Page 83 of Hounded

Shoved aside, I clung to the counter while my brain churned through possibilities. If I were on the run for my life, as Joss most certainly was, I would take the quickest route out of the state. A cab wouldn’t travel far enoughfast enough. This kind of mission would be taken to the sky.

It was late to catch a flight out of New York, but I wouldn’t fault Joss for trying. I almost wished I hadn’t approached him at the exhibition. It would have been so much easier to creep up on him here and slay him in his bed while he slept. Quiet. Peaceful. Painless.

LaGuardia and JFK were both near enough that it was impossible to guess which the artist would have fled to. Probably the same one he arrived from, which meant I needed to make a call, after all.

Digging into my slacks pockets, I found my keys, wallet, and nothing else. I checked my vest and came up empty again. My cellphone, along with the sweater I’d shed at Indy’s trailer in a fit of nervous sweat.

The little dog yipped again, and my eye began to twitch.

I’d get my phone later. Even if Indy found it, it was password protected.

The desk attendant was in the middle of activating a room keycard when I cleared my throat. She glanced over at me.

“May I use your phone?” I asked.

With an exasperated sigh, she aimed her card-bearing hand toward the glass-walled area in the corner of the room. Inside it, a long table held a line of computer monitors and a bulky scanner/printer combo.

“There’s one in the business center,” she said.

Nodding, I turned that way, but not before the terrier gave a parting bark and growl. I whipped my head around and bared my teeth at the animal, prompting it to squealand cower in the corner of the stroller.

When I looked up, both the attendant and the dog’s owner were staring in slack-jawed shock.

Without a word, I hurried across the lobby toward the business center.

Inside the room, I was blessed with a bit of privacy. I scanned the row of computers, then carried on to the corded telephone mounted on the wall. The sign beside it advised “Dial 9 + Number,” and I realized another flaw in my plan. Sully’s contact information was programmed into my cell, but I’d never bothered to memorize it.

I missed the days of switchboards and phone operators and the ability to dial directory assistance. Frowning, I considered the computers. I’d never owned one of the things, relying on Indy to search for directions or to look up restaurant menus and movie showtimes. Every time he was reborn, he was a product of the current era. His fashion sense and awareness of modern technology seemed innate. I had always been slower to adapt and less fond of change.

Bending over the wheeled chair in front of the nearest computer, I clicked through to the home screen. Icons populated a field of blue, and I blinked at them in bewilderment.

If I could find the number for the gallery, the after-hours call would roll over to Sully’s cell. That was assuming she answered and wasn’t asleep, in the shower, or otherwise occupied.

After mousing over a few icons looking for something recognizable, I found the internet browser and opened it. I pecked out letters on the keyboard, getting halfwaythrough spelling “Easel” before the search bar autofilled.

A photo of the gallery appeared on the screen along with the address and phone number. I sighed in relief.

Darting over to the wall-mounted telephone, I dialed the gallery and toe-tapped through five rings before Sully’s groggy voice came across the line.

“Hello?”

“Which airport did Joss fly into?” I asked.

A snuffled breath and the rustle of bed sheets carried to my ear before she mumbled, “Loren?”

My grip tightened on the receiver. “JFK or LaGuardia?”

“LaGuardia, I think?”

“Youthink?” I echoed. “I need you to be sure because he’s on the run, and I’m not chasing him all the way to Indiana, Sully.”

I couldn’t leave New York. Not with Whitney lurking around any given corner and Moira dogging my every move. Which meant Joss Foster couldn’t get on a plane.

Sheets swished again. “Yeah. LaGuardia,” Sully said.

I hung up the phone and raced out into the lobby. The stroller dog barked, and my hound bayed as I barreled through the revolving door into the darkness outside.

Parking at LaGuardia airport was a disaster, and I immediately regretted not taking a cab. After winding my way through the multistory garage in search of an openspot, I found one on the third level. While jogging to the elevator, I checked my watch, trying to calculate how far Joss might have gotten in the time since the exhibition ended.

---