The Dark Glamour Read Free

of his smile.
    He wanted to take care of me, she reminded herself, running her fingers along the edges of the key. Even if he’s not here to know about it, I should let him try.
    “First thing tomorrow,” she declared out loud, and the words sounded good in her ears. A restless sort of shifting noise filtered up from the room below hers, but apparently her voice wasn’t loud enough to warrant more banging.
    Just wait until I put the furniture back, Jane thought ruefully, eyeing the jumbled mass against the door. Sahara would thump and shout herself into a premature stroke. It’ll keep, Jane decided. The bed wasn’t especially comfortable anyway, and although it felt good to have a plan, it felt even better to have a plan and a barricaded door.
    She replaced the key in her passport, slid the passport back into her bag, and then propped the bag under her head like a pillow and stretched out on the floor. She didn’t really expect to sleep, but as soon as her eyes closed, she lost consciousness. For the first night since her escape from 665 Park Avenue, Jane didn’t even dream.

Chapter Two
    T he bank felt more like the lobby of a posh hotel than anything. The glass doors vaulted into high glass ceilings, and the teller lines wound discreetly among exotic trees in pots and tinkling fountains. It was actually rather intimidating, Jane admitted to herself, but she drew her spine perfectly straight when it was her turn at the window. She set the key on the gray marble counter that separated her from the teller, a woman with a slick black bun and aggressively rouged cheeks. Jane opened her mouth, but suddenly realized that she didn’t remember how her hastily rehearsed cover story was supposed to begin. “H-hi,” she stammered, and then stopped.
    Fortunately, the teller took just one quick look at the key and seemed to know exactly what to do. “I’ll call the manager, miss,” she announced in a clipped tone, and pressed a button on the console in front of her.
    Calling the manager, or hitting the panic button? Jane wondered wildly, but the man who popped out of a side door in response definitely looked more “manager” than “security.” He was a sturdy but somehow fragile-looking man with a delicate nose and tiny wire-framed glasses, who seemed almost painfully delighted to meet Jane. She hesitated for a moment after he introduced himself as James McDeary, but his hazel eyes darted first to the little key, and then to the passport she held loosely open in one hand.
    “Miss Chase, I presume,” he announced, wringing his hands in a thoroughly depressing mixture of anxiety and delight. “This way, please.” McDeary whisked her along a dizzying series of glass-and-marble hallways, his voice pattering nearly as quickly as his footsteps. He had been happy, he told her—terribly happy, in fact—to see Malcolm Chase again last month. Of course, he had been handling Mr. Chase’s account personally for quite some time, but, to his sincere regret, hadn’t seen him in years.
    At that last bit of news, Jane had to fight her impulse to turn and run straight back out of the bank. He’s known this “Malcolm Chase” for years ? Jane had only known Malcolm for a few months. What had he been up to that he had needed an alias, apparently, before even meeting her? It couldn’t have had anything to do with their escape plan, and she wondered if she had even been supposed to come here at all. But she held her ground and kept her face composed as they turned into the silent, airless-feeling safe room.
    “It’s this one in the corner,” McDeary told her, pointing with a finger that trembled faintly with his obvious joy. Jane took in row upon row of stainless-steel doors lining every wall. A simple table made of matching metal stood in the center of the room; other than that, it was as bare as the surface of a star. “Box 41811. I was concerned that it might be too small when your . . . your . . .”
    Jane squeezed the