False Positive

by C. Ryan Bymaster

  As beneficial as it all sounded, Dent had refused to go along with Otto’s plan.

  There were a few reasons for this, first and foremost being the fact that this mysterious man, with the ability to hack into unhackable EBs, knew too much about Dent and Fifth. Where Otto’s allegiances lie, Dent didn’t know, and Otto wasn’t fit to tell.

  Which was why the last time Otto had sent a message to Fifth, Dent had told the man that unless he informed Dent of his place in all this, Dent would not allow himself and the girl to be placed in danger. If Otto wished to contract Dent out, even for the benefit of helping Fifth control her forced emotions, he would have to divulge his part in all of this.

  And, of course, this new message had only proven Dent correct about the repercussions of Fifth’s appearance on the television.

  YOU ARE NOT SAFE IN GRAFTSPRINGS ANYMORE, Otto’s message read.

  Fifth had started her texted reply, No shit, sherlo, but Dent deleted her words, making sure to shoot her a warning look, which she suitably ignored, and typed in his own response.

  That’s obvious.

  CHISHOLME KNOWS YOU ARE STILL THERE

  That’s obvious.

  ALREADY HAS PEOPLE ON THEIR WAY

  How do you know?

  I CAN HELP YOU

  What do you know of Chisholme?

  YOU NEED MY HELP

  Not without information. I refused your previous attempt to contract me out.

  THAT INSTANCE WAS FOR REVERSING THE eBLOCKER. BUT NOW, THIS IS FOR YOUR SAFETY. FOR KASUMI’S SAFETY

  I’m all the safety she needs. Unless you tell me who you are, this conversation is over.

  And ….

  Nothing. A minute later, two, and finally three. Still nothing.

  “So?” Fifth asked. “And don’t shrug!”

  He stopped himself from doing just that. “We leave. Tonight. Otto will be of no help.”

  “And Cherry and the Sheriff?”

  “He’s competent. He can keep himself and Cherry safe.”

  Her smile seemed less than true as she looked up at him. “You just complimented him, you realize that, don’t you?”

  “What?” he said in his defense. “Bobseyn’s been formally trained, has good people working under him, has a way of getting others to see things his way. And he knows how to handle a firearm. Like I said, he’s competent.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?”

  She grinned at him. “Careful, Mary, your emotions are showing.”

  He waved a dismissive hand her way, both at her comment and her use of his first name, then grabbed his suitcase. He started for her room, pausing just outside his door. A few seconds later she bounded past him and on down the hallway. The sooner they could be on their own again, the better.

  And he still had to speak with Bobseyn. He wasn’t lying when he’d told Fifth that he thought the sheriff was competent. Bobseyn had made handling The Ranch a bit more tedious, but now that Dent was beginning to understand that when it came to trying to care for and protect one’s child, many things could turn tedious. In the end, Bobseyn had been capable enough, and did what needed to be done to save his daughter, and in effect, had helped save Fifth.

  Dent would not care to admit it, but he owed Bobseyn for that. And perhaps Dent could do with a bit of advice from someone over the age of fourteen — for at that moment, Fifth called out from her room for Dent’s help fitting her stuff into her suitcase.

  Apparently, she had lied about being completely packed and ready to go.

  ---

  Bobseyn set the coffee mug down in front of Dent before taking his seat next to him at the kitchen table.

  “You’re sure about this?” the sheriff asked.

  No, Dent thought, but replied honestly, “I don’t know what else we can do. If we believe Otto—”

  “He was right about The Ranch,” Bobseyn interjected softly.

  “True. So the probability of his being correct about Chisholme sending his men here is very high. It’s not something I would like to discount.”

  Bobseyn sipped his coffee, the mug in a two-handed grip, and looked past Dent into the living room. His daughter and Dent’s ward were in there, saying their goodbyes.

  “I can handle his men if they come to my city,” Bobseyn said after a moment.

  “I doubt they would do anything if they realize Fifth is no longer here.”

  “I’d agree. But,” he smiled and repeated Dent’s own words, “It’s not something I would like to discount.”

  Dent nodded.

  They continued to sip their coffee, likely the last time they would do such a thing together. Sounds of laughter filtered into the kitchen, permeating the air like the smell of Bobseyn’s generic-brand coffee.

  “It would have been good for her here.”

  Dent looked over at the man.

  “For Kasumi. And for Cherry.”

  Dent shrugged. Bobseyn, no doubt accustomed to Dent’s ambivalence, took that as a sign to keep talking.

  “What Kasumi did, for me, for us, I can never repay her. Even you, Dent. You all risked your lives to shut that place down and brought my Cherry back to me.”

  Dent noted the slight waver in the man’s voice, noted how it matched the slight tremble of his lower lip. He knew he should say something here — Fifth would know what to say — but this whole socializing aspect was still beyond him. And he was glad of it. People let emotions guide them, allowed emotions to force them into making foolish decisions.

  Which was why Dent was surprised at himself when he said, “You played a vital part in getting your daughter back, as well.”

  Bobseyn arched a brow his way. He was likely as confused by Dent’s uncharacteristic words of praise as Dent was.

