In a whirlwind hour of activity Franklin Borden had bought new pants, a shirt, belt, wallet, new watch, and shoes. He put them on in a store bathroom and stuffed his old clothes in the trash, followed by the paper bag of possessions he’d been carrying around all day.
There. Now he looked like anybody else.
He slipped his cell phone and charger into his pocket.
Next on his list—a haircut at the mall’s drop-in salon.
A half hour later, Franklin emerged looking and feeling like a new man. He checked his watch. He needed to hurry to the airport and plug in his cell phone.
In the cab he couldn’t sit still. His fingers drummed both knees, his head swiveling from one window to the other. Plans bounced around his head like pinballs.
He would get to Rayne and Shaley—today. Didn’t matter if they had a lot of security around them. He’d find a way.
Franklin’s cab pulled up at the airport. He paid the driver and strode for the United counter. There he paid for his ticket. He made it through security and headed for his gate. In a corner he found an outlet, where he plugged in his phone.
Franklin settled into a chair to wait. That’s one thing prison taught a man—how to wait. His watch read 1:45. The flight would leave in two hours.