“What’s wrong?” he asked. Now would not be a great time for a repeat performance from before. They didn’t have time for pain or panic at the moment.
She hesitated another second, then shook her head. “It’s nothing.” she said resolutely. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 35
Quincy
The motel was dark and quiet and for the first time in twelve hours, Quincy could think. This was bad. No, that wasn’t quite right. She had been through bad before. There had been that first time in Boise, when she had spotted the man watching her from a booth inside the truck stop diner. She had liked being Grace Elliott. The college was nice and the work was easy. She was the youngest of the waitresses by far, which made her a shoe-in as the group darling. The other waitresses, all grandmotherly types, took her under their wing and the truckers treated her like a princess. They tipped well and kept some of the more handsy, unwelcome attention at bay. Burning her life there had been regrettable but not all that difficult. Kara Scott hadn’t been quite as great, but it was the best she could do on short notice. The bar hadn’t been as friendly as the truck stop and while the regulars there certainly paid attention to her, it wasn’t in the nice, respectful way she’d come to appreciate. Her old pal George, who ran a route from Nebraska to Michigan, would have made sure the drunk bankers and lawyers who frequented this particular bar kept their comments, and their hands, to themselves.
She sighed quietly from her position, curled onto her right side on the bed. She missed George. And safety. Or at least the false perception of safety. She rolled onto her other side, facing the door and Logan. Logan. He had certainly kept her safe today. First from the assassin stalking her in Podunk, USA, and then from the agonizing migraine and its wretched after-effects. She watched him as he sat in a tiny chair in the corner, eyes locked on the slit between the curtain and the window, watching for any sign they had been followed. She felt kind of bad. He would have obviously preferred to keep going but she knew from painful experience that these headaches were best handled with sleep. And a distinct lack of motion. One of the bright spots to these sudden attacks, actually, was her ability to sleep soundly for at least a couple of hours at a time. So she had appreciated Logan’s willingness to pull over. It looked like a low-rent, pay-by-the-hour kind of place, but still, it was something.
Not that she was getting any sleep now. There was simply too much on her mind. She could tell Logan was worried about her. After the pain had subsided, she had slumped back into her seat but been unable to pick her legs up to pull them back into the car. The sudden force of the attacks always left her exhausted and barely able to function. Logan had swung her legs back up and in, leaned over and buckled her seat belt, and then sank back onto his heels and watched her for a minute. She could feel his concern like a physical thing, warm and secure and incredibly suffocating. She knew she was going to have to explain what happened, at least as well as she could. He deserved that much. But what was there to explain? She really didn’t understand them herself. Sometimes she got headaches. They were usually unexpected and always intense. The only common denominator she could find between them was stress, but stress didn’t always set them off. She was always completely drained after, like a battery that had lost its charge but the sleep she got afterwards mostly got her charge back up.
She had been awake for several hours now but she had kept as still and quiet as she could. She didn’t really feel like talking and that wouldn’t help her think anyway. There had been something weird about this particular headache, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what. Yes, today could certainly be called stressful, after finding out Logan wasn’t who he said he was, being shot at, stealing a car, and going on the lam with a virtual stranger. Adrenaline had been spiking off and on all day. There had been sweating and nerves and anxiety. But if that was going to set off a headache, wouldn’t it have happened much sooner? Her headache after the train station had hit almost the second she made it back to her apartment, which was the same time she had started to believe she might be safe. So, rush of fear dissipates, adrenaline fades, and her body retaliates with pain. But then, why wouldn’t this one have hit once they were on the road, conceivably safe for the moment? The only thing that had been happening when the pain hit today was Logan telling his story. Or rather, telling Jones’s story. But she remembered, with suffocating clarity, the feeling of panic as she listened. The feeling that he was too close, it was too close. The feeling that Jones’s story would be the end of her. Or maybe the beginning. Which was a weird response to have to a story about someone she didn’t know. That was when the buzzing and pain had forced its way forward. But why should she feel that way? She wasn’t Jones. She wasn’t military. Her brain was perfectly fine - no blunt force trauma in recent memory. No genetic deformities or mental issues of any kind. Unless you count a photographic memory and insomnia on the list of medical defects, she was perfectly healthy. Her hearing was only so-so, which eliminated that possible link. She wished she could say Jones’s super hearing was the weirdest thing about this whole mess, she really did. What did it say about the situation that it wasn’t?
Logan shifted minutely in his chair and drew her attention. He’d been doing that for the last four hours - shifting, stretching, slouching - anything to ease the misery caused by shoving his long, long body into a teeny, tiny chair. But this was different. The slight restlessness, the drumming of his fingers, even the slow tilting of his head back and forth, all stopped instantly. He leaned towards the window, hugging the wall to stay out of sight.
“Quincy,” she heard him whisper.
“What is it?” she asked, although she figured she already knew.
“There’s someone out in the parking lot, checking vehicles. We need to go.”
