Thirty-Two
Erin's phone rang, waking her from the catnap she hadn't quite stopped taking for the past several hours. What was the point of not resting? She had nowhere to be. Still suspended. She'd probably remain on paid suspension until Internal Affairs finished looking into the shooting.
It was Roy.
"Russo."
"Erin, I'm so sorry."
She didn't like that. She'd been the one being a bitch, not him. He hadn't done anything wrong. Which meant that as much as she didn't want to think it, he wasn't that kind of sorry. Not the kind of 'please forgive me' sorry, anyways. He was the kind of sorry that people are when you find out you've got cancer, or when you find out someone's house burned down.
"What happened?"
"I've got a guy coming over with plane tickets right now, on the Bureau."
"Tell me what happened, Schafer, or I'm not going anywhere."
"It's about your father."
"Dad? What about him?"
"I think it would be more appropriate to do this in person."
"No, you'll tell me now."
"It's our guy. He got your father."
"What?"
"Your father's dead."
She didn't expect the news to hurt the way it did. She'd spent the last ten years hating him, and that was after a slow buildup of bitterness that had begun almost as soon as they reached the west coast. It was inevitable that he was going to leave them as soon as he set foot on California soil and crinkled up his face at the smell. Everything after that had been… denouement.
But it still hit her. She was thankful for having answered the phone in bed. Her body slumped down further into the corner where the mattress met the headboard.
"You're sure it's him?"
"It fits, as much as it can. Seven wounds. But, uh… it's ugly."
"What is that supposed to mean? They're all ugly, Roy."
"Look, the details aren't important. Just take the plane tickets from Agent Creed, and I'll see you in a little while. And Erin?"
"What?"
"Pack for cold."
She said goodbye and hung up the phone, then rubbed her face to get the last bits of sleepiness out. She grabbed her suitcase and dumped it out on the hotel room floor. She'd need to get back to the apartment before she could leave, but she had to wait for this F.B.I. guy to get here with the tickets.
A knock came at the door, and she opened it automatically, not bothering to look at the guy. She had unpacked just enough that it was going to be a hassle. She heard him step inside behind her as she grabbed her shampoo off the rack.
"Hey, babe."
She froze. There was no way for him to know where she was staying. She'd even parked the Jeep on the far end of the parking lot. How had he gotten her room number? How had he gotten any of it?
"Craig. I thought you were going to be out of town a few days?"
"I took care of it faster than expected," he murmured. "This is a nice place."
"Yeah, sure, I guess."
"What are you paying to stay here? You like it?"
"I dunno, insurance is paying the whole thing. It's fine, I guess."
"Insurance? No shit."
She came back out with a baggie full of bathroom sundries. "I'm sorry, Craig, but this isn't a good time."
"Is everything okay?" He looked concerned, or as concerned as he could look. Something about him painted every expression with a tinge of dark sarcasm.
"Family stuff."
"Yeah? What happened?"
"My father's sick."
"Oh yeah? Is it serious?"
"He might not wake up again."
"That's a damn shame," he said softly. She grabbed her empty suitcase and shoved her toiletries bag into it, zipped it up and started moving. It would hurt to have to pay for the plane tickets, but it would hurt that much more to have Craig see her meeting with F.B.I.
"Not really, but I figure with Becca being—" she stopped herself. "Nobody's seen her, you know? So someone needs to go check on the old man."
"Oh, for sure. I get you."
He followed her close behind as she left the room locked behind her. With luck they wouldn't decide to throw her out before she could get back and grab her stuff, but if that was what happened—she hadn't brought anything too important, she hoped.
He stuck close behind her on her way down the hall, into the elevator. The elevators were glass, and let her see as they descended that a man in a charcoal suit was ascending, passing them. Erin let out a breath of relief. That was another bullet dodged, as long as she could get away from Hutchinson at some point, she was free and clear.
The door opened and she stepped out. No time to waste, not any more. She was walking past the reception desk when a man turned. Navy. God dammit. He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Erin Russo?"
She looked at him, looked at Hutchinson, and looked back at him. Trying to burn the message in with just her eyes that now was absolutely not the time for too much information.
"Yes, what's wrong?"
"Uh…" He'd gotten the message, thank God. "I've got the plane ticket you called down for, your boarding pass is right here."
The man handed over a yellow kraft-paper envelope that Erin slipped into her pocket.
"Thank you very much."
"Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," she said, feigning a smile. Everything was completely fine. Nothing to worry about. At least, she had to let Hutchinson think so, and she had to get him to stop following her as soon as possible.
"Have a nice day, ma'am."
She kept going out the door. Craig followed her, only splitting off a few feet before she got to her Jeep. He'd parked in the striped No-Parking zone beside her, slung one leg over the bike and kicked it to life as she slid into the Jeep.
"Maybe later?" She called to him over the sound of his too-loud engine.
He nodded, and took off. She took off a little way behind.
She took the drive to her apartment faster than she'd have liked. Someone was following her. No, that wasn't totally accurate. At least two someones were following her. The government car was harder to place than Roy's.
Then again, they seemed to be trying to stop her from noticing. They were taking it smart, switching cars. But she knew in her gut, and when she saw the same two cars again, she knew outside her gut, too.
The other was less subtle, but further back. Maybe if Craig hadn't put her on edge, she wouldn't have noticed it, but without a doubt, there was someone else following her, as well. If she had noticed the government cars, then she had to assume they had as well. Which meant that things were about to get very messy indeed.
She got into the apartment, pulled aside the police tape, and stepped through the door. She packed light and packed for cold and was back out the door in thirty minutes. And just like clockwork, within two turns of leaving the apartment, two cars were following her.
She lost them in the chaos of L.A.X.
She wasn't stupid enough to assume that meant they had lost her, though. That would have been a big mistake, and as much as she made big mistakes, she wasn't going to make that one. Not when things were as ugly as they seemed to be now.
She wasn't going to calm down until they touched down in Minneapolis, and then she was going to have something else to worry about.