He handed her a big thick U.S. atlas or, rather, plopped it in her lap.
“You’re going to navigate.”
“Just use GPS,” she said.
He smirked. “This car is too old for GPS.”
“Oh.” She opened the atlas. She had a degree in art history. Surely she could figure out how to read a map. “I don’t see why we can’t fly.”
“Because, if your husband is as resourceful as we hear, he could hack airport data bases for your name; even private airports keep information.” He looked her over. “My name’s Brandon, by the way.”
“I know who you are,” she said, looking out the window.
“Right. Have you decided who you want to be until this is over?” She looked at him blankly. “You need a different name. I’m not going to call you Camden…”
“Cami,” she corrected softly, turning her attention to pulling at a thread hanging from the hem of her hoodie.
Brandon glanced at her, deciding that maybe he should reserve judgment before shoving her in the bitch cubby. Maybe the nice person had temporarily gone into hiding, a self-protective mechanism kind of thing.
“When this is all over, I’ll be glad to call you Cami,” he replied just as softly. “But for the next two weeks you’re going to have to pretend to be somebody else.”
After a slight hesitation, she nodded without looking up.
“Come on,” he said. “When you were little, wasn’t there some other name you wished your parents had given you?”
“Rose White.” He thought he saw a ghost of a smile, but she didn’t look up. “It’s from a fairy tale. I really wanted to be the sister, Rose Red, but it didn’t seem to fit.”
“Rose White it is then. Most people aren’t going to know it’s from a fairy tale. They’ll just think your first name is Rose and your last name is White.”
“Okay.”
“Nice to meet you, Rose,” Brand said.
She turned toward him as if she was seeing him for the first time. Judging from the way she looked him over, she was. Her eyes lingered on the masculine angularity of his face, the offbeat haircut, the inked curls at the wrist and neck of his long teal blue tee that suggested a tat sleeve. She concluded that he was a working class, motorcycle-riding player with whom she had absolutely nothing in common. Except good manners. Possibly.
“Nice to meet you, Brandon.”
He glanced down at the atlas.
“We’re going to West Virginia.” He pointed to a spot on the atlas that lay open across her lap. “Find us the most direct route by way of Harpers Ferry and keep us off the interstates.”
“Off the interstates. Isn’t that going to take a really long time?”
“It’s not a race. It’s the hide part of hide and seek.”
She stared at his profile. “What exactly is the plan?”
“I’m taking you to our safe house in Austin. It’ll be home until the judge has signed off on your proceeding. My job is to make sure you get there alive.”
“Okay.”
He turned on the radio and found a classic rock station.
“Just kill me now,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
She looked straight at him.
“The radio.” She pretended to have to scream over the music. “You’re not going to make me listen to that. Are you?”
He cocked his head as he stared at the road ahead.
“I’m nothing if not fair. What kind of music do you like?”
“Well, for starters, I like music that was recorded this century.”
He took his eyes off the road just long enough to be sure she caught the glare he gave her.
“You want to do a passive aggressive dance around what you want? Or do you want to just tell me straight up?”
She pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, and decided she’d underestimated Brandon. She didn’t think thugs had descriptions like ‘passive aggressive’ easily tripping off their tongues.
“Country,” she said decidedly.
He gaped. “That is utterly impossible. A girl like you does not listen to country music.”
She looked indignant.
“I certainly do. And what do you mean ‘a girl like me’?”
He narrowed his eyes and glanced at her.
“Okay. If you really listen to country music then tell me one thing about Garth Brooks that only somebody who was a fan would know.”
Without hesitating she said, “He actually wanted to be a rock star, but when he opened his mouth to sing, country came out instead of rock. So he gave into it and owned it. Although he did steal the showmanship the rock stars had perfected by then.”
Brandon had no idea if that was true, but because she said it with so much authority, and because it wasn’t the kind of thing a person would be likely to make up on the fly, he believed her.
“Alright. We’ll take turns.”
“Good. Me first.”
He nodded just slightly. “Find your station.”
She seemed to perk up at the small victory.
“How do you get satellite?”
Brandon smirked. “Seriously? How sheltered are you?” She frowned at the question and said nothing, since she had no idea how to answer. “This car is too old for satellite. You got radio. That’s it. Make do.”
She set to work turning the dial. He even got a little smile after she settled on a station. After all that work, before the first song was over, she was slumped against the passenger door, sound asleep.
He looked over at her sleeping form and shook his head. He could have changed the station but thought it might wake her and, for some reason, he didn’t want to disturb her. So he was stuck with listening to twang and fiddle for what turned out to be hours. By the time she woke, he was beginning to tap his fingers on the steering wheel and was thinking country might not be all that bad.
CHAPTER THREE
West Virginia
When she opened her eyes, she was looking out the passenger window at trees. The radio was forecasting heavy rain coming their way and stalling over the area for a couple of days.
