“Camarin? Wake up!”
She opened her eyes, a familiar aching in her limbs, and saw Wynan and Rachel kneeling by her side, a crowd of curious coworkers behind them. The editor’s hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently.
Her mind went blank as she tried to fathom where she was, and then it all came flooding back, choking her with acid reflux. She turned her head and spewed out the cereal she’d consumed earlier, grazing Rachel’s silver ankle boots. The receptionist pursed her lips but said nothing, instead summoning another bystander to fetch the paper towels from the kitchen and bring a glass of water back as well.
“Camarin, you were seizing. Should we call someone?” asked Wynan as he helped her to a sitting position.
Fuck. Just what she needed right now. A recurrence. Time to renew the meds.
“Epilepsy must run in my family,” she said feebly. “My sister—may she rest in peace—died from a seizure. Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”
“You gave us quite a scare,” he said, taking the glass of water from a junior editor and holding it up to Cam’s lips. She sipped slowly.
“Where’s Lyle?” she asked weakly.
“Off fundraising, where else?” Wynan said. “As for you, Ms. Torres, I think we’d better get you into a cab and send you to a doctor. If you’re up to it, that is.”
“No, no…it was just a small attack. Made worse by something I ate,” she lied. “The milk tasted off this morning. I don’t need a doctor. But I could definitely use a day in bed to recover.”
Wynan helped her as she made a woozy attempt to get back on her feet. She took another swig of water Rachel handed her, eager to rid her mouth of the sour aftertaste. Her colleagues murmured their best wishes and returned to their cubicles as she put her arm around her editor’s shoulders and allowed him to help her to the door.
“I’ll get you downstairs and put you in a taxi, but are you going to be all right after that? Otherwise, I can send Ms. Thorsen home with you.”
“No, I can make it, thanks. I’m feeling much better.” The last thing she needed was Rachel quizzing her or, even worse, making herself comfortable and waiting until DeAndre woke up.
“I don’t mind, really,” Rachel interjected.
“No, I insist. If you really want to help, Rachel, please bring me my purse. Thank you. And, Hans, if you get me down to the curb, I’ll take it from there.”
By the time she reached the elevator, she was walking without assistance, and after watching her hail a cab, Wynan seemed satisfied that she’d recovered. “Call me when you get home, so I know you’re okay.” He made her promise and handed a ten-dollar bill to the driver.
Thanks to the typical Manhattan morning traffic, it took her ten minutes to travel ten blocks. As she exited the cab, she looked around warily, certain that everyone on the street was part of The Collective, documenting her movements, averting their eyes when she cast her gaze in their direction. She’d never felt so violated. At least once she made it past the lobby, she’d be beyond their grasp—unless, of course, she dared to send out an email or text a friend.
Once inside, she triple-locked the apartment door and dropped down onto the living room couch. Time to start formulating her strategy. The main things she needed were the time to figure out the identity of the Invisible Woman, and the privacy to carry out her plan. She had the time: IW’s deadline was three days away. Now she needed to find someone The Collective wasn’t monitoring, someone who could be her feet on the ground. The question was who? She walked over to the desk and pulled out a notepad—something unhackable.
An hour later, DeAndre emerged from his bedroom, bare-chested and clad in a pair of white boxer shorts. He stopped short when he noticed her sitting on the couch.
“You get fired or something? I still might consider hiring you, but you’re going to have to ask real nice and make dinner for a month.”
“Nope, I have a job. But what we have is a problem. A major one. Come sit down so we can talk.”
She started at the beginning and recounted the whole story, from Leticia Regan’s death in Chicago up until, and including, the threat made against his life a few hours ago, although she was a little sketchy about what exactly happened in Mangel’s trailer. And why mention that anyway, since she was absolutely positive that she was incapable of assault? DeAndre leaned forward, elbows on knees, listening intently, nodding from time to time, but offering no emotion or commentary.
Finally, she wrapped up. “What’s most important is that we keep you and your family out of danger without anyone catching on that I’ve let you in on the plot. She said if I didn’t kill you, somebody else would. We can’t risk her making her move before Friday.”
“Agreed,” he said, hitting his clasped hands against his chin. She could see the wheels turning. “It makes no sense. You work at Trend. That’s where she could create the most damage with the least amount of effort. Why target Drift?”
“No idea. Maybe after a murder, the police would suspect insiders first, like disgruntled employees? No point in speculating. She’s laid down the rules, and now we have to plan our defense.”
