Page 39 of Every Step She Takes
As my brain argues, my body takes action without me realizing it, and I am startled to see myself stuffing the dirty clothing into my smaller carry-on bag.
Hiding potential evidence? No, not really. Not entirely, anyway.
My body continues taking action. More clothing into the bag. My laptop. My toiletry case.
What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lucy?
What I must do. Being prepared.
You’re not running. No matter what this is, you cannot run.
I don’t answer the voice. My pounding heart won’t let me. I methodically pack my smaller bag, and then take one last look around…
Something’s wrong.
Yes, you’re fleeing police who almost certainly aren’t even here for you.
No, not that. Something…
I spot the charge cables plugged into the wall, and my gut says that isn’t it, but I do need those. I grab them, stuff them into the bag and stride out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
I hurry down the stairs, each jarring step thumping a rebuke through me.
You’re being silly.
You’re being paranoid.
Isabella is dead. Murdered. Someone is hell-bent on framing me, and maybe the average person would trust that the truth will protect them, but I know better. It doesn’t matter whether I’m guilty or innocent. The moment my name reappears in the papers, I will never go back to my peaceful life in Rome.
That thought sets my heart tripping so hard I can barely draw breath, and I allow the judgmental voice to return, telling me I’m overreacting. I want it to be correct. I would happily make a fool of myself if it meant I never had to go through the hell of another public scandal.
I walk slowly down the hall. By the time I near the lobby, I can hear the officers at the front desk.
“Do you have a room number?” the clerk is asking.
“No,” one of the officers says. “That’s why we’re here talking to you.”
“I’m afraid I cannot provide that information.”
“Do you see this badge, kid?”
The “kid” – the Congolese college student – clips each word as he says, “I still cannot provide that information. If you would like me to ring Ms. Callahan, I can do so.”
Ms. Callahan.
I back up two steps, where I can hear them but not be spotted.
“I don’t want you toringher,” the officer says. “We’re here to arrest her.”
Wait. Did he just say…?
No, it’s too soon. I’ve misheard. I must have.
“Oh,” the desk clerk says. “That’s a very different situation.”
“Good. So her room number?”