She heard him say, “Good,” under his breath.
She turned far enough to see the clock on the dashboard, briefly glancing at Brandon. She’d been asleep for hours. As she sat up straighter she realized she must have been out like a light because she’d slept through the discomfort of acquiring a crick in her neck.
“You’re still listening to country?”
“Yes. But it’s not the same station. We’re too far away.”
“Why didn’t you change it to codger rock?”
“Codger rock? That’s just mean,” he scolded. “Can’t pick up a station here. These hillbillies’ mamas don’t dance and their daddies don’t rock and roll.”
“Is that some obscure musical reference?”
“It’s not obscure if you understand it.”
She began trying to stretch out the kink in her neck drawing Brandon’s attention to the rolling of her shoulders. The way her shoulder blades moved inside the knit top she wore was, well, sexy. For that matter, the knit top looked soft to touch and was kind of sexy, too.
He almost slapped himself when he realized that his thoughts were headed south of the steering wheel. Come on, Brand. It’s a job. Not a pick up. Remember, it’s just business.
“We’re close to White Sulphur Springs.”
Her voice brought him back to the moment.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yes. There’s a private airfield right over there.” Brand said nothing. “You wouldn’t know this, but there’s a grand resort close by. Perhaps the last truly great resort in the world. The Greenbrier.” She sighed.
He smirked at the windshield. ‘He wouldn’t know this.’ Indeed.
His mother’s family had taken one of the luxury “cottages” for Christmas every other year when he was growing up. They flew their company’s jet to the private airfield she’d ment
ioned. He’d played golf in the annual Sam Snead Pro-Am every year of his adult life. Except for the last, when he’d been busy learning his way around Austin and a motorcycle club legacy.
“Where are we going?”
“Not the Greenbrier,” he said, pretending reverse snobbery. “We have a reservation for the night at a little out-of-the-way cabin. After this, we’ll stay where we find a vacancy if it’s convenient and I think it’s safe.”
She eyed the camping equipment in the back of the SUV.
“I’m not especially big on camping.”
“Really? I never would have guessed that.”
“You making fun of me?”
He looked over at her. When her eyes got stormy, as they were then, the violet seemed to overtake the blue so much that they appeared almost purple. Exotic. To say the least.
“No. I’m not making fun of you. Liking camping or not liking camping isn’t important in the grand scheme of things.”
Slowly her lips spread into a smile. “The grand scheme of things?”
“You never heard the expression before?”
“Of course. I guess… I just didn’t expect to hear it from you.”
“Why’s that?”
She was sorry she’d gone down that path because she didn’t see a way out without being insulting. So she changed the subject.
“It’s beautiful this time of year.”
He smirked to let her know that she hadn’t gotten the diversion past him.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
He pulled into a roadside stop that had used frequently spaced short signs to advertise for the past five miles.
“I’ll get food to go. You stay in the car.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I can’t stay in the car. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“You can hold it until we get where we’re going for the night.”
“No, I cannot! What is the matter with you?”
He watched a spark fire behind her eyes that hadn’t been there before, almost like it was spontaneously rekindling from ash.
“What’s the matter with me? Didn’t you go before we left New York?”
“Yes. I went before we left New York. But I don’t have a bladder the size of a basketball. I’m a woman.”
When he raised his hand to reach toward the passenger side visor, she flinched. And not just a little. He’d been planning to retrieve a burner phone he’d stashed there, but seeing her reaction, he jerked his hand back.
She pressed herself back into the seat looking like she hoped to melt into it and disappear.
He stared for a few beats before quietly saying, “I’m sorry if I startled you. I was reaching for something I left under the visor.”
She was embarrassed to have jerked away from nothing. More than embarrassed. Humiliated. She hadn’t always been a skittish little mouse. There’d been a time when she’d had enough confidence to roar like a tiger. After a couple of years with Trey, she cowered when a hired driver slash bodyguard tried to reach toward her side of the car.
She turned her head toward the window so that he wouldn’t see the single tear that escaped and ran down her face. She swiped at it like it was offensive.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s my problem. Not yours.”
Brandon had to give the girl credit. She was defiant in the face of something that had tried to break her. Since she was running from an ex, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was that had tried to break her. The same person who had vowed to protect and care for her.
Without waiting for permission she opened the door on her side, got out, and started walking toward the entrance.
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled to himself as he scrambled out of the car, looking around the parking lot and up and down the highway. He had to jog to catch up to her just before her hand wrapped around the door pull. He grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “If you won’t let me do my job, I will dump your ass on the side of the road and go home.”
“You would not,” she hissed.
“Try me,” he shot back.
“What do you suggest then? That I urinate in the car?”
He pressed his lips together, eyes searching hers until he found what he was looking for. Truth.
