text: “I can't do this anymore,” Carly said “I need to get out of this room. How do you people live in this heat? It ́s too bloody hot, it’s unbearable. 46c it says on my phone today. I swear I have never been this hot in my life. I can't breathe, I can't sleep. The sweat is pouring off me. Last night the aircon went off, there was a mosquito in the room - bastard bit me. I got up at 4am and had a cold shower - I still couldn't get back to sleep. I thought you lot had money, why am I in this shitty motel anyway, there are tons of swanky hotels on the Strip with decent aircon and room service?” Kevin looked across the room at Carly. “It ́s July, its Vegas what do you expect? We are in the desert. You get used to it. Just be glad you are not in Louisiana where I grew up. There it ́s 37c but 80% humidity. At least here the humidity is 10%, so cool when you get out of the sun. And in answer to your question. Hotels are dangerous. People see things. Most staff are on low wages, easy to bribe. Lots of entrances and exits. You've seen the movies where people dress up as maids and steal key cards. This is crappy but its anonymous, as long as you pay for the room no one bothers you. Anyway, we have one or two more days here and then that ́'s it.” “Where are we going then,” Carly said. “I don't know exactly, Petra is organising it. I should know tomorrow when she calls me.” Carly lay back on the bed and got out her phone. She was scrolling through it and he could hear music and laughter. Probably some stupid cat videos people were always sharing. Kevin tried not to think about Louisiana and his upbringing. As soon as he could he joined the police force and went to the big city. He hated the bayou and the small minded people in his town. Firstly, he worked in Baton Rouge and then, as a result of an exchange organised by the federal government, ended up in Washington - where he had been for 7 years. He loved the city. The drug busts and gang warfare didn’t faze him a bit. He liked putting bad guys behind bars, he felt like he was making a difference. Then he worked undercover. He liked that a lot. More flexible but more dangerous. These villains were off the scale. A stark contrast to Baton Rouge, where the villains were mostly good ol’ boys who had too many bottles of bud and decided to go out in an air boat on the bayou and shoot themselves a few gators for dinner. Sadly, a lot of the time they ended up as the meat, as they were so drunk they fell overboard, and the police had to pick up the pieces, literally. He smiled to himself at the memory, as Carly looked up from her phone and said: “I’m hungry, can we eat something?” “Sure, what do you fancy, - Italian, Asian. There is a great pizza place on the strip; they have a wood fired oven. I will go out.” “I’m so fed up being cooped up here; can I go with you, just this one time?” She pleaded. “Carly, you know that’s not possible, not yet, it ́s not much longer. Once you have the op you will have more freedom, but for now it’s not safe. They are out there and they know what you look like.” “I don’t want to have a nose job,” she said “My nose is fine just as it is, can’t I get an extension or something to change the shape without surgery.” “Because it works, changing your nose shape changes the rest of your face. You will be amazed what a new nose and new hair style can do. You will have a choice, the surgeon we use is very good, and he will listen to you.” “I’m scared,” she said, “what if it goes wrong, what if there are complications? I don't want to be sick and I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life!” He wanted to say, “Surely you thought this through before you did it. You knew it would be hard. These people don't just walk away. You are a target and they are after you. They have a lot of resources and a long reach. You may not make it.” But instead he said “I had a client once. He squealed on a Colombian cocaine gang. After surgery he was reborn in Toronto where he ran a small bookshop. A few years later we checked in on him. He was happy, smoking a pipe with a goatee beard looking very bookish. He had a wife and 3 children and the Colombians never had a clue. It ́s a big world out there, hiding is not that difficult.” He felt a pang of compassion for her. All alone in a strange country, running for her life. No one to trust - or at least she probably felt that way now, after what had happened in Florida. Petite and dark haired she was not his type, but she was vulnerable and it was his job to protect her. “Carly, I have been doing this for a while. It’s not a risky operation with a good surgeon and good aftercare. You will be out the same day. We will find you somewhere nice to recuperate, I promise.” “Petra said she had been doing it for a while also, and look what happened there.” “That’s why we are going down the surgery route. It will give you more freedom, more chance of making this a success.” “I don’t have a choice, do I?” she said, finally. “Pepperoni pizza it is then” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “Lock the door and don’t answer it for anybody. I will swing by reception also and report the aircon unit. You know where the gun is. Use it if you have to. I will phone you when I am standing outside.” She felt like saying she wasn’t hungry anymore but in an instant he was gone. # # # # # # # # The door slammed behind him and she ran to the curtains to watch him get in the car and drive off. Kevin was tall, with dark hair, broad shouldered with deep brown eyes. Even wearing jeans he didn’t look scruffy. He worked out, no doubt about it. You could see his chest muscles through the tight white t-shirt and his thigh muscles pushing through his jeans. The way he spoke, that southern drawl, was really sexy, and she was sure he must have had a hard time of it in Washington, where they would have viewed him as a hillbilly. Still, he had stuck it out for 7 years according to Petra. Must be good at his job. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being “babysat” by Kevin after all. Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. She had a good job that she enjoyed, with great career opportunities, until that fateful day. The future that she had planned out, career, family a couple of children, was now a melancholy memory. Her life had taken a different turn, now she had to take one day at a time. The previous episode in Florida had shaken everyone up. Petra was at a loss to know what had happened to blow her cover. The Feds concluded that someone working for the airline had tipped them off, no other explanation. She had been identified and followed. Investigations were ongoing, but meanwhile she was in Nevada, just south of Las Vegas trying to start her new life AGAIN! She switched on the tv and flicked channels until she found an old episode of “Colombo” the scruffy detective from the 70’s, who is actually a whizz at solving murders and bringing the bad guys to justice. The ads kicked in after only 5 minutes, just when you were getting in to the story - it was the same on every channel. She would just have to learn to live with it. So many things here were different, not just the tv. But, it was in her interest to adapt, and adapt she would, her life depended on it. Her phone rang. It was Kevin. “I’m outside, look through the curtains, then let me in.” She did that and saw him standing there with 2 enormous pizza boxes and a giant bottle of coca cola. She opened the door and closed it quickly. There was a draught of air; it was like someone had aimed a hairdryer at her. The pizzas smelt delicious, her hunger pangs returned. “You don't want to be out there. It ́s brutal. Worse bit is the heat wave is going to continue for a few more days. It's the hottest day of the year so far - we just have to hang in here!” There were beads of sweat on his forehead, he wiped them with the back of his hand. She watched him as he opened the boxes and brought out napkins. No cutlery, or plates, she forgot that Americans ate pizza right out of the box. He poured her a glass of coke with ice and sat back in the chair; looking right at her he scooped up an enormous slice and shoved it in his mouth. She watched him eating it. He managed not to spill a drop on his pristine white t-shirt, she knew she wouldn’t be able to do that. Especially when she was nervous. This was their third night together, their third meal. They were still sizing each other up, trying to establish boundaries. Her heartbeat had accelerated but she tried to keep calm and helped herself to a slice. It was pepperoni with slices of onion topped with paprika and chilli peppers. She didn’t want coca cola but drank it anyway. It was cool and took the heat away. She already had feelings for him and hated it. She didn’t want those feelings, especially not now. Not when her life was in utter chaos. They demolished the pizza. “So tell me,” he said, wiping his chin, still no stains on his t-shirt “why did you do it. Why testify, you didn’t need to, you could have just gotten on with your life?” “Didn't you read the file?” she said, picking up a bit of pizza with her fingers that had fallen into her lap and was making a greasy stain on her jeans. “It’s all there.” “Yes, but I wanted to hear it from you. They don't put everything in the file, what was your motivation for doing it?” She sighed. “At the time I was angry, I wasn’t thinking clearly. They out of the door with the jewellery trays but then one of them turned round and came back. We were all lying face down on the floor. He went over to Mr Cohen and shot him in the back of the head. He didn’t need to do that, they were escaping and it held them up, but he did it anyway. I looked up and he had taken off his hood so I saw his face. He didn’t need to kill him. It was so unfair. Mr Cohen was a good man - she started to sob - he gave me a break, I was training to be a jewellery designer, not just a shop assistant, he gave me a break. I decided then and there that they wouldn’t get away with it.” Kevin thought for a minute. “Was Cohen wearing a kippah, the small head cover that Jews wear?” “Yes, he always wore it, why?” “We think the shooter was a Palestinian who grew up in Beirut. Lebanese father American mother. He used to work for us but then he was turned. He works for terrorists now as a gun for hire. Mostly the PLO. The money from the heist would have gone to them.” “I thought it was odd that the FBI would be interested in a jewellery heist gone wrong in London. They were at Scotland Yard during my first interview.” “We had to neutralise him, he was becoming a real problem. He knew far too much. But these people are vicious and vengeful, but nothing we can't handle. What about your family, they must have had something to say?” “To be honest, I wasn't that close to my parents. My dad was dead so Cohen was a father figure, and my mum and I were always arguing, so no love lost there; but I will miss my brother and sister terribly, we were very close. They tried to talk me out of it, but I am stubborn I suppose and wouldn' ́t listen. I think they have some mad idea about coming to join me in the future, when things have settled down a bit.” “Won't happen, sorry. Don't get your hopes up. It's got to be a clean break.” He said. “I knew it would be hard and tried to visualise myself in my new life but it different when it happens, it’s much harder to come to terms with. Everything is so different now and I can never go back.” Her voice was starting to break. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her as she was sobbing. He gave her his handkerchief and she made a lot of noise blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. “Coffee?” he said. She nodded. He grabbed the empty boxes and went into the kitchenette. “I got more ice, and more drinks. In the fridge if you need them. When I speak to Petra we will get the date for the surgery. We won’t be coming back to this motel after; we will go somewhere else, closer to Vegas. Everyone is having surgery in Vegas, you won't look out of place with a bandaged nose.” He tilted his head to one side and smiled at her. She couldn’t resist smiling back through her tears. “Oh and one other thing, we really have to work on that accent!” 2,397 words