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"What's the matter with you?" Kyna asked. "You look like you saw a ghost." |
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Cyrus had just returned from his run. His face was drawn and his eyes were sunk so far back in his head that he could easily be mistaken for a Somali refugee. "I'm okay. Are you feeling any better?" |
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"Come on, Russ. Don't jerk me around." |
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"It's nothing. I almost had a wreck in the car, is all. On top of everything else that's happened . . . I guess it shook me up a little." |
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She gave him a skeptical look but didn't push it. "Fine. Can we go to bed? I made some calls and moved the rest of the deliveries to tomorrow night so we can sleep late in the morning and leave for San Francisco the next day." |
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"How's that going to sit with your boss?" |
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Cyrus nodded and went into the bathroom. He slipped out of the jacket and holster and then removed the sweatshirt and shook the grass and dried leaves from the inside. He glanced at his gaunt features in the mirror and shook his head. |
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Kyna and Cyrus left the motel at five after six the next evening. They had spent a quiet day around the hotel's indoor pool and were hoping to make the last two deliveries and get out of Seattle without further incident. They met the first customer at a small deli across from the Kingdome, where Kyna handed over the packets of gemstones while Cyrus munched on a tuna bagel. For the last delivery, they drove back to the harbor and rode an elevator to the penthouse of a high-rise overlooking the yacht club. |
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"Stick close," Kyna whispered as she rang the doorbell. "This guy's a creep." |
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On the surface, the man who opened the door seemed okay. |
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