Yep. That sounded about right. Logan moved back towards the window, trying to keep whoever he was watching in sight. He was in full-on soldier mode, so she figured time was of the essence. Luckily, this was basically how she’d started her day for years. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rolled out, landing in a crouch beside her shoes, which were lined up and ready to slip on at a moment’s notice. As she stood, she scooped up her backpack and dropped it onto her shoulders, grabbing Logan’s as well. They had kept everything packed so very little effort was needed to leave.
“What makes you think it’s our guy?” she asked quietly. “Could just be someone who had a few too many at the bar and can’t remember where he is.”
Not that she doubted him. But she did want to know how he knew. Might come in handy for when she was on her own again. The look he turned on her was part condescension, part exasperation.
“While the thought of a drunk man driving around with their headlights off after dark is a cheery thought, there aren’t many people who know how to move without being seen.”
His eyes moved back towards the window and she followed suit. “Who keeps to the shadows while inspecting every car in a random motel parking lot without setting off any alarms or attracting any attention. Sure. It could be anyone.”
Okay, so maybe he had a point. But the attitude? Man needed a nap.
“Fine. But your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated.”
This time, he just rolled his eyes but kept watching the man, who appeared to be done lurking and was moving purposefully towards the motel lobby.
“Grab my bag. As soon as he goes inside, we’re out of here.”
Quincy already had his bag, and her bag, and anything else he might think she didn’t know to grab, and was about to tell him that when she froze. The man had just pulled open the front door and disappeared into the lobby. But as he was going through the door, he turned back towards them and, just for a moment, the lights from inside the motel had caught his profile. She might have only so-so hearing but her vision was fantastic. Which meant that one split second had been enough for her to see exactly who was following them. And for her to recognize him. Logan was already holding the door open
, waiting for her to step through.
“Come on,” he said, When she didn’t move, he glanced over, concerned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly worried she was in the middle of another pseudo aneurysm.
She hesitated another second, then shook her head. She would deal with it later. They didn’t have time now. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 36
Logan
Logan didn’t relax until they were on the interstate, mixing with the early morning commuters. He glanced in his rear view mirror as he changed lanes, making sure he didn’t have a tail. He had been going over and over it in his mind. How did this guy track them? What did he miss? Sure, it had been a rush job but he didn’t see any obvious holes that could have led this guy right to them. Quincy reached out and adjusted the radio and he made a mental note. Apparently she didn’t care for talk radio. She finally settled on a station playing 70s rock and sank back into her seat, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes. She had been quiet since the motel and he couldn’t figure out why. She wasn’t exactly verbose at the best of times but this wasn’t just quiet. It was disquiet. Something was bothering her. Something other than the obvious. He supposed he could be respectful of her feelings and give her some time to think through whatever it was. But why start now?
“Start talking sister.”
She glanced over and her expression could only be described as unimpressed.
“Excuse me?”
He was sure that expression, coupled with the raised eyebrow and the tone of voice, had backed many a man off in her time but Logan was made of tougher stuff than most.
“You heard me. It’s zero dark thirty, I haven’t slept for almost 24 hours, and we’re stuck back in this tiny car for hours. You can pick the topic but you’ve got to give me something.”
He stretched his left leg out as far as he could, which wasn’t far at all, and groaned. “We need to steal a bigger car.” He thought Quincy almost smiled at that.
“Just how many cars are we planning to steal?” she asked.
“As many as it takes to get to Dr. Garrison.”
Now he had her full attention. “Dr. Garrison, the doctor who took care of Jones, Dr. Garrison? What does he have to do with any of this?” she asked.
“You haven’t guessed yet?” he asked. Quincy had gotten that weird, random headache and he hadn’t had a chance to really get into everything yet. “I know I didn’t get a chance to finish the story but this shouldn’t be too hard to figure out”
“Dr. Garrison is the guy you’re working for,” she guessed.
“Tell you what. You tell me what that headache was all about or what happened at the motel to shut you down, your choice, and I’ll finish telling you my story.”
She was quiet for a long minute, staring blindly ahead, fingers picking absently at a frayed spot in the knee of her jeans, before nodding her head almost resignedly.
“How about you pull over and let me drive for awhile and I’ll tell you both.” Logan almost didn’t believe his luck. He must have looked skeptical because she smiled.
“Like you said, you haven’t slept for almost 24 hours. I got a couple of hours at the motel, which is more than I usually get. I’m good to go and you could stand to close your eyes for a little while. Or at least relax a little.”
He had to acknowledge the wisdom of the suggestion. He was tired. And sore. And it did seem like they had slipped away from their stalker, at least for the moment. It would probably be the only chance he would get for awhile.
“Okay. Fair enough.” Logan signaled and moved over to take the next exit, which had a rest stop where they could pull over and swap seats. “We’ll pull in up here and get gas, maybe a coffee for you and a soda for me, and you can take the next few hours. But I’m holding you to your end of the deal.”