DeAndre rocked back and forth, deep in thought for a few minutes longer, before he broke the silence. “Obviously, we can’t use our own cellphones or computers if we’re being hacked. What we need is a way to get a security team into the magazine without anyone catching on. That shouldn’t be too hard. My parents have tons of folks walking in and out of their office all the time. And Drift has its own commissary, a shower, and a lot of couches. They could stay there as long as necessary. But my aunt and uncle need to get the kids out of town. These people can’t have an army of spies watching my extended family all the time, can they?”
Camarin shrugged. “No idea how wide a net they are casting. She said they’re everywhere. But I think we can assume that the farther removed the relative, the safer they are. Your plan has one glaring omission though—who’s going to protect you?”
“Not too concerned. Martial arts black belt, remember?”
“Didn’t know that a black belt could stop a bullet.”
“You forget, Cam. I’ve got instincts like a jungle cat. If enemies are nearby, I’ll sense them.”
“Oh, brother,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll sense them? Maybe if you ‘common sensed’ them, you’d get one of those security people to stand guard here.”
He paused, considering. “I’m sure a few of those security companies have a babe or two. It could be fun, as long as Rachel doesn’t find out.”
“Oh God, you cannot breathe one word to her. That girl is like a human billboard. If she gets wind of any of this, we’re dead.”
“No problem. Lips sealed. Figure if my parents and I are safe, that just leaves you.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get out of here without anyone noticing. Go into hiding, do some research. Once those pictures hit, The Collective won’t be the only ones after me. I bet the police will have a few questions as well.”
“Do we even know if Mangel’s still alive?”
“No idea.”
“Hang on.” He stood up, grabbed something out of the top desk drawer, and left the apartment.
She frowned, hoping that wherever he’d wandered off to, he was still in the building where no one could see. She made herself a cup of oolong and was still dunking her tea bag when he returned, smiling.
“What?” she asked.
“I went over to Hassan’s place. Luckily, he was home, so I didn’t have to use the spare key. I looked up the number for Mangel Enterprises on his smartphone. Then I called and asked if there were any tickets left for the Charlotte event next Friday.”
“Smart move. What did they say?”
“Exactly what you’d expect. They expected a sellout crowd and remaining tickets were dwindling, so would I like to order one of the last remaining pairs right now? I politely said I had to check with the missus and hung up.”
“Sounds like things are proceeding as advertised. Unless they’re going to have one of his staff take over to deliver the sermon. Did you ask if Mangel himself would be speaking?”
“Of course. I said I’d seen the news reports and wanted to know Terry’s condition. They said they were hopeful, but even if he wasn’t there, I would get my money’s worth.”
“Propagating hope while fleecing the customer. Sounds about right.”
“Anyway, Cam, from what you explained earlier, wouldn’t a substitute speaker cause some kind of riot?”
“No doubt. So, whether Mangel is alive or dead, they’re still selling tickets, and come Saturday, I’m a possible murder suspect. What next, Sherlock?”
“I used his computer and ordered a bunch of burner phones on his Amazon account so they can’t be traced back to us. One for you, one for me, a couple for my parents. They’ll be delivered to his apartment tomorrow. Told him I’d pay him cash when the bill came in.”
She nodded as she brought her teacup to the couch. He walked over and sat beside her.
“Perfect. I doubt they’re watching Hassan’s cell or his Amazon account.”
“Exactly. So, Cam—here’s what I’m thinking. Tell me if you think this is doable.”
“Shoot.”
“Business as usual tomorrow and Thursday. You go to Trend during the day, Benji’s at night. I’ll follow my regular evening routine, but skip my afternoon hours at Drift, so anyone watching won’t suspect that I’ve been warned and conveyed the message. Instead, I’ll use my burner to call Xavier’s cellphone and tell him about the danger my parents are in. He’ll instruct them on what we suggest they do. I doubt their butler is on the Invisible Woman’s radar.”
“So far, so good. Thank God you’re blessed with domestic help.”
“Then Thursday…remember James Byrom, that British guy who played at the bar last year?”
“The good-looking one? Yeah, how could I forget?”
“Down, girl. Well, if you recall, the guy’s such a fucking prima donna, he always travels with his own baby grand.”
“Dee, when you’re that hot, it’s not called being a prima donna—it’s called being a perfectionist. Like crazy people with money. They’re not bonkers, they’re eccentric.”
“Whatever. You’re missing the point. When Byrom imports his piano, it comes in a large case. It’s big enough for—”
“A body.”
