As they wove through traffic and eventually left the city behind, her tension ebbed. Self-disgust and lingering images of the night’s raid—the girl’s screams and her tangible terror—rolled in.
Why hadn’t Max done anything?
What could she have done? Object and be taken away like the would-be hero?
The Church would detain and question the man, and probably release him once they confirmed was sure he wasn’t Psy. But if they arrested Max, they’d know seconds after pulling Taylor from her side that she was Null and he was Ee.
Recognizing her lack of options didn’t ease her guilt.
Max needed to squelch that need for heroism, for Taylor’s sake. She couldn’t risk him being caught. Couldn’t betray his trust like that.
Doubt and questions churned inside, until her lungs felt tight. She clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached. She jerked the car to the side of the road and pushed the door open.
“Max?”
Taylor’s concern was lost in the rush of traffic behind her, as she bolted from the car. She dropped to her knees in the dry roadside grass. Her dinner burned up her throat, and she emptied the contents of her stomach on the ground.
Chapter Two
“Hey. Are you all right?” Taylor rubbed Max’s back. His warm palm and the concern in his voice cut through her sick, self-pitying haze.
She wiped away the tears accompanying her nausea and nodded. What was wrong with her? She knew better than to let her feelings show. Even though she couldn’t be read, displaying this kind of weakness could get them spotted.
She accepted his offer of help up, as well as the water bottle he handed her. The cool liquid didn’t rinse away the taste of sick, but it soothed her throat.
Taylor didn’t display a single speck of emotion beyond concern. He was playing the part required of him to keep them from getting caught, and Max couldn’t keep a tiny thing like guilt in check.
“I’m sorry.” Not only because this was a dangerous time to lose her shit, but nothing else seemed adequate to express the chaos in her head.
“Don’t be.” He embraced her. “I get it.” He rested his chin on the top of her head, and his words vibrated through her skull.
Even though the hug would solve anything, comfort seeped into her fractured thoughts. She squeezed Taylor, afraid the one thing anchoring her would drift away. Wow, she was melodramatic tonight.
“Morning sickness, right? Maybe I need some pickles to go with my ice cream.” Max forced a laugh. She swallowed her guilt and dread so she could think.
“About that.” A new hesitation lined his voice. “Are you sure...?”
Hurt tried to worm its way into her thoughts, and she squashed it. “You do know how babies are made, right?” Irritation leaked into her reply, as they climbed into the car.
“Funny.” His smile was as flat as his tone. “That just means it’s not mine.”
She flopped her skull against the headrest, and the thunk reverberated through her brain. The implication gnawed at a new part of her, making her heart feel exposed.
Max and Taylor might not be a couple, but they had a physical relationship. Their lifestyle didn’t lend itself to concepts like long term, and random hook-ups were dangerous. Getting involved with the wrong person, letting the wrong secret slip... it could redefine screwed.
But sometimes cuddling didn’t sate the craving for physical closeness, and sex was an effective release for both of them. “Unless it was immaculate conception—like any God would want me mothering their offspring—I’ve never been more certain of anything, than I am that I’m not pregnant.” She kept her response light.
He slumped into his seat. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Exhaustion nudged her senses at the surrender in his tone. Max pulled back onto the freeway. Back to staying alive. Hurt feelings could wait.
If this was draining her, it had to be depleting Taylor. Her job was to watch the road, make sure they didn’t hit anyone, and check that no one followed. Basic stuff.
He extended his senses for things she couldn’t see, and at the same time ensured it didn’t look like that was what he was doing. He’d explained it to her in computer terms once, so she could understand. He partitioned his mind, so the subconscious performed the important tasks, while his conscious mind kept it a secret from listening Psys. She couldn’t imagine what that took. Hell, her handheld struggled with that level of multi-threading.
The minutes ticked away in silence, becoming an hour and then more.
The gas light came on, which meant another decision. “We have the gas we need to get to Vegas. Keep pushing through?” Her playful tone was for his subconscious. To trigger a response anyone listening would see as light-hearted.
“We really shouldn’t stop if we don’t have to. Traffic will be heavy soon.” His answer meant he thought it was safe to refuel and stretch their legs. Years ago, the double talk took her a moment to process. Now it was second nature, and they’d use it until they were certain the way was clear.
Some of the bunched-up muscles in Max’s neck loosened. The stress of the raid lingered, but she could breathe now.
She exited at the next service station and cued up for the first available ethanol pump. When a spot emptied, she slid in, becoming part of the ballet of an eternally crowded gas station. Her stomach growled, and heat flushed her face.
Taylor’s grin was tired, but it reached his eyes. “You must be feeling a little better.”
“A bit. When we hit Mesquite, we should find a twenty-four-hour buffet.” She was asking him to grab her something from the convenience store. Pre-packaged food wasn’t the best, but it was better than gnawing on her fingernails, and it would shut up her protesting stomach.
He’d given the all clear, and she hadn’t seen anyone for miles, but years of practice made it hard to switch off the contradictory words.
While she filled the tank, Taylor went in search of food for the second leg of their trip. He was better with people. Even without his gift, his odd white hair with black tips that framed bright sapphire eyes drew smiles and attention in most places.
