. “We got a deal?”
    Corso took it. Her hand was callused and hard. He shook it.
    “Deal,” he said. Twelve fourteen.
    Corso looked toward the door. Trask read his mind. “Your friend is still in the building. I told her I had something for her to sign before she could leave. You take the rental car. When the shouting dies down, I’ll see to it she gets to the airport and makes a flight back to Seattle.”
    By the time she finished talking, Corso had shouldered his way into his overcoat and picked up his suitcase. She motioned for him to follow. She crossed the room to the door. Eased it open and stuck her head out into the hall. She motioned Corso forward and then pointed to the right, down the long hall toward the flickering green EXIT sign at the far end. “You friend Ms. Dougherty is four doors down in four-eleven,” she said. “You say your good-byes and then go down the back stairs there. Take you right out into the parking lot.”
    Corso nodded. She caught his eyes. “We’ve got a deal, right?”
    “I’ll do the best I can,” he said.
    Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, before she pushed open the door and stepped out into the hall. She held the door open as she surveyed the area. A minute passed. Corso could hear the slide of feet. “Go,” she said finally.
    Corso hurried down the deserted hall without looking back, grabbed the door handle on room 411, and without knocking slipped inside. Meg Dougherty had her camera equipment spread out on the bed. She was using a white towel to wipe everything clean. She brought a hand to her throat. Swallowed twice. “Oh. You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were—”
    “Yeah, the sheriff…I know,” Corso said quickly. He held out his free hand. “There’s been a change in plans. I need the car.”
    She recovered quickly. Reached into the pocket of her jeans, looking for the keys. “What’s the deal? I thought you were—”
    “I’m getting out of here,” he said.
    “Where?”
    “Anyplace but Texas.”
    She held the keys out in front of her. Corso hurried over, but at the last second, she folded them into her fist and put it behind her back. Corso slid to a stop on the cold white floor. “No time to screw around here, honey,” he said. “I’ve gotta hurry.”
    “I’m coming,” she announced. “And don’t call me honey.” Corso’s turn to do dumbfounded. “What do you mean, you’re coming?”
    “Just what I said. I’m coming.”
    Twelve seventeen. Corso dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. As he spoke, he flailed the air with his arm. “Coupla days ago you wanted no part of this thing. You were insulted as hell, big-time bitchy, and wanting to go back to Seattle as quick as possible. Now all of a sudden…”He stopped.
    Dougherty wasn’t listening. Instead she was packing her gear. Wincing occasionally as her big red hands packed each camera and lens into its proper bag and case. “That was then…this is now,” she said as she zipped the Qantas flight bag. She grabbed both her bags and turned Corso’s way. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, Frank. Get the door for me. I’ll go downstairs and get the car started.”
    Corso didn’t move. She shook her head in exasperation. “Don’t try to figure it out, Frank. It’s part of our charm. It’s what makes women a mystery. Now open the damn door.” He grabbed the handle and pulled the door back against his chest. By the time he checked the hall and turned to urge her forward, she’d already shouldered her way by and was striding down the polished floor toward the elevators.
    The smell of her lingered in the air above the bed as Corso dropped his bag on the sheet and slid the zipper open. In