  Dent shrugged.

  Bobseyn’s brow found its normal height, though he did continue to stare at Dent.

  “I’m … I’m afraid, Dent.”

  Dent sipped his coffee.

  “I’m afraid that when Kasumi’s gone, whatever effect she’s having on my Cherry won’t last. That when you’ve both gone, Cherry will see me as she did years ago, back when she chose a place like The Ranch over me, her own father. What if she and I can’t make this work?”

  Dent stared into his mug, swirling the black stuff around and around. Even when his hands stopped, the liquid kept churning. In time, it would settle. But, until then, all it needed was that original impetus to get it going.

  “I think ….” Dent swallowed. He tried again. “I think Fifth, what she does, what she can do, I think it stays with you. I think she’s like a magnet.”

  “A magnet?”

  “A magnet held long enough to a susceptible metal can magnetize that metal, even after the magnet is pulled away. At least for a short time afterward.”

  At his side, Bobseyn gave a little laugh, though Dent didn’t hear normal humor in it.

  “What?” Dent asked.

  “Just that you could take something as personal and emotional as what the young miss does and whittle it down to something so … technical.”

  “I’m only saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying, Dent, and I don’t disagree. Hell, I even like the way you put it. Emotionally magnetized. Hmmph. I just pray that you’re right. The young miss has no real effect on me,” he tapped his temple, indicating the eTech moderator chip implanted in his brain to counter his bipolar tendencies, “but she does make my Cherry blossom.” At that, the man smiled, obviously finding something funny in his words.

  Dent didn’t get the joke.

  “Anyway,” Bobseyn continued, “like I said, I hope we’ll make it through this.”

  Dent spit out an appropriate answer. “There’s a high probability you will.”

  “Thank you, Dent. I mean it.”

  Dent shrugged.

  After a moment, Bobseyn asked, “What about you?”

  “Hmm?”

  “This magnetizing aspect? She’s getting to even you, isn�
�t she?”

  More laughter erupted from the living room. Followed by high-pitched, fast-paced sounds which may have been strings of words. Or a parrot being strangled.

  Dent waited for the sound to die away before answering. “I … think so.”

  “You don’t sound pleased about it.”

  That sounded like something Fifth would say. “Was that a joke?”

  Bobseyn cocked his head. “No, I was being serious. Never thought the day would come, but I can actually hear it, that tiny hint of emotion, in your voice.”

  Dent shrugged.

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You need to keep that girl from harm’s way, Dent. She doesn’t need to be around what you do.”

  “People like Chisholme make that near impossible.”

  “Then you find a way to make it possible.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Wish I had some, friend.”

  Dent looked over. Friend? The man must have misspoke.

  “I’ll do my best to keep her safe,” Dent promised, though why he did, he didn’t know. It was a pointless thing to say. Might as well say the moon appears brighter at night.

  “And you can’t trust this Otto to do what he says? That he can get one of those eBlockers working to help Kasumi be around people without … you know.

  “If he can, who knows what strings it will come attached with. I don’t know who to trust.”

  After a moment, Bobseyn rapped his knuckles on the table. “Well, I’ll tell you something. You got two people here, myself and my daughter, who you can trust. You keep that in mind.” He stood, stretched, and patted Dent’s shoulder as he passed by and headed towards the living room, to his daughter and Fifth.

  When Dent didn’t immediately follow, the sheriff turned back and, in a low and unwavering voice, said, “That Chisholme fellow? If he so much as shows up on my doorstep asking about the young miss … I’m putting a bullet in his head. No second thoughts about it.”

  Dent nearly knocked his coffee over. Even for someone like Dent, what Bobseyn had just proclaimed had come as a shock. It sounded perilously close to something Dent would have said.

  Bobseyn, raised a brow at Dent’s startled reaction. “Maybe you got some magnetism of your own, Dent.”

  Then he turned, called out to his daughter, and rushed into her arms when she stood, leaving Dent to wonder what the sheriff had meant.

  Dent was not like Fifth. He didn’t have some unexplainable ability to affect people’s emotions, let alone make them act in any particular way. He looked on as Bobseyn and his daughter came out of their hug.

  Fifth twisted where she sat and looked back over the couch at Dent.

  Maybe she was expecting a hug, as well?

  Dent gave her a nod.

  V

  Dent turned the radio down and switched it to the news station. It was just past midnight and Fifth was finally asleep. He looked over. She was all tucked up into the passenger seat, head against the window and shaking with the bumps of the freeway. For some odd reason, she was wearing only one shoe. He shot a glance into the mirror on her side and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  Looking ahead again, he searched for an exit. Not any exit, but one that looked to be relatively dark. He needed such an exit, and soon.

  When they’d left Bobseyn’s place two days ago, Dent truly had no destination in mind. He got them packed up and headed east. At the least, he would drive all the way back to New Jersey. His main goal had been to simply get out of Graftsprings, to leave the sheriff and his daughter behind. He wasn’t entirely sure as to his reasons. He told himself it was because there was a high probability that Chisholme would send his men searching for Fifth and it would be easier to keep her safe if he didn’t have to deal with Bobseyn getting in the way.

