Page 65 of Wrecked
“I need to talk to you.”
“I thought you might. I was headed to a meeting, but I changed my plans.”
“Should I come to your office?”
“No. Meet me at our spot.”
“Be there in twenty,” she said.
“Park at the circle and tell the guard you’re meeting me.”
Addison glanced around the parking lot, packed wall-to-wall with cars. “The last time I did that, I got towed.”
He chuckled. “That won’t happen again. You can’t park in an underground garage. Too easy for someone to put a package under your car.”
“I’m not going to get blown up!”
“Addison, no emotion. What happens when we let emotion take over?”
“We become vulnerable.” She inhaled, counted to four, released the breath.
“And then, what?”
“The enemy strikes,” she replied.
“Very good. See you in twenty.” The line went dead.
She sat in her car another moment, focusing on her breathing. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. The tension slipped away, her heart rate slowing back down. She wasn’t afraid, but she wasn’t stupid either. If someone associated with Haqazzii got to Ronald, they could get to her too.
There was no need to panic. Panicking only made things worse.
I got this.
Addison left Langley, en route for the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to the circle. The guard moseyed over. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Z,” she said.
“Hold on.” Using his two-way radio, the guard contacted someone. Seconds later, he said, “Park in front of the red car, right over there.” He pointed to the other side of the circular driveway. “Put this on your dash.” He handed her a pre-printed sign that allowed her to park there the entire day.
Now, we’re getting somewhere.
Addison parked, but before getting out, she pulled her Glock from the glovebox, tucked it beneath her suit jacket against her back.
As she made her way inside, she let the hot July sun warm her. She loved the heat, the clammy air clinging to her skin. The only thing better than being outside in the summer was going for a good run in the heat and humidity.
As she walked around the building toward the museum’s front entrance, she did a slow three-sixty.
The sidewalks were peppered with tourists, workers, runners. It was the Nation’s Capital in the middle of the summer. It was impossible to know if someone was tailing her. No one seemed to be paying her any attention, but they could be watching her from a block away.
She entered the museum, opened her small handbag so the guard could check for a weapon. Not the best method, since hers was on her person.
As soon as she strolled into the first exhibit room, she spotted him admiring a painting. Seeing him made her smile. She sidled over, slid her arm through the crook of his elbow and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Hi, Daddy.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Hello, dear. How are you doing?”
