The Destroyed
“Technically, it was the wig that was black, but she’d learned many years ago that to really sell a disguise, you had to make it your own—be a woman with black hair, in this case.She was dressed in a conservative gray business suit, and carried over her shoulder a brown leather briefcase. Tinted glasses helped hide her still youthful face, and high heels made her seem taller than she was.She had taken the Victoria line of London’s Underground from Oxford Circus all the way out to Tottenham Hale. From there she transferred to a regular passenger train out to Waltham Cross Station, and then grabbed a cab into neighboring Waltham Abbey.It was early yet, only ten thirty, and while many of the shops were already open on Sun Street near the old church, the shoppers had yet to show up in any kind of numbers.As she walked down the middle of the walking street, she could feel the eyes of those in the stores looking out at her, wondering who she might be. That was fine. It didn’t matter if they ...remembered the black-haired businesswoman who looked like a lawyer or stockbroker or some other high-powered type.MoreLess
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