  The sheriff had proven he could handle himself in a tough situation, but Dent had always preferred working alone. People were unpredictable. More variables in the equation meant there was more of a chance of things going wrong. Or, Dent was oddly thinking, more chance of innocent people getting hurt. That particular line of thought had never concerned him before.

  It concerned him that it concerned him.

  And if his suspicions regarding the vehicle that was following him proved to be true, Dent had made the correct decision to leave Graftsprings. Or, perhaps it may not have been. It all depended on how this would play out.

  He glanced in his driver side mirror and then back again into the rearview mirror. Two cars back, one lane over to the left. A black Charger. It was still there.

  Dent needed that exit, soon.

  He signaled, eased into the lane to his right. A check of the mirrors revealed the Charger eased over as well, but with no signal.

  Almost twenty minutes now the Charger had been following them. Well, twenty minutes since he’d first spotted it. With only a half-dozen or so cars on the freeway actually going the posted speed limit, like Dent was currently, it hadn’t been overly difficult to spot the Charger tailing them.

  Probability of it being nothing was nil. There was no doubt in Dent’s mind they were being followed, maybe ever since leaving Bobseyn’s place. Questions were, who, and why? He looked at Fifth and wondered if he should wake her. Maybe. But it would be easier to handle this without her vocal input.

  He saw an exit approaching, the only nearby light visible was a two-story high sign for a gas station. The turnoff looked to head into dark fields and back ways. The perfect place to ditch the Charger. He signaled, eased into the furthest lane, ready to exit.

  And when the Charger crossed not one but both lanes to get directly behind Dent, he knew it for what it was. He still didn’t know why, though.

  At this point, signaling his intent to exit the freeway was pointless so Dent simply made the gentle turn, the Charger just behind him.

  “Fifth.”

  No response.

  “Kasumi,” he said, louder.

  That startled her awake. She immediately reached down to find her missing shoe.

  “What?” she said in a half yawn.

  “Things are about to get rough.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s following us …,” he started.

  She turned in her seat to look back.

  “… And I don’t want them to be following us,” he finished.

  She twisted all the way back, peered into the darkness ahead as they approached the stop sign. “What are we going to do? Want me to lean out the window and shoot at them?”

  “What?”

  “What?”

  Dent came to a stop and gave her a long look, trying to determine if she had been serious. “Sit back,” he said. “Keep your head low.”

  She did as told.

  Dent started his right turn slowly. When the Charger came to the stop sign behind them and almost slowed to a complete stop, Dent floored it, nearly fishtailing the Escalade as it shot down the unlit street. Seconds later, the Charger squealed its tires to catch up.

  The Charger’s high beams flashed on behind them and Dent kept his foot to the floor. The Escalade was gaining speed, now at forty-five, but the Charger was closing in. The bright lights spearing into the rear view mirror kept Dent from being able to see how many people were in the Charger.

  “What do we do?” Fifth screamed.

  “We can’t outrun him.”

  “Do something!”

  He didn’t bother answering. What exactly did she think he was doing?

  He ran through scenarios. Grab his gun and fire through the back window? Find a side street to turn down and hope to lose the Charger in the woods? The Escalade could beat its own path through the bramble and bushes to the side of the road, but any unseen ditch or tree thick enough and the SUV would come to crashing halt, leaving the driver of the Charger to come in at them at his own discretion. He also had to assume that the driver was armed.

  The Charger was nearing. Dent was going just over sixty, th
e Charger at least seventy. Fifth’s breathing was rapid and loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the tires on the asphalt.

  If the man behind them was indeed armed, Dent couldn’t give him the chance to fire. And there was one sure way to ensure the driver was too dazed to draw his weapon. He eased up on the gas slightly.

  “Fifth,” he said just loud enough to be heard.

  She looked over, trembling slightly as she did.

  “Put your feet flat on the dashboard and push yourself back into your seat,” he told her.

  “Why?” Her voice trembled as much as her body.

  “To minimize the chance of injury.”

  She wasn’t quick to comply, not fully understanding the situation they were in.

  He pushed the gas pedal down, hard enough to strain his calf, and rolled all the windows down, reducing the risk of them shattering and causing bodily harm.

  Fifth let out a shriek, demanding to know what he was planning.

  “Feet up, push back. Do it!” he said in a raised voice, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind now screaming in through the windows.

  Suddenly quiet, she got into position.

  “Ready?” he asked, checking the rearview mirror. All he saw were glaring halogen headlights, and they were growing by the second.

  Good.

  She took a deep breath. “Ready for what, Dent?”

  “I’m going to give this guy what he wants.” He looked over, saw her legs straining as she pushed back into her seat. Turning his head back, he rested it against the head restraint, flattened his shoulders, and began counting down.

  “Three ….” He checked the rearview.

  “Two ….” He checked Fifth.

  “One.” He slammed on the brakes.

  For a brief moment he felt the SUV pull to the side as he put the antilock brakes to the test, but he fought the steering wheel and kept the vehicle nearly straight. And then ….