Ashcroft had the Range Rover’s revs up high, he was flooring it. For a tank, the thing really moved. A couple of seconds later, he saw the van appear, leaning hard over as it cornered. To his surprise, another van followed the first, this one light gray. The black van had blocked his view of the one behind. The sun bounced off the sides of both vehicles as they turned, illuminating the logos of two television networks. Thorne sat back in his seat and let his breath out in a sharp blast.
“Jesus,” he said. “It’s only TV crews.”
After a pause he and the senator burst out laughing.
“Never thought I’d be glad to see them,” Ashcroft said.
Lauren leaned forward.
“Perhaps you assholes can let me know what the hell’s going on next time. I’m not a child or a piece of goddamn luggage. I have the right to know.”
Thorne looked around. Lauren’s face was scarlet, and her hair was all messed up.
He’d forgotten she was even there.
“Sorry, Lauren.”
“Yeah babe,” Ashcroft said. “My bad.”
Lauren glared at Thorne, ignoring her husband. She was breathing through her mouth and he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her cheeks were flushed. She was angry and frightened and though he was disgusted with himself, he’d never been more attracted to her.
Thorne returned his eyes to the road.
They were traveling parallel to the San Lorenzo River now, heading south. They were close to the beach and he saw the curving track of a rollercoaster to his right. The television vans continued to follow, but had fallen back. There were no stop lights and intersections here, less chance of them losing their quarry.
Ashcroft hummed quietly to himself. He seemed relaxed, like he’d forgotten all about what had happened. Thorne supposed that from the senator’s point of view it was just a minor blip. A misunderstanding that might later become an amusing anecdote for the campaign. He could forgive Ashcroft for thinking that way, but he knew better. They’d been lucky this time. He’d made a mistake about who was following them, but the reasoning behind his mistake was sound. This was a wake-up call, not a time to relax. He’d dropped his guard with Blake, even after being ambushed in the coffee shop. But that couldn’t continue. Blake could double-cross him at any moment, just as he’d betrayed Blake at the mall.
He needed a backup plan.
TWENTY
They were at a marina. Masts swept past in a blur, the senator’s foot firm on the gas. Thorne’s eyes scanned the scene before him, looking for threats. Some adrenaline still remained in his system and he felt it in the form of hyper vigilance. This was the legacy of combat, of PTSD. It didn’t come up too often, but it was always there, ready to come back without warning. Everything was a little too bright, a little too colorful. Ashcroft swung the SUV into a parking spot and killed the engine. It dawned on him that the senator was exactly the kind of person that would own a yacht, and that they were likely about to go out on it.
“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Thorne said.
“I only promised you the best steak, Chris. I didn’t say where.”
“Right.”
Thorne turned to get out. Inwardly, he sighed. This again, he thought. He reached across his body and pulled on the release lever with his left hand. The door was heavy and he had to twist to the right and give it another shove with his foot to avoid it closing again. His shoulder dug into the corner of his seat and he bit his teeth together to stop from crying out. He hadn’t sworn once while he was being shot, but the urge to do so since was almost constant. He’d be damned if he was going to show his pain to the very people he’d saved.
Outside the vehicle now, he straightened to full height and slammed the door shut behind him. As he readjusted the sling’s position, he turned to look back toward the road. The news vans were almost on them. A small twister of dust rose up behind the two vehicles as they picked their way through the lot toward them. It appeared that the press had lost sight of them in the zig zagging parking lot, but it wouldn’t take them long to find the large SUV.
Ashcroft pulled two iceboxes from the back of the Range Rover and passed one to him. There was a forced friendliness about the gesture that made him wonder where the day was headed. He nodded then followed the senator down the pontoon. He spotted what he knew would be Ashcroft’s yacht almost immediately. It was a large stealth bomber in white fiberglass. Sure enough, Ashcroft went alongside it and climbed on board.
Thorne glanced at the name written on the stern.
Questionable Things.
“Please don’t ask him about the name,” Lauren said.
He turned to her. “Why not?”
“Because he’ll tell you,” she said.
Thorne understood. Everyone asked Ashcroft about the origin of the name, and Lauren was sick of hearing it. He walked down the side of the yacht and held the icebox up to Ashcroft with his left hand. He heard doors slamming shut and raised voices. The news crews had caught up with them. He climbed on board, then turned to help Lauren, only to find her right there next to him. When she saw what he’d done, anger flashed across her face.
“Don’t do that shit with me again,” she said.
He shrugged and said nothing. When you were in a hole it was best to stop digging. Up front, Ashcroft was untying one of the lines that held the yacht in place. Thorne didn’t want more engagement with the press pack than could be avoided, so headed toward the stern to finish the casting off process. He leaned forward and used his knee to brace himself while he untied the stern line and threw it over the side onto the pontoon. It landed at the feet of an African-American woman who was studying him with interest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, earnestly.
“Excuse me?”
“For earlier. We didn’t mean to scare you, it was stupid. We thought you knew who we were but you didn’t, did you? You thought we were…them.”
