“I trust him.”
“Trust him?” Charlie’s face turned crimson. “You barely know him. LuAnn, this is a big mistake, darling. A damned big one.”
“I don’t think so. Riggs is playing straight. I know he is. I’ve learned some things about him in the last few days.”
“Like he’s an experienced undercover agent who’s an expert at lying.”
LuAnn blinked for a second as these words sank in. A small seed of doubt suddenly grew, invading her confidence in Matthew Riggs.
“LuAnn, are you there?”
She gripped the phone hard. “Yes. Well, if he did sell me down the river, it won’t be long before I find out.”
“You’ve got to get out of there. You said you’ve got the car. Get the hell out of there.”
“Charlie, he saved my life. Jackson almost killed him while he was trying to help me.”
Charlie was silent for a minute. He was having an internal conflict and was highly uncomfortable with it. From everything LuAnn had just told him, Riggs probably was going to bat for her. Charlie thought he knew why: The man was in love with her. Was LuAnn in love with him? Why shouldn’t she be? And where did that leave him? The fact was, Charlie wanted Riggs to be lying. He wanted the man out of their lives. That thought was skewing his whole mental process. But Charlie did love LuAnn. And he loved Lisa too. He had always put his own interests behind theirs. And with that thought his inner conflict disappeared. “LuAnn, I’ll go with your instincts. Riggs is probably okay, now that I think about it. Just keep your eyes open, will you?”
“I will, Charlie. Where are you?”
“We headed through West Virginia, then into Kentucky, skirted the edge of Tennessee, and now we’re floating back toward Virginia.”
“I’ve gotta go now. I’ll call later today and fill you in.”
“I hope the rest of today isn’t as exciting as the last two were.”
“You and me both. Thanks, Charlie.”
“For what? I haven’t done anything.”
“Now who’s lying?”
“Take care of yourself.”
LuAnn hung up the phone. She would be meeting Riggs soon if everything went according to plan. As she walked back to the car, Charlie’s initial reaction came back to her. Could she trust Riggs? She slid into the front seat of the Honda. She had left it running because she had no keys and didn’t share Riggs’s skills at hot-wiring automobiles. She was about to put the car in gear when her hand stopped. This was no time for doubts, and yet she was suddenly overwhelmed with them. Her hand refused to move.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Riggs walked slowly down Ninth Street, looking casually around, as if he had all the time in the world. A gust of freezing air hit him. He stopped, gingerly slipped off the sling, and put his injured arm in the sleeve of his overcoat, buttoning it all the way up. As the bitter wind continued to blow down the street, Riggs pulled up the collar of his overcoat, took a knit cap emblazoned with the Washington Redskins logo from his pocket, and pulled it tightly over his head so that only the lower part of his reddening face was visible. He entered a corner convenience store.
The two teams of agents that were following him, one on foot, the other in a gray Ford, swiftly moved into position. One team covered the front of the store, the other the rear. They knew Riggs was an experienced undercover agent and they weren’t taking any chances.
Riggs appeared carrying a newspaper under his arm, walked down the street, and hailed a taxi. The agents quickly climbed into the sedan, and it followed the taxi.
Moments after the sedan disappeared, the real Matt Riggs, wearing a dark felt cap, emerged from the store and walked quickly in the opposite direction. The key had been the brightly colored knit cap. His pursuers would have focused on the burgundy and gold colors like a ship’s beacon to pinpoint their man and would not notice the subtle differences in the overcoats, pants, and shoes. He had called in a favor last night from an old friend who had thought Riggs long dead. The FBI was now tailing that old friend to his job at a law firm near the White House. The man lived near the FBI building, so his being in the vicinity would not be difficult to explain. And a lot of Washingtonians wore Redskins knit caps this time of year. Finally, the FBI couldn’t possibly know of the long ago connection between the two men. The agents would question him briefly, realize their mistake, report back to Masters and the director, and get their heads handed to them for their morning troubles.