No Way Back by Andrew Gross Read Free Book Online

through this,” he said. “They’ll have to understand. The rest . . . ” He looked at me measuredly. It was clear what he meant. “The rest we’ll have to deal with later. There are gonna be some things we have to talk over. Okay . . .”
    â€œOkay.” I nodded against his chest. I shut my eyes, as if I could wish this whole nightmare away.
    â€œThis other guy,” Dave said. He pulled himself away from me. “The one who you . . .”
    I knew perfectly who he meant. The one I went up there with. “Curtis.”
    He shrugged. “What do you know about him? Who is he? What did he do?”
    â€œI don’t know anything about him, Dave. I just met him at the bar.” I winced, hearing just how that sounded. “He just sat down, while I was waiting for Pam. I don’t even know if Curtis is his real name. Wait a second, I took his phone . . .”
    â€œYou took his phone?”
    â€œFrom the room. I thought I might need it. To help me prove what happened.”
    I ran up to the bedroom and came back with my bag. Dave had turned on the television. It was almost 11:00 P . M . “This had to have made the news . . .”
    I dug around in my bag, searching for his BlackBerry, and found it, at the bottom next to my iPhone.
    I put the bag down and a weird feeling came over me. Something didn’t seem right.
    Like something was missing.
    I sifted through my purse, finding my makeup kit, my e-reader, trying to figure out what it was. Then it hit me.
    My tote bag. With my program and some materials from the conference. It wasn’t with my bag or on the kitchen island, where I put things down when I come in.
    A feeling of dread came over me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Dave asked.
    â€œSomething’s not here.” I went out the kitchen door to the garage and searched around my Audi. It wasn’t there either. I recalled I’d had it at the bar. I’d even joked to Curtis about it. And I remembered taking it up to the room. I’d thrown it on the floor along with my bag and coat. We weren’t exactly focused on that then. But in my haste, I must’ve left it.
    For the third time that night my insides turned to a block of ice.
    I came back in, my face no doubt white. Dave looked at me. “What’s missing?”
    â€œMy program. From the conference I went to today. It was in a tote bag. Along with some other stuff. It’s not here . . .”
    â€œOur life is falling apart. Who gives a shit about the fucking tote bag, Wendy?”
    â€œYou don’t understand . . . it’s not the program.” I could have cared less about my goddamn program.
    It was that it said Wendy Gould. Pelham, New York on the printed label on the cover.
    It could identify me.
    My heart clutched in horror. The people looking for me, who had tried to kill me twice to keep what I had seen quiet . . .
    They probably had my name right now!

CHAPTER SIX
    D ave, we have to leave,” I said, urgency crackling in my voice.
    â€œWe will. I just want to see if it’s public yet. Then I’ll call Harvey—”
    â€œDave, you don’t understand. I think they know who I am. We have to get out of here now!”
    That was the moment the news came on. The lead-in sent a shiver down me: “A shooting in a room at a posh midtown hotel, and two people are dead.”
    I watched in horror.
    The reporter came on and described how an unspecified victim had been shot in his room at the “posh” Hotel Kitano, along with a second victim—details still unclear—“who was rumored to be a possible government agent.”
    She said that a third person was being sought. A woman , who might have been in that room when it all happened, and who had fled the scene.
    My stomach wound into a knot. I was that third person.
    The person they were looking for was me!
    The newscast went on. By