It was the reporter from Channel 9. A man in his late twenties was running toward them from her left, a camera already up on his shoulder. Up in the parking lot, blisters had opened on top of the vans and satellite dishes had appeared. The reporter was trying to stall him. He stood from his crouching position and turned away. James Ashcroft was smiling at him and as they made eye contact, the senator nodded. A moment later, he felt the engine come to life through the deck. He stared down at the woman as the yacht pulled away from her. What struck him most about her was that she too was smiling at him, a big cheesy grin.
This is what I do, I make people happy.
The boat swung around into the main channel out to sea, and he walked slowly forward to where Lauren sat. Now they were underway he had to concentrate to keep his balance. Having his arm in a sling made simple things difficult to the point of absurdity. He knew that, soon, he’d stop wearing it no matter the pain. He stood watching Lauren, a smile on his face. One of the iceboxes was open at her feet and she was in the process of mixing what appeared to be the world’s largest gin and tonic. He guessed that sailing wasn’t her thing and she’d rather be anywhere else. She leaned into the icebox again. This would be for the tonic, he thought. Every time she leaned in, her top fell open exposing a lot of cleavage.
“Earth to Chris.”
“Hi,” he said.
He’d zoned out for a moment, remembering the pool, the kiss. She had her head tilted forward, looking at him over a pair of sunglasses.
“Where were you?”
“Casting off.”
“No,” she said. “Just now. You were miles away.”
“I was, but you were right there with me.”
She let out a long breath. “Oh God, I wish.”
“What does that mean?”
Lauren shrugged, casually. “You started this, Thorne.”
“I’m going up front with James.”
She took a sip of her drink, her eyes fixed on his.
“If you push him over the side, I’ll tell them it was an ac
cident.”
“I love your sense of humor.”
Lauren sighed, her gaze shifting away from him. It was his cue to leave, and he took it before she said anything else. He thought she’d nailed a perfect dry delivery of her line, but as he moved forward he knew there was no line.
He entered the cabin. It was large, with tinted glass windows all the way around and overhead. He walked through a galley kitchen to an eating area with off-white seats arranged around a table in a square. Beyond lay a cockpit area, with two black leather chairs and a steering wheel. Ashcroft sat in one of them, and Thorne climbed into the one next to him. They sat in silence as Ashcroft navigated them out of the marina. They moved slow enough that when he turned his head and looked out the side window he could see the TV crews running alongside, perhaps hoping to set up their cameras to get footage of them heading out to sea. It surprised him that news channels were still covering the Ashcroft story. To Thorne, this spoke to a subconscious knowledge that the action was far from over.
The Questionable Things cleared the marina and they headed out into Monterey Bay. The transition in speed and setting seemed to break a spell he and Ashcroft were under. The senator turned to him as if noticing him for the first time.
“You want to steer?”
“Sure,” Thorne said.
They swapped seats, Ashcroft holding on to the wheel until the last second to maintain control. Thorne made several small course corrections to get a feel for the steering. It was the first time he’d been in control of any kind of ship and he couldn’t help but be disappointed.
“What do you think?” Ashcroft said.
“I thought the directions would be reversed.”
“Would be with an outboard motor or a tiller, a wheel’s the same.”
“You ever open her up, see what she can do?”
Ashcroft nodded. “Sure, but not too often. Mostly what happens is that plates and glasses slide onto the floor and break. I come out on the water to relax and get away from the world, not to zip about like a racing car. Did you want us to do that?”
Thorne shrugged. “Just the way she looks. Streamlined. Fast.”
Ashcroft said nothing and their conversation once again came to an end. After about ten minutes, Ashcroft turned off the engine and the yacht slowed to a halt. The water was like glass with no detectible swell.
“Let’s get the grill on,” Ashcroft said. “I’m starved.”
They walked through the cabin to the deck where Lauren sat. She looked like she’d melted into the seat. She still held a glass in her hand, but it probably wasn’t the same drink. The senator opened a cover, exposing a large grill and began setting it up. Thorne sat next to Lauren at a small table. He chose to sit at the end as it was the farthest he could sit from her without appearing rude. It also allowed him to keep an eye on the senator as he prepared lunch. He allowed himself to study Lauren’s profile. As near as he could tell, it was perfect.
Ashcroft turned to them holding a pair of tongs.
“How do you like your steak, Chris?”
“Burned to a cinder on the outside, dripping with blood on the inside.”
“Good man.”
Ashcroft laid two slabs of beef down on the grill followed by a piece of salmon. A cloud of smoke rose into the air and swirled around them. Under the table, Lauren put her hand on his thigh and ran it slowly back and forth. She continued to look over the side of the yacht, a neutral expression on her face. She was toying with him. His sling prevented him from brushing her hand away. He moved his leg in an attempt to get her to disengage, but her hand only crept higher, toward his crotch. The senator turned toward them.
“Sorry about the smoke, it’s only like this at the beginning. Usually there’s a breeze that takes care of it, but it’s so calm today.” He turned to Lauren and frowned. “Hon, perhaps you could fix us all a drink?”
