Clare was a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid.

Proving her point was Richard Wagner, all thirty feet of him, standing where he’d stood for over a hundred years in spite of recent calls for his removal.

Jack reached the base, counted off the paces.

In the cold ground beneath bare deciduous branches, he found the box he’d come for, and in it ten thousand dollars cash and a full set of ID.

Passport, driver’s license—now expired—library card, and Social Security card, but every piece tied to a single identity: Clare.

That’s all there was.

He removed the contents, dumped the box into his backpack.

Refilled the hole, folded the camping shovel, and put that away, too.

He’d notify Clare that the stash had been cleared out, though at this point he wasn’t sure why he should bother. He’d put out lines, trying to make contact.

He’d heard nothing back.

She had her reasons, always had her reasons.

A betting man could make good money on long odds that even if she hadn’t been responsible for Dmitry’s invitation or involved in the Russians’ scheming, she was aware of it. He wouldn’t want to be the man in the suit right now.

What he did want to be, though . . .

He’d had one opportunity to grab a clean identity, and all it had netted him was Clare and Clare and more Clare. He didn’t have time to make a run on another stash.

He flipped through the ID pieces again, pondering the options.

Swapping genders was a pain in the ass that required a lot more work for him than it ever did for Jill, but he’d done it often enough that he could convincingly become her. And Jill looked so much like a younger Clare that if not for the way photos aged, it’d be easy to mistake them for each other in pictures.

He tapped the plastic against his fingers.

Pondered some more.

A woman inevitably drew less suspicion than a man.

And a woman had more costuming options—massive sunglasses, stylish hats, the ability to wear dresses or pants, not to mention the oversize purses, which were so ubiquitous they were near invisible, making it possible to haul all kinds of shit as an inconspicuous matter of course in a way a man never could. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea, and the more he laughed.

For years he’d done everything possible to get Clare out of his head.

Now he’d willingly become her.

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27

Aloft Hotel, Cleveland
Ohio, USA

KARA

SHE LOST HERSELF IN THE WATER’S FLOW, HEAD DROOPING, EYES closed, palms braced against the shower tiles while wet heat pounded down her neck and back, easing the ache at center chest that made it hard to breathe. Steam filled the bathroom.

Solitude brought relief, release.