“Aye aye Captain.”
Chapter 37
“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.” J.M. Barrie
It doesn’t come easy. Why should it? It couldn’t be held or seen. It couldn’t be touched. It was intangible, it was oblique. Rarely given. Rarely earned.
Trust only becomes real when it is tested.
* * *
Quincy
The car was quiet back out on the road. While Logan was filling up, she had run into the gas station and grabbed the largest cup of coffee she could find. She had a feeling she was going to need it. She also bought a couple of bottled sodas and waters, along with packs of beef jerky and a box of donuts. Logan didn’t seem to be in the mood to stop for breakfast and that should tide them over for awhile. Quincy really wasn’t looking forward to the conversation to come. She didn’t talk about herself as a rule. Certainly not about anything real. Telling Logan about her life, the years spent running and hiding when she didn’t even know why, did not sound like great road trip conversation. But she had agreed to trust him and she really did mean it. She didn’t have much of a choice for one. And after putting himself between her and a bullet, stealing cars, and abandoning the life he had set up, even if it was just a ruse to get close to her, to drive her around the country to some unknown destination he hoped would keep her safe, he deserved her trust.
So now, here they sat. In silence. Waiting for the sun to come up and rush hour traffic to provide better cover. Clearly, Logan had decided to wait her out. He had said he would hold her to her promise so she supposed she’d better just rip the bandage off.
“I don’t know why I get the headaches. They’ve been happening for years now.” She couldn’t remember when they’d first started, or even when she’d first noticed them, but it seemed like it had been forever. “I think my brain maybe works a little different than most brains.”
How best to describe it? “I never seem to rest.” Accurate, if a little underwhelming.
“I have this, like, constant scramble of random thoughts and information in my head that seem to play 24 hours a day, like an overnight f.m. radio station. No commercials, no dead air time. Just a steady, unbroken stream of information playing on a loop. Which is separate, of course, from the never-ending noise running non-stop in the background.” It was exhausting just trying to describe how it felt. “This sort of buzzing sound that I’m able to push to the back of my mind more often than not.”
She made a conscious effort to relax her grip on the steering wheel. Saying all of this out loud felt so wrong. It made her sound crazy. But Logan had asked to hear it so she pushed on.
“But sometimes, all of a sudden, the buzzing gets so loud that it starts to drown out everything else around it.”
Quincy thought back to the attack in the car yesterday evening. Logan had been talking and she had been doing nothing more than listening, trying to understand what he was telling her, and then she couldn’t hear him, or the car, or even the ball game playing in the background anymore. The buzzing in her ears had thundered over everything around her in an instant before she realized what was happening.
She glanced over at Logan to see if he was with her so far. Surprisingly, he seemed unfazed.
“Jones had a lot of headaches after the accident. Really bad ones. The doctors said it was a normal side effect of TBI.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “Traumatic brain injuries are very common, especially in war vets.”
“For awhile, we didn’t even notice his hearing sensitivity because we just wrote it off as a symptom of his migraines.”
“Okay, well, that’s what happened yesterday. I’ve had them before. I’ll have them again. But I am sorry I scared you. And I’m sorry I slowed us up. He would never have caught up with us if you hadn’t had to stop for me.”
Logan had been looking out the front glass, periodically checking the side and rear view mirrors, presumably for a tail and to graciously allow her to tell her story without feeling overly scrutinized. But at this, he looked over and she felt the full weight of his stare. She let it go for several minut
es, hoping he’d share what was on his mind. And then she let it go, annoyed and determined to outlast him. Which she did. For approximately two more minutes.
“What?” she snapped in frustration.
“You recognized him, didn’t you?” he asked gently.
This was such a wholly unexpected question, in such a wholly unexpected tone of voice, that she froze for a second. And then she growled in aggravation.
“Of course I recognized him!” she snapped in exasperation. “And of course you would notice.” She jerked her right hand off the wheel and flung it in Logan’s direction. “How do you do that? How do you see everything? Literally everything!”
He started to say something but she cut him off. “That doesn’t require an answer. Yes, okay. I recognized him. I can’t believe you didn’t, actually.” She hadn’t thought about it before now, but Logan knew him, too. “It was Brandon.”
Saying it out loud sobered her up fast. “It was Brandon,” she said again, letting the shock bleed through.
“Brandon?” Logan looked confused. “Brandon from the library, Brandon?”
She nodded. He sat there for a minute, absorbing the news, and then sighed heavily. “That actually fits. Newish hire, started approximately three months after you, avoids most people like the plague but tries to get close to you. Hey,” he said, pulling her eyes away from the road. “I’m sorry.”
She started to ask for what, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“I should have run a closer check on the people who worked with you in the library. If I would have taken the time to look, I would have seen the threat and never let him get so close.”
He seemed so sincere. So disappointed in himself. It was sweet.
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