“He wasn’t. Not the Alex I remember. He was practical and ordered.” She sighed. “But it becomes clearer to me every day, I didn’t know the real Alex.”
The perfect segue for Blake’s next question. “You mentioned a journal. That sounds fairly sentimental to me.”
“Not necessarily, but in his case, it was.” Traffic slowed as they merged with evening commuters. Reagan looked at ease behind the wheel, despite the sadness on her face. This must have been a lot of her days after he and she split.
“I shouldn’t pry. I’m sorry.” Curiosity boiled inside, but if the journal was private, it wasn’t information he needed.
“It’s okay.” This was a melancholy sight. He’d seen a lot of sides to Reagan, but the raw sadness without anger behind it was new. “It’d be nice to talk to someone about it, rather than locking it all in my head. Sometimes it gets crowded up there.”
“I know the feeling. And I’m listening.”
“It’s been hard to get through. Partly for emotional reasons—there’s some personal stuff in there—but mostly because he had shitty handwriting. It’s like deciphering another language. He mentions a woman—someone he loved. I’m going through each page with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any clue I can find.”
“Is where you went this morning related to that?” he asked.
She clenched the steering wheel and her jaw. “That didn’t have anything to do with the journal.”
The abrupt shift in mood caught him off guard. He wanted to push but didn’t want her to shut him out. Maybe a different angle. “I hope you weren’t up long. I don’t want to slow you down.”
“You didn’t, but I don’t sleep much.” Her tone shifted to cool and clinical.
Which reminded him of another question she probably wouldn’t answer. “Is that related at all to the pills you took?”
“What pills?”
Digging into her personal life wasn’t his right, but if she’d gotten herself addicted to something that had withdrawal or other symptoms, he needed to know. “The unmarked bottle, last night.”
“Nothing illegal. Not prescription or opioid.”
“That’s oddly specific.” The evasion didn’t reassure him.
A low growl echoed from her throat. “It’s a combination of caffeine, ginseng, and B vitamins. Standard over-the-counter energy supplement.”
In a warehouse-store-sized bottle. “How often are you taking it?”
“Only when I have the dreams.”
“You have to sleep sometimes.” He couldn’t put the force that he should behind the words. He’d done the same thing when he got back from deployment.
“I sleep. I stay awake until I collapse from exhaustion, then rinse and repeat.”
That’s not healthy, died in his throat. Who was he, to lecture her on best ways to deal with the past? He had experience, but that didn’t mean he’d done it right.
“Anyway. Alex.” Her cool removed tone was back. “The clue we’re following now was one of the toughest to crack. Even after I figured it out, I had to find the key to the safety deposit box. I have it, though. Rather, I think I do. I hope.”
“Me too.” He couldn’t think of anything better to say.
Silence descended over the car. When they cleared the slog of traffic, she found a good cruising speed again.
Red and blue lights reflected off the glass and the interior of the car, and the sound of a siren ratcheted Blake’s pulse. They were being pulled over.
Reagan changed lanes until she could park on the shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. His fake law enforcement ID would only make things worse if the cop recognized him as the guy plastered on APB’s.
“We’re not going to run.” Despite her casual tone, her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Follow my lead. We’ll be fine.”
He didn’t like going into this blind. He watched in the side mirror as the officer approached the car. Reagan sniffled and rubbed her eyes.
The cop knocked on her glass, and she rolled down the window with a sob.
Really? Blake’s internal sarcasm meter climbed along with his apprehension. She was trying to cry her way out of a ticket?
“Evening, miss.” The officer shone his light into the car, over Blake, and back to Reagan. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“I don’t know.” She spoke with a soft southern accent, and her voice cracked on the last word. “Was I speeding? Oh God. I’m so sorry. I should have been paying closer attention. I’m just... Was I speeding?”
“Your tags are out of date.”
She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m borrowing it from my friend. I don’t have a car of my own, and our mother passed away this morning, and we need to get to Maine, and—damn it—I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about any of this. It’s just the whole thing was so sudden, and we didn’t know, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I understand, miss.” The cop’s voice softened. He shone the light toward Blake again. “Sir, are you her husband or boyfriend? Maybe you should be driving.”
“He’s my brother.” Reagan spoke before Blake could. “He and Momma were so close, he can’t see straight. I shouldn’t tell you that. God, he’d kill me if he could think. Don’t have me towed, please? We need to get to Momma.”
“I understand.” The officer put his flashlight away.
Blake bit back his shock. The man didn’t even ask for license and registration. Fuck me.
“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time.” The officer stepped back. “As soon as you get back home, have your friend register their car.”
“Of course. Thank you, sir. Momma would have liked you.”
“I’m sure she would have. Drive safely.” The man patted the roof of the car.
Reagan pulled back onto the road as soon as the officer was back in his vehicle. She checked her mirror every few seconds.
Blake didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified. “Pull into a nearby neighborhood.”
She nodded and took the next exit. Blake had her navigate subdivision streets until they found one that was mostly dark. “Stay here. Keep an eye out.” He squeezed her hand.
