Page 52 of Kill For Me Kill For You
It didn’t matter. As long as he hadn’t left any forensic evidence behind, it would be okay. Scott was happy with the clean-up. He opened the door, left theDo Not Disturbsign in place and let it close behind him as he made for the stairs.
Two floors up.
Scott was in the hallway, headed to his room when he suddenly realized he didn’t know what to tell Ruth.
He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet, anyway.
The thought of Ruth living in fear of this man for the rest of her life wasn’t an option either. He would have to tell her at some stage. For her sake. So that she knew her nightmare was over – that this man could never hurt her or anyone else again.
She was fragile. Right now, never more so. If he walked into their room and told her straight up he’d just killed the man who’d attacked her, and that they needed to get away for a while until it all blew over – that might be too much for Ruth to bear. She would crack. He could be doing her more damage.
No, he decided now was not the right time. He would have to wait. At least until he was certain the cops weren’t going to catch him. Ruth had to be in a better state of mind too. She had to be away from this city – somewhere far away where she knew no one, and no one knew them. If it all turned to shit, and a warrant went out for Scott’s arrest, he could at least get in touch with his old buddy, Jack. If it was illegal, Jack was plugged into it somewhere or he knew a guy who knew a guy. His old high-school pal could hook him and Ruth up with fake IDs and get them a plane ticket out of the country.
That was the back-up plan.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had more pressing things to consider. Like getting the fuck out of this hotel as soon as possible.
He used his key card to open the door to their hotel room. Ruth was in bed, asleep, but she stirred as the door closed behind him.
And then she screamed.
Scott dumped his bag on the floor, flicked on the bedside lamp and sat down on the bed beside her. He took hold of her shoulders and whispered softly to her that she was okay. She was in a hotel. She was safe. He was right there with her.
Her eyes were wide open, her chest heaving, and as she looked around the room and oriented herself she seemed to calm a little. But only for a second. Memories of the restaurant clearly flooded back into her mind as she reached out and grabbed his arms.
‘What happened? Where did you go? Did you find anything out about the man in the restaurant?’
‘Relax – it’s okay. I followed him around a little and then I came back up. I managed to find out his name, though. I overheard him on the phone.’
‘Where’s your jacket? Are those new? What . . .’
‘It’s okay, I tailed the man around town, and got wet in the rain. Luckily I had my sweats bag downstairs in the hotel gym locker.’
Ruth looked first at the bag on the floor, then glanced out of the window. It looked like a clear night, but Scott thought it would be hard for her to tell in the dark from a lofty hotel window that didn’t open. It’s not like she had been outside.
‘Does the name Patrick Travers mean anything to you?’
Ruth looked to the side, her eyes moving rapidly as if she was scrolling through a Rolodex in her head.
‘No, I never heard the name.’
‘Definitely not a client?’
‘Definitely not. I don’t know the name. God, should we tell Detective Farrow?’
‘No, like he said, honey, there’s nothing they can do. We’d just be wasting our time.’
She grabbed him then, held him tight, and he held her. They sat motionless together, clinging on to one another.
For the first time since September fourteenth, the night Scott got the call from the police telling him his wife had been attacked, he knew everything would be all right. If they got out of there now, everything would be just fine. He could feel it.
‘We need to pack up and get out of this hotel. I don’t like the fact that he’s here. It’s not safe. We need to go. We should go right now, okay?’
She let go of him, nodded, with tears in her eyes. And a smile. It almost made Scott break down. Over the past ninety minutes, he’d wanted some kind of release, and this almost unmanned him. He didn’t regret killing Patrick Travers. Not now. Not after seeing her face. His death – his deserved death – had given them back some hope and the promise of a life still to come.
Behind Ruth were two large suitcases and two smaller ones.
‘Let’s pack,’ said Scott.