It wasn’t a subtle dig, but it bounced right off her without comment. She turned to face Thorne for the first time, her hand still resting on his thigh.
“You want anything, Chris?”
“I’m good thanks.”
Her hand was almost touching him.
“I think you need to relax. Tell him, Jimmy.”
“She’s right you know. We got a couple bottles of the most beautiful Pinot. Goes perfectly with steak.”
“Come on guys,” Thorne said. “I’d love a drink, but I can’t.”
“All right,” she said. “But we’ll get you eventually.”
“I have no doubt at all about that.”
As Ashcroft had promised, the steaks were amazing. If politics didn’t work out for him, there was a future there as a chef. He caught himself staring at Lauren and noticed she was staring right back. Her mouth was open, her lips full and juicy. He looked away, off over the back of the yacht, to where the sea merged into the sky. It was nothing. They’d been through something intense together and it made them feel close. If Kate hadn’t broken up with him, it would be a different story. He’d have considered it flattering, then moved on. But the breakup had changed something in his brain, he couldn’t stop thinking about Lauren and the way she was when they were alone together.
Lauren stood and had to steady herself. She was half cut.
“If you boys don’t mind, I’m going up front to catch some rays.”
“That’s fine, honey,” Ashcroft said.
He had a feeling the two of them had arranged this beforehand. Ashcroft wanted to talk to him alone. This was why they were here, everything else had been for this. Lauren paused to pick up a bag, then worked her way around the side of the yacht to a raised section of decking beyond the cabin. She unbuttoned her shirt and dropped it at her feet, then did the same with her shorts. Underneath she was wearing a bikini that was at least one size too small. She took a towel from the bag and laid it out on the deck. Her feet were set wide apart to combat the roll of the yacht and the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. He was staring at her again but he couldn’t help himself. She stood gazing into the distance and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her hair and onto her face. After a beat, she noticed they were watching her and waved. Finally, she lay down on the towel and disappeared from sight. He turned and found Ashcroft watching him with hooded eyes.
“There’s something I feel I should tell you about my wife.”
“What's that?”
“I’m in love with her.”
Thorne smiled. “I’m not surprised. She's adorable.”
“That's nice of you to say. In fact, she's vulgar and a bit on the slutty side. I can't exactly hold it against her, it's the reason I married her. The thing you have to understand about Lauren, is that she bores quickly. Right now you’re new and exciting; next month it’ll be something else. I just don't want there to be any misunderstanding in the meantime.”
“Misunderstanding?”
Ashcroft sighed. “Without you my wife and I would be dead. You know it, I know it, and Lauren knows it. We are immensely grateful to you, but my gratitude does not extend to you sleeping with my wife. Clear enough?”
“Crystal.”
They fell into an uneasy silence. He didn’t know if Ashcroft had picked up on something between him and Lauren, or if his warning was more generic. She was easy enough on the eye that the senator could assume he was interested in her without having to see it. Ashcroft lifted his wine glass and took a long swig, as if to rid himself of the previous conversation. When he put the glass down it made a loud noise on the table, causing them both to flinch.
“Sorry,” Ashcroft said, about the glass.
“Don’t be,” Thorne said, about Lauren.
He looked at Ashcroft and saw that he understood. The senator smiled and nodded once, the air between them clear again.
“Did you want to talk to me while Lauren was away?”
“I’m not sure I need to after what happened earlier.”
“You were going to ask if I thought the gang would be back?”
; Ashcroft nodded again. His hands were resting on the table on either side of his body, his fingers smoothing out the tablecloth over and over again.
“I trust your instincts on these people. How long do you think we have?”
“Two weeks,” Thorne said. “Maybe less.”
“That's all?”
“I’ve been thinking about this since that stupid chase. It’ll depend on whether they have to replace any of the men that died. If they had specialized skills, for example. From what I saw, the only skills they had were in firearms and there’s no shortage of people like that.”
Ashcroft stared at the table, his face pale. Thorne felt bad for lying to him, but he could hardly tell the senator that he’d met Blake in town the day before.
That he was the replacement man.
“Unfortunately, Chris, you’re probably right. It’s funny, I intended this to be a send off. A nice meal on the boat before you went on your way. I figured you’d want to get back to L.A., back to your normal life. This is unfair, but I wanted you gone. I spend so much time in D.C. that my time here is limited. I hate that. This is me time, you understand? I love Santa Cruz, it’s the only place I can relax and leave everything else behind.” Ashcroft paused. “Anyway, if you’re willing, I’d like you to stay for a while until the situation here is resolved. I feel safer with you around and know Lauren feels the same way.”
He wished Ashcroft had stuck to his plan and told him to get the hell out. That way he’d be off the hook for anything that Blake might do later.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Ashcroft nodded. “Can’t ask for any more than that.”
He wondered what James Ashcroft expected of him if Blake did decide to make another armed attack. Last time around he’d nearly died. Wasn’t that enough?
Night Passenger Page 19
