Free The Boyfriend by Thomas Perry

cowboy.”
    He smiled. “Is that a good thing?”
    “Yes. I’m too sweet to speak more plainly than that.”
    Till could see that while his eyes had been closed she had opened the curtain a little bit, and now the sunlight poured in, making the room seem beautiful. Her white skin was luminous. He said, “The evening seems to be over.”
    “I’m afraid that happened a while ago, lover,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go brush my teeth and my hair. You can get my money ready while I’m in there.”
    “Okay.” He watched with regret as she scooped her purse off the desk and went into the bathroom.
    Till got up, went to the safe in the closet, pressed the four digits, opened it, and took out twelve hundred dollars. Then he put the rest into his suitcase. He picked out the clothes he would wear, moved them to the right side of the closet, and shut the closet door. He collected the two Glock pistols and the rest of his belongings and put them in his suitcase.
    In a few minutes, she emerged with light daytime makeup on and hair brushed straight. “Too chicken to run off without paying, huh?”
    “That too. And partly the fact that I’ll sincerely remember this as one of the most amazing nights of my life.”
    She patted him on the cheek. “I like you too, Jack. But now it’s day, and I’ve got to go.”
    He handed her the little stack of hundred-dollar bills, and she shuffled through them like a bank teller. “A fifty percent tip. A night for the record books.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she reached into her purse and produced a plain white business card that said “Kyra” and a telephone number. “Don’t lose my number.”
    “I won’t,” he said.
    She opened the door, blew him a kiss, slipped out, and let the door swing shut.
    Till was already at the closet. As he threw on his clothes, he mentally gauged where she would be—walking down the hall toward the elevator, stepping in, descending. He grabbed the phone and dialed the garage. “This is Mr. Till in suite 311. Can you please get my car out right away?”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    Till ran to the bathroom, snatched up his toiletry kit, put it into his suitcase, latched it, and took with him the instant checkout folder and a pen. In the elevator he filled out the folder and put his key card into it. When the elevator door opened he put the folder in the little brass box beside it and went directly to the valet station beside the covered entrance to the building. He looked outside warily to be sure Kyra was still there.
    When Kyra’s car arrived, it was a silver Jaguar. She handed the parking attendant a tip, got into the car, adjusted her sunglasses in the mirror, and then drove off.
    As soon as Kyra was past the driveway, Till stepped out, saw his car already waiting on the circle, hurried to it, tipped the parking attendant, tossed his suitcase onto the backseat, and went after her.

8
    Till pulled out onto Missouri Avenue just as Kyra turned south on 24th Street. In a moment she turned right on Camelback Road to go east. As a young man he had been trained at the academy to follow cars, and over the years he had gotten better at it. He kept two or three vehicles between his car and Kyra’s Jaguar. When he could find a truck or an SUV he stayed behind it for a time. He wasn’t looking at the Jaguar. As long as she kept going straight, he didn’t care how far ahead she was. He was watching the lanes on both sides of her, waiting for her to make a turn.
    At last she turned right on Scottsdale Road, driving past a six-foot stucco wall and then into a quiet housing development full of twisting roads and abrupt curves. The houses were all recently built one-story homes without much room in front for lawns that would have been burned up by the sunshine. He gave her a little more space, watching the direction she took, and followed cautiously, avoiding the chance of being caught face-to-face on a cul-de-sac.