He hated doing this, but it would keep them from being pulled over again until they could find another vehicle. He pulled the registration sticker from a Tennessee license plate and stuck it on the battered Subaru, then tucked a couple hundred dollars under their windshield wiper. With any luck, the owner would be the one to find the cash, and it would make up for them having to wait in line at the DMV for new stickers.
Less than two minutes later, he was back in the car, and they were on the freeway again, heading north.
“You scare me sometimes,” he said.
“Because I know how to cry, to get out of a ticket? You shot two men without hesitation last night, but I scare you.”
“Well...” He shrugged in the darkness.
She scrubbed her eyes. “I don’t have mad sniper skills. I had to survive somehow.”
The more time he spent with her, the better a grasp he got on how she’d done exactly that. It was smart. When he thought about it, he’d be disappointed to hear otherwise.
Chapter Sixteen
Sawyer wasn’t supposed to know Kurt Donovan was the proxy for one of the State’s senators, but Jabberwock knew everything about the people he dealt with. From the moment he scheduled the first cleaning appointment for Kurt, he’d had all the vital information for the man and everyone Kurt worked for or with.
“We— I’m looking at moving into a new market.” Kurt’s gaze flitted from the trees to the sidewalk, to the two men walking behind them, then forward again. He was almost as bad at looking inconspicuous as those same two men in suits, strolling through the park in the middle of November—the bodyguards who looked like they should be watching a senator, not a squirrelly guy in slacks and Patagonia fleece.
Lisa was a solo power-walker, sometimes pushing ahead of them and other times falling back. That woman excelled at blending in. Or she would, if anyone besides the group was around to see her.
Sawyer wrapped his jacket tighter against the wind. Thankfully, it wasn’t too bitter this far south. “Define this market.”
“It’s... uh... I have clients looking to pay pennies on the dollar for access to untraceable funds. This is untapped stuff.”
Sawyer doubted that last bit, but he got paid either way. Hell—if things didn’t pan out, he might be connecting the money supplier and the cleaner next. He spun the rest of the words through his head, looking for whatever hidden meaning they were supposed to hold. In the past, he’d hooked Kurt—or rather, Kurt’s employer—up with someone who eliminated any stain or pest, no matter how big or small. That was a straightforward concept. Untraceable funds could hold a wide number of definitions. If they were talking resale, that narrowed things down. He guessed the guy wanted to buy credit-card numbers.
“I have a contact who can provide funds only traced back to the original owner. Will that work?” Sawyer said. It was stupid to be vague. Anyone listening would know the conversation wasn’t on the up-and-up. But talking this way wasn’t an admission of guilt; it simply sounded suspicious to the outside observer. That was good enough for Sawyer.
“That’s perfect.” Kurt looked behind him again, then clenched his fists.
Sawyer didn’t like the change in posture, and he casually drifted his hand toward the holster hidden on his hip. Kurt probably wouldn’t notice. The bodyguards would. Lisa definitely would. “But? I hear a but in there.” He kept his tone as cool as the weather.
“What happened at the masquerade in Nashville... People are saying, if Jabberwock’s presence draws federal and media attention—”
“That didn’t have anything to do with me.”
A dog barked somewhere outside the park. The closest indicator they’d had of company all afternoon.
“I’m not the one saying it”—Kurt held up his hands—“but you have to admit... An armed robbery, where you happen to be, on the same night Hatter emerges from the dead? A guy who’s apparently an ex-fed? The appeal of your service is anonymity. If you can’t provide that...”
Fury sliced through Sawyer’s veins, white-hot and chasing away the kiss of fall on his face. He grabbed Kurt by the collar, pushed him back into a tree, and planted his arm against Kurt’s windpipe, while he pressed the barrel of his pistol to Kurt’s temple. “Does anyone know who you really are or what you’re up to?” Sawyer let the growl roll through his question.
“Stand down,” one of the bodyguards said, and the twin sound of hammers being cocked greeted Sawyer.
He didn't have to look or hear a noise from Lisa, to know she'd drawn her gun. She wouldn't waste precious seconds with an unneeded gesture, to simply make her actions known.
“It’s all right, guys.” Kurt’s voice shook. “We’re all pals here.” He looked at Sawyer. “They’re holstering their side arms. We’re just talking, you and me. Right?”
“Sure. Talk away.” Sawyer pressed the steel harder against Kurt’s skull.
“You’ve kept us quiet up till now. It’s true. But how long until a slipup like the other night changes things?”
Sawyer clenched his jaw, and rage spilled inside at having his ability questioned. “Things change a lot faster if some chicken-shit senator’s lackey gets cold feet because of an unfortunate coincidence. The system works because everyone does their part. I’ve done mine.”
“But can you continue to?”
“You’ve got balls.” Sawyer chuckled and stepped back. He was still furious, but had to respect the other man. “Not many people can keep up their half an argument with a gun pressed to their head.”
Kurt’s laugh was stuttered. He smoothed out his jacket and kept several feet between him and Sawyer. “I’m glad we can work this out.”
“Me too.” Sawyer leveled his weapon and pulled the trigger, hitting the tree next to Kurt’s head and sending splinters flying. “It’d be a shame if someone spilled your secrets.”
