Shattered Highways

by Tara N Hathcock

  Eyes still closed, she smiled against her will. Like a dog with a bone, he spotted it and pounced.

  “Yes! There. Right there. I knew it. You don’t like political shop talk anymore than I do.”

  “No,” she reluctantly agreed. “I really don’t. What I do love, though, is just how much you hate it. Your rage brings me joy. Go figure.”

  Logan laughed. “Serving in the military kind of ruined me on talking politics.”

  “I can see that,” she said, tucking that helpful little nugget away for future reference.

  “So really,” he said after a few minutes of silence, “what do you like to listen to?”

  She paused to think about it. “I don’t know,” she said after a beat. “I guess I don’t really listen to much music.”

  “Yeah, but there’s got to be something you prefer.”

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “I just don’t care much about music. What can I say?”

  But Logan was a dog with a bone now. “What about when you run?” he pushed. “I’ve seen you with your headphones in, running around downtown. What are you listening to?”

  “Audio books mostly.” If she was correctly interpreting the look on Logan’s face, and she was fairly certain she was, he was both shocked and slightly disgusted.

  “Seriously?” He shook his head, like maybe he hadn’t heard right. “When you run, and you’re at mile whatever, and it hurts and you hit a wall, what you rely on to dig out and push through is - a book? On tape?”

  “Hey now,” she answered mildly. “First of all, we’ve been down this road before. No one listens to cassette tapes anymore, remember? And secondly, I like books. I like stories. And for your information, you never hit that wall if your mind is in a completely different place and time.” She sniffed arrogantly. “Just doesn’t happen.”

  “How many miles do you usually get?” he asked.

  Quincy blinked. “What?”

  “When you run. How many miles do you usually put in?” He segued so smoothly between topics that she answered almost automatically.

  “Somewhere between six and ten, usually. Depends on the day.”

  “Huh. So, how do you pace yourself without music? Even if your mind is occupied, what do you set your breathing to? That many miles, you’ve got to use something and an audio book is too slow. It’s got to be.”

  Quincy sighed, accepting defeat. “You know how I told you my brain works rapid fire?” He nodded. “Well, I run to bleed off all that excess energy.”

  How to explain it? “When I first start a run, I’m all jittery, like a light bulb with a short in it. But as I run, I relax and the shorts get fewer and farther between. That jumble of noise quiets and I find my stride. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s never been any more complicated than that.”

  Logan was quiet for a minute. And then, “Yeah, okay. I can buy that. And how old are you again?”

  Quincy laughed out loud that time. “Nope. Not going to work a second time. Pick another question.”

  “Okay. Where did you grow up?”

  She shot it back at him automatically. “Where did YOU grow up?” And then mentally kicked herself. She already knew where he grew up.

  Logan grinned. “Nice try. Where did you grow up? Do your parents still live there?”

  She wasn’t quite ready to give it up. “Do your parents still live where you grew up?”

  “No idea. My dad died when I was in high school and I haven’t seen or heard from my mom in years. Why won’t you tell me anything real about yourself?”

  Well that was a pointed and difficult question to avoid. Quincy twisted around and reached into the back seat for their bag of snacks, trying to hide how uncomfortable his questions were making her. They shouldn’t be, she knew that. Logan had earned her trust, after all. And it wasn’t like he was asking for her social security number or nonexistent financial information. But still, she couldn’t bring herself to answer. And the more she thought about it, the more stressed she became. Her head was throbbing in time to the beat of the music and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to have another migraine on her hands.

  “It’s not a hard question. You don’t even have to tell me their names. I just want to know something about you that wasn’t created in the last six months or so. Why is that such a problem?”

  “Because I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” she snapped back. “We’ve been down this road before. I don’t talk about my past with anyone. So drop it.”

  “Fine,” he answered coolly. “I was hoping I had made it past being just anyone but no worries. It’s dropped.” He turned the radio up loud enough to drown out the silence and left her alone with her guilt.

  Logan drove straight through until pulling off the interstate around 10:30 without ever asking if she needed a break. The army must train its soldiers to have bladders of iron because she was dying by the