False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [70]
“All right, boss. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Not really. Zoe asked Savannah to take charge out front. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Pierce glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Is there a number where you can be reached?”
Pierce shook his head. “No. But I’ll check in from time to time. Hopefully we won’t be gone long. If you have questions or concerns, direct them to Savannah.”
He turned and hurried out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and out into the alcove. He waited a full minute to be sure he wasn’t followed, then went out the back entrance and walked briskly toward the rendezvous point.
Ethan’s simple solution suddenly seemed absurd, but did he have a better idea? The most important thing to consider was safety. Until they were inaccessible to Shapiro, talking to the sheriff wasn’t a viable option.
Pierce crossed First Street, wondering how Jude would respond when he found out his longtime friend Zoe Benoit Broussard was a fraud.
Zoe waited until two thirty, then slipped out the back door of Zoe B’s and jogged over to First Street, then turned north on rue Evangeline, looking over her shoulder every so often. Had she even considered how vulnerable she would feel without her cell phone? Ethan’s plan was so simple that, had the circumstances not been life threatening, it might have seemed almost comical.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that a blue car to her left had slowed to a crawl. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Finally she got up the courage to look over at the driver, a man—not Shapiro—who seemed to be looking for an address. She remembered Savannah telling her that Shapiro had come in to Zoe B’s several times with a male client. Zoe had never seen him. Would she even know if this supposed client were following her? Didn’t she have to be sure before she met up with the others at the rendezvous point—or risk ruining everything?
Zoe began to run and then run faster and faster, glad when she looked back and saw him make a U-turn. Was he following her and trying to make it look as though he wasn’t?
Shapiro’s words came rushing back. Did I mention I’m really good at disguises? Angus Shapiro isn’t my real name either. So going to the cops won’t get me caught. It’ll just get you killed.
She made a sudden turn and cut through the side yard of a light-blue two-story house that backed up to a red brick house on the next block. She crossed Vaughn Street and cut through two more yards until she came out on the sidewalk along Gabel.
The digital sign at the bank flashed the time: 2:56. She still had four minutes. The others might not even be there yet. She turned into the narrow alley between Belle’s Beauty Shop and Renee’s Alterations, her hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.
Was this attempt to keep Shapiro from knowing their whereabouts going to work—or was it just plain silly? Then again, without the ability to track them electronically, how would he have a clue how to find them?
Vanessa pulled into Rouses Market and looked in the rearview mirror for any sign of another car entering the lot right behind her but saw only a Ford pickup pulling out. She drove to the back row and parked under the shade trees, then locked the car and went inside the store. She strolled up and down the produce section, then slipped through the swinging doors and into the warehouse, where the customer restrooms were. She leaned on the wall next to the ladies’ room and pretended to be waiting for someone to come out.
Three young men were clowning around as they loaded boxes of produce onto plastic carts. She smiled at them and glanced at her watch.
Hurry up, she thought. Or I’m going to be late.
When the workers walked away from the loading dock, she quietly made her way over to the back exit, pushed open the steel door, and skipped down the steps. She ran