“Are you threatening me?” Kurt’s indignation was weak, compared to the way his hands shook.
“I like the word extortion. In more ways than one.” Sawyer waved his gun. “You know, on second thought, I don’t think I can hook you up with a new contact. Thank you for reaching out, though.”
He turned and strolled toward the parking lot, and Lisa fell into step beside him. Kurt’s shouted protests grew more distant until Sawyer and Lisa cut them off by sliding into the back of their waiting car.
The driver started the engine and navigated them into traffic.
“I don’t think the whole mentally-unstable, Joker, I-just-want-to-watch-the-world-burn thing is a good look for you,” Lisa said.
Sawyer’s anger surged back, cooler this time, and he suppressed it. He needed to have an actual conversation with her, not something that deteriorated. “Do you think it was a mistake to tell people who I really am? To show Jabberwock’s face?”
She slid lower in her seat, to rest her head against the back. “You want a yes or no answer, and the issue isn’t that cut and dried.”
“Don’t make me decipher vague responses and riddles. I’m not in the mood.” He stared out the tinted windows at the passing scenery. They could be on the fringes of any medium-sized city. Freeways surrounded a few buildings in the middle of it all tried to reach the sky but didn’t quite. He forced himself to sink into the familiar sights and dial back his mood.
“It’s the proverbial rock and a hard place.”
He rolled his eyes and looked at her. “Idioms aren’t helping either.”
“You had to do something, after Hatter. Showing yourself is having its drawbacks, but staying in the shadows would have too. It’s too late to second-guess the decision and put Jabberwock back in the bottle.”
“It wasn’t this hard after White Rabbit.”
Lisa pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.
“It’s true.” Another lie he told Alice, in the sea of hundreds. Alex didn’t embezzle; he betrayed Lisa. Sawyer told Alice otherwise because he was curious to see if she knew more than she was letting on. Did she have more information about Alex than Sawyer did? It didn’t seem that way.
Lisa fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “Alex made a mistake that we kept between us. Blake worked for the NSA. The two situations are hardly comparable.”
She had a point. “All right. I’ll dial back the show of crazy.” He could make a few concessions. “But we need to get a grip on things.”
“You’re telling me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Blake pressed the button on the water fountain more out of habit than because he expected it to be turned on. There was no shock when water didn’t come out. He was far more surprised the rest-stop bathrooms were unlocked and the toilets working.
While he waited for Reagan, he wandered to the picnic table at the edge of the property. Splinters of paint bit through his jeans when he sat on the bench. He pulled out the phone they used for navigation. Between the two of them, they’d set up the Wi-Fi on the device to constantly be searching for new hotspots. It would piggyback on one, ride it to the next signal, and hop several more times before connecting to the internet.
The device should be untraceable as theirs, but if someone did manage to figure out who owned it, they’d have a hell of a time finding out where it was, before Reagan and Blake moved on.
The bitter air chapping his face had him concerned. They’d picked up winter coats and warmer clothes when they hit southern Indiana, but the bite in the wind held a threat he knew from childhood. He slid up the weather for the region. The line-drawing cloud with flakes falling from it made him scowl. It wasn’t enough information.
The -7 F next to the icon was more telling. He clicked through, for details.
“What’s up?” Reagan’s question jarred him, and his hand f
lew to his holster out of instinct.
He should be keeping a better eye on his surroundings, but this was bad. “There’s a blizzard blowing through. We need to find a place for the night, and soon.”
“No.” She slid in next to him, her arm pressing against his, and took the phone. “We’re so close. We push through.”
He was fine with her being confident and headstrong, but this was something he wouldn’t budge on. “Have you ever driven in a Midwestern blizzard?”
“I’ve driven in a Utah one.”
“Would you do it willingly?”
She stood, and he fell into step beside her, as they returned to the car. “I’m not doing most of this willingly. It’s more of a need than a want,” she said.
“Fair point.” He wouldn’t ask if that included his company. “This has the potential to make what you’ve seen look like a couple of flakes. Six feet overnight isn’t the kind of thing you fuck with.”
She stopped at the passenger side and rested her arms on the top of the car to look at him. “I hate how long it’s taking to get there.”
“If that safety deposit box has sat untouched for five years, it will still be there if we take an extra day or two to get to it.”
“It’s snow.”
He swallowed a snarl. “And you know how to drive in it. Good for you. It’s not just the snow that’s the problem; it’s when it stops. If we get stuck in it, and the clouds clear out and the wind kicks up, negative seven will sound like paradise.” He wished he were exaggerating.
She sighed in frustration and tossed him the keys. “You win.”
He’d pick another time to be smug. The clouds overhead didn’t look forgiving, and the closest town was fifty miles out.
WIND HOWLED OUTSIDE their hotel room. Blake sat on the bed, back to the wall and legs stretch out in front of him. Reagan lay on her back, head on his thigh, alternating her gaze between the ceiling and him.
“You seemed pretty emphatic about the weather.” Her tone was pleasant and soft. “Firsthand knowledge?”
The Hatter and The Hare (Hacking Wonderland Book 2) Page 8
