City of the Lost by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page B

services
. Okay …
    “I was given this number—”
    “—to discuss engaging our services to assist in your move,” she says.
    “Yes, but—”
    “That’s all we need to discuss at the moment. We run a very confidential service.” In other words,
stop talking. Stop talking now
. “I am unable to answer any questions you might have until we agree to proceed with serious consideration of you as a client. We are very selective. Do you have access to a fax machine?”
    “Uh … yes?”
    “Please fax us a copy of your passport and driver’s licence along with a number where we may reach you. Thank you for your interest in—”
    “There are two of us,” I say.
    A pause. “I’m sorry. You have been misinformed. We provide services for single individuals only. We cannot assist in the moving plans of spouses, partners, children—”
    “She’s a friend and we both need to move.”
    Another pause. “All right then. Send both sets of identification.” She hung up.
    I fax the identification and provide the number from a prepaid cell I buy for the purpose. It’s less than twelve hours before I get a call requesting our “reason for moving.”
    “Fax us a written note explaining the situation, along with all supporting documentation. We will require proof of your claim.”
    “Anything else?” I ask. “Details on us personally.”
    The voice takes on a slight edge of amusement. “We have your identification. That is enough for us to retrieve what we need, detective.”
    Okay, they’ve already started doing their homework.
    “There is also the matter of our fee,” she says. “Five thousand each to cover the costs of the transfer and integrating you into your new home. I trust that’s satisfactory?”
    We’d already been warned of this, and I’ve agreed to pay Diana’s fee as well as my own. I say that’s fine and sign off.
    I scan and send supporting documentation from Diana’s hospital visits and official complaints against Graham and newspaper articles on my attack and a copy of the police report on Kurt’s shooting.
    Her story is the truth. Mine is that those who attacked me in the alley years ago had mistaken me for someone else, and they continued to stalk me, culminating in the attack on Kurt. Do I expect them to believe that? Not really. If there’s any chance this town is legit, I’m hoping that if these people call bullshit on me they’ll still grant Diana admission. She’ll be safe, and that’s what counts. Then I’ll transfer to a new city to protect Kurt, and then … well, whatever. The point is they’ll both be safe.
    Again, it’s less than twelve hours before the next call. I’m told we’ve passed the documentation check and are okayed for the next step: the in-person interview. She rattles off a time and an address.
    “That’s local?” I say.
    “We come to you.”
    “And I’ll meet what, a selection committee?”
    “You will meet Valerie, our firm’s representative and client liaison.”
    “She’ll answer my questions, to verify the legitimacy of your firm?”
    Silence. I say, “What I mean is—”
    “Yes, I understand your meaning. You wish to make sure we are what we say we are, we can do what we say we can. Most clients don’t bother.” A soft sound that may even be a chuckle. “Valerie will do her best to satisfy your doubt, detective. She cannot get into details—she must put our existing clientele first. But she should be able to satisfy your concerns.”
    We meet Valerie at 10 p.m. in a random office building. Yes, an office building. She even looks at home there: middle management, late forties, greying hair cut in no discernible style, decade-old suit.
    There’s no small talk, no offer of coffee or tea. She ushers us straight into a meeting room that’s as stark and impersonal as my apartment. Rent-an-office? Never knew there was such a thing. It does come with an interesting feature, though: one-way glass. I walk to the mirror and pretend to fuss