“Exactly. Once unloaded, they roll the case onto the loading dock for storage. That dock, I believe, is also shared by the Laidlaw.”
“So, if I’m catching your drift, so to speak, I hide in the case, they wheel me out, and if I haven’t suffocated, I walk back into the hotel lobby. How is that going to help me? If someone’s waiting outside, they’re still going to see me.”
“One sec. Wait right there.”
DeAndre held up one finger and ran off to his bedroom. She could hear him rummaging through his closet.
“There’s a convention in town next week,” he yelled so she could hear.
“Rachel mentioned something about it,” she called back. “Said the club would be deserted because of some group of Muslims.”
He walked back in, holding a black burqa.
“Wow, what is that doing here?”
“Remember Ruqayya?”
“Ms. Off-with-the-Cloak-and-on-with-the-Clubwear?”
“The very one. When she dumped me, she left this behind. I figured it would come in handy one day, though I was thinking Halloween. Anyway, we’ll hide this at Benji’s, and you’ll take it into the bathroom and put it on during a break. Then we’ll load you into the piano case. When you exit the loading dock into the lobby, you’ll be just another convention attendee. You’ll hail yourself a cab and take off to a safe house somewhere until all the hubbub dies down.”
“That’s fucking brilliant.” She walked over and hugged him tight. “How did you come up with all that?”
“You’re not the only one who took Fiction Writing 203, you know.”
“You evidently got more out of it than I did. I’m nonfiction all the way. One question though.”
“And that is?”
“Where do I hide out? Whoever’s trailing me probably has hacked into my Facebook account and knows everyone I’ve ever been friends with.”
“I was thinking about that too. When I call the X-Man, I’m going to ask him if he knows of anyone who can put you up. Someone far enough removed from our usual circle of acquaintances to keep you safe until we figure out who’s behind all this.”
“It all sounds so doable. If we can pull this off, it would be amazing.”
Her cellphone started vibrating in her pocket, causing every nerve ending to jump to attention. Was IW going to start calling her here too?
“I keep the ringer turned off at work, so I don’t disturb anyone,” she explained, voice quivering, as she pulled it out. The caller ID read Trend Magazine. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello?”
“Camarita, Hans called to tell me what happened. Are you all right?”
She had never heard Fletcher sound worried or unsure until now. It was endearing how his voice trembled ever so slightly, and she realized how much she wished he was there by her side, cradling her, whispering assurances into her ear. Could this be what love felt like?
“It was probably just something I ate. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you going to be up for dinner tonight?”
How she longed to say yes, to start at some swanky restaurant and then end up at his place, dining on each other until sunrise. There was something so satisfying about evoking that tiny groan of surrender when he came. But without knowing how closely she was being observed, she couldn’t endanger his life along with hers.
“I hate to do this, but I think I have to beg off for tonight. Get a good night’s undisturbed sleep. Come to work and give it my all tomorrow.”
Her gung-ho response, directed more toward work than play, provoked a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right? Something I’d done or should have done?”
“Oh no, no…I mean yes. If there was anything you’d done, I’d tell you. I hate to sound like a cliché, but in this case, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“I could come by, bring you chicken soup or whatever they say cures all ills.”
“You are a darling man, and I truly appreciate your concern. Please don’t misconstrue this as a brush-off, but I think I’m better off tonight on my own.”
“Understood, Ms. Torres. The thing is, I’m flying out to San Francisco tomorrow. I won’t be back until the weekend. Can we put Saturday night down on the calendar, preferably in indelible ink? I’ll make reservations at One if by Land. Ever been there?”
She squeezed her eyes together, trying to hold back a groan. Everyone knew that One if by Land was the most romantic restaurant in New York, but by Saturday he, along with every other person in the free world, would mistakenly believe that she had attacked Mangel, left him for dead. Being seen with her, in public or otherwise, might be the last thing Fletcher would ever want. At least being in California for the next few days would keep him out of harm’s way while her plan took shape. Unless the enemy was listening in on their conversation.
“No, never. I’ve heard it’s fabulous. It’s a date,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Until Saturday.”
She disconnected the call and threw the phone onto the couch, angrily wiping a tear from her cheek. She was at risk of losing her job, her reputation, her freedom, and the man of her dreams. All because of some deranged serial murderer with a hard-on for body shamers.
Camarin knew what she had to do. Find the Invisible Woman. Unmask her. Then make sure she was the one to pay.