Once upon a time, they dyed his hair and got him contacts, so he’d blend in. The same genetic anomaly that made someone Psy or Ee also gave them unnaturally colored hair and eyes.
These days, sympathizers wore the look too. Whatever their reasons—whether it was for fashion, a show of solidarity, or to help the Psys blend in and hide—she was grateful Taylor got to be himself a little as a result.
It also meant Max didn’t have to wear contacts these days, though she let everyone believe the opposite. Her pale violet eyes were the only indicator wasn’t a Normal.
The pump ticked off numbers, the dollar count climbing much faster than the gallons. She let her gaze wander over the parking lot, occasionally drifting to the familiar face inside.
Taylor would do what he always did—let the emotions of the people around him wash over him, and customize his responses to match their moods. Most likely, he’d grab some food, tell the girl behind the counter that Max was his baby sister and their parents were quarantined, and make sure the cashier was as engrossed in the conversation as possible. Enough to leave a memory if anyone asked, but not so much it would stand out as unusual.
An SUV pulled into the gas station, bypassed the line for the pumps, and circled the parking lot. Max’s mental alert meter chimed. It was probably nothing, but there was no reason to take chances. Keeping her movements casual, she stopped the pump and alternated her attention between the new arrival and Taylor, who was almost to the front of the line.
Please don’t let the SUV be here for us.
Max shoved her hands in her pockets, to keep from drumming her fingers on her leg. When that didn’t work, she grabbed a squeegee and busied herself with washing the windshield. Horns blared, urging her to make room for the next car. The noise increased in volume and rhythm when the SUV parked a few feet behind her, angled so it wouldn�
��t block the other pumps, but trapping her.
She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting of pain to keep panic from having its way.
The rear door of the vehicle opened. In the flickering fluorescents of the gas station, The doctor’s ponytail looked like it had actually been dipped in blood, and he still wore those fucking glasses. “Good evening, miss. It’s Max, right?”
Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Her earlier nausea returned. She forced a tired smile. Would the irritated people around them, shouting for them to move, hide the fact she didn’t emit thoughts or emotions of her own? “Doctor. What are you doing all the way out here?” Thank God her voice didn’t shake.
She flicked her gaze over his head and caught Taylor’s attention. He had his purchases in hand, and was leaned against the counter, chatting up the cashier. The moment he met Max’s gaze, he straightened.
“I thought we’d head to Las Vegas.” The doctor’s tone was casual. “I’ve got a couple nickels burning a hole in my pocket.”
Their code. Max’s head swam. How long had the doctor and company been following? Or did they pick up Max and Taylor’s trail, based on the Las Vegas conversation?
“Something concerned me about your blood tests. Do you have a minute to talk?” The doctor stood less than a foot away.
They tracked Max hundreds of miles from the shelter to talk about a false pregnancy positive? Bullshit. “You said we were clean.” Every muscle in her body coiled, prepping for flight. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, doctor, but we’ve been driving all night. We’d like to find a motel sooner rather than later. If you leave me with your card, we can connect after I’ve had some sleep.”
He shot out his hand and grabbed her upper arm, digging his fingers in until her muscles screamed in protest. Taylor broke into a sprint. The SUV edged closer, and one of the Synths emerged from the passenger seat.
The car next to Max left and a smaller one took its place, as the SUV shifted position, creating a narrow opening she’d be able to fit the car through.
“This isn’t a request.” The doctor tightened his grip. That was going to leave bruises.
“I’m not available, regardless.” Max twisted, using his weight against him, and drove her shoulder into his diaphragm. He doubled over with a loud gasp, and she wrenched away. The second man charged her, but she was faster.
Taylor was already in the passenger seat, reaching over to start the engine. Max sprinted the short distance to the driver’s door, slid behind the wheel, and leaned into the horn, to get everyone else out of the way. It wasn’t like she could avoid drawing attention at this point; might as well use the chaos to their advantage.
She threw the vehicle into reverse, stomped on the gas, and forced the car between the SUV and the pumps. A chorus of horns screamed in the background, as she peeled onto the freeway.
If her pulse raced any faster, it would tear from her veins. Would this be the night Max and Taylor got caught?
She didn’t dare take her eyes off the road. Taylor would do his job, and she’d keep them in one piece while he worked.
She wove in and out of the lanes of semi-trucks that made up the majority traffic at three in the morning. Each swerve cut things too close for comfort, as she struggled to leave their pursuers behind. Their car was smaller and more maneuverable than the SUV, but one by one, the trucks that should be a moving roadblock behind them slowed and pulled to the side of the road.
Fuck. Their Synths were more powerful than she realized. A Psy wasn’t capable of mind control, but if they plucked the right details from a person’s mind, they could return snippets of influence. If a trucker was tired, a powerful, well-trained Psy could nudge them to pull over for a nap. A driver missing home might stop to call his family.
That meant Taylor needed to do something similar. Tonight would push the limits of both his and Max’s abilities. Sympathy for him throbbed behind her eye, making her head ache. She risked a glance at him. His face was drawn, his lips pale and tight. He’d reached the same conclusion.