“Come on. Stick to me like a shadow.” He waited for her to respond. “I need a sign that you understand and agree.”
With the height difference it was impossible to look him in the eyes without tilting her head back.
“Okay!”
She sounded as exasperated as a teenager being told she had to be home at midnight.
He stepped in closer to her, fully aware that it was an intimidation tactic. He hated doing that, since she’d already demonstrated being skittish, but her life might depend on them having an understanding.
“You’re not going to give me a hard time. Your father has sworn to end my life if I fail to deliver you unharmed. So you will cooperate. Understand?” She nodded, but rolled her eyes in a rebellious, but feeble attempt at maintaining autonomy. He opened the door and guided her inside. “Restrooms?” he asked the cashier as they passed.
The woman didn’t even look up. She just pointed toward the back.
He opened the door marked “WOMEN” and gently shoved her forward.
Fortunately it was a single room. One toilet. One sink. One trash can. No windows.
“Here you go,” he said. “I’ll be outside.”
When he left, she locked the door and looked around. White tile on the floor and halfway up the walls. She liked white tile. It was easy to see if it was dirty. Not that it would have mattered. She needed to go badly enough that a lack of cleanliness wouldn’t have been a deterrent.
Before leaving, she took a look in the mirror and almost gasped. She’d forgotten that she looked like somebody else. Somebody else with smudgy eye makeup made even more smudgy by sleeping against a vinyl seat for hours.
She wet a paper towel and tried to do a little damage control. She didn’t think looking like a raccoon was a good way to lay low. Running a hand over her head, she wondered how long it would take to get used to looking like she was either homeless or well on the way to being homeless. She hadn’t had short hair since she was a baby and it felt… strange. Maybe not more so than a road trip with a total stranger who didn’t want to let her go to the bathroom.
Brandon had the sandwich shop make up a variety of sandwiches. He grabbed bags of chips, two apples, two bananas, a carton of orange juice, a dozen bottles of water, chocolate chip cookies and most of their supply of peanuts without ever taking his eye off the restroom door. He left one bag of peanuts just in case somebody came in who needed them like he did.
When she emerged, he caught her eye.
“Anything in particular you need for the night?” She shook her head. “You like chocolate chip cookies?”
She looked around at the convenience store offerings with mild disdain.
“Not if they’re prepackaged.”
“Oh. You’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“One of those people who thinks that anything packaged is poison.”
“Well. It is!”
“I have two apples, two bananas, orange juice, although technically that’s packaged, and waters. I also have sandwiches, but those were wrapped up.”
“Smart ass,” she said.
He let it drop. She might have been born privileged, but she’d faced her share of hardship at the hands of some connected asshole who, according to Carmichael, might have some screws loose.
After leaving York they headed west. They’d spent most of the day on two lane black top. The past few hours had been hilly and meandering. The best part was that they couldn’t be followed without him knowing it.
Brand handed her the printed directions to the cabin to read out loud. It was starting to get dark and the cabin was secluded.
The keys were right where the owner said they’d be. Under the second la
rge rock from the first step to the porch.
The cabin was cute. Unpaved driveway. Wooded on two sides and backed up to a running stream. A little rustic dollhouse. Two tiny bedrooms, with a shared bath in the small hallway between them. The beds were covered in colorful quilts that were very likely made and purchased locally. It wasn’t the Greenbrier, but at least it wasn’t camping.
Brandon checked out the house then immediately pulled all the shades down.
After looking around, Cami turned on the TV. Without missing a beat Brandon walked over and turned it off.
“Hey,” she said.
“No TV,” he said unceremoniously.
“Why not?”
“I need it quiet so I can hear what’s going on around us.”
She thought about arguing, but decided against it. After all, he was trying to take care of her. There were a few hardcover books amongst knickknacks. She picked up one bound in red with gold lettering. It was a biography of the Count de Sade, the contemporary descendant of the Marquis for whom sadism was named. She claimed the big armchair and opened the book, doing her best to ignore Brandon.
After careful consideration of the options, Brandon set Cami’s luggage down in the living room. When she heard crashing about a few seconds later, she found ignoring him impossible. She got up to go see what was going on.
Brandon had moved the large antique armoire in front of the bedroom’s two windows.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t look up. “Blocking the windows.”
“Why?”
He didn’t reply. After placing the chest where he wanted it, he moved on to the back bedroom. He threw pillows and bedding on the floor before pulling the mattress off the bed.
“What are you doing now?”
“Pulling this mattress out into the hallway so I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
“Why would you sleep on the floor? There are two perfectly good beds in this…” she looked around, “doll house. At least there were before you disassembled one of them.”
“I’m going to sleep here in the hallway tonight where I can keep an eye on you.”
“That is ridiculous,” she said.
The Biker's Brother (Sons of Sanctuary MC Book 2) Page 3