Please, whoever’s listening, let Taylor be better than they are.
She’d only seen the after-effects of him doing this a few times, and the pain it had etched on his face made her never want to see it again. If there were any other way...
There wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He closed his eyes. “I know.”
She alternated her gaze between the road and the rearview mirror. Taylor’s shallow breathing blended with the pounding of blood rushing in her eardrums.
Tires squealed, and horns blared. Instead of pulling to the side of the road, the trucks behind them spilled into a mismatched braid. When the SUV tried to go down the middle of the freeway, the weave of trucks tightened up. When Max’s pursuers headed for the shoulder, the grotesque but beautiful dance loosened, to make the alternate path inaccessible.
Taylor gripped her knee more tightly with each passing moment. She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her protest. It was uncomfortable but not painful, and the least she could do right now was be his center.
The gaps between cars in front of them widened, and she floored the gas pedal. In the rear view, the SUV grew smaller until it was a speck, and then it was gone.
With each mile marker she passed, Taylor’s grip on her thigh loosened more. His breathing went from shallow and ragged to slow and even. She hadn’t seen any pursuing taillights in almost two hours. She risked a glance at Taylor. His head was slumped forward, his chin on his chest, and his eyes were closed.
Too much adrenaline coursed through her for her to pay heed to gnawing exhaustion. With him asleep, his dreams were the only thoughts and feelings available to an external source. He could still be located, but with any luck, she and Taylor had put enough distance between themselves and the SUV that he was nothing more than a spot of noise in a rainbow of thoughts.
With the immediate threat muted, Max could focus on next steps, like a destination. They had only been in the shelter for a few days—not enough time for her to plot where to head next. As she drove, she let her mind trip over any news she’d read, comparing it to the mile markers and upcoming towns.
They needed someplace that wasn’t quarantined, didn’t sport a heavy Church influence, and ideally had a strong underground network of sympathizers.
A difficult list of requirements to meet when she had time to search. Her fortune would have to take a pretty serious upswing, for her to manage it without preparation.
She passed one exit after another, none feeling safe. Not that she had an instinct for safe, but she had a good memory for places that weren’t.
Her eyelids drooped, and she pinched her cheeks to snap herself awake. Light creeped over the mountains behind them. Pulling over to the side of the road for sleep ranked low on her list of smart moves, but if she didn’t find a stopping spot soon, falling asleep at the wheel was worse. She could locate a remote gas station if needed. Someplace where it’d be easy for her to hop on their network and block the cameras for a few hours.
An exit marker caught her attention. Logan – 40 miles. The name was familiar. She tossed it around in her sleep-deprived brain, searching for a point of reference.
She’d seen the town name in underground forums. The little city was buried in the mountain and managed to avoid both The Church and P-72. She could make it forty miles. The big cities where people worked were in the opposite direction, so she wouldn’t have to fight commuter traffic.
She rolled down the windows, opened the vents all the way, and let the cool morning air brush her face, while she pushed the car as fast as was safe without drawing attention.
Half an hour later, she took the first Logan exit. She tried not to look lost as she navigated up one street and down another. Nothing stood out as a good stopping spot. Chapels dotted every corner, which was typical, but at least none belonged to The Church.
And then one caught her eye. The stained glass gleamed in the rising sun
—geometric shapes, woven with blocky leaves and vines. Non-denominational. That was refreshing on its own, but it was the sideways X of a Maltese cross that filled her with relief. The tangle of foliage, signified order amid chaos. Sympathizers.
The Church had no more trouble finding a sympathizer building than she did. However, these locations had alerts similar to those she and Taylor used. Not digital—few people anywhere could replicate her access to any camera or network. A sympathizer church kept a minimum of one Psy or Ee on guard at all times, projecting an aura of calm while feeling for threats. The people here knew how to evacuate quickly if danger approached.
Max pulled into the parking lot and nudged Taylor. “Hey.” She hated to wake him, but they needed to get inside.
He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “No.”
“Come on. Just look for a second.” She couldn’t help a smile.
He blinked a few times in the bright morning and finally turned his attention to the chapel. A grin threatened to split his face. “You’re brilliant.”
“I’m lucky.”
He grabbed her cheeks between his palms, and planted a hard, fast kiss on her lips. “You’re brilliant. No arguing. Say it.”
Warmth flooded her. “I’m brilliant.”
“Damn straight.” He brushed his lips over hers again.
They pulled their overnight bags from the trunk. The rest would stay in hidden compartments until they knew how long they were staying. Taylor wrapped an arm around Max’s waist and leaned into her. The freeway diversion must have drained him completely. They all but stumbled over each other in exhaustion, as they made their way inside.
The foyer was soft and unassuming, like with most small chapels. A girl—maybe in her early twenties, it was hard to tell—sat on a wooden bench, reading. She looked up. “We have beds.” Kindness tinged her voice.
Max smiled with gratitude at the lack of questions. “We’d love that.”
The girl walked toward them and reached for Max’s arm. It was a lot easier to read a person through physical contact. Max resisted the urge to pull away. This was the Psy on guard for the morning. Which also meant her bright-pink hair was natural.
Over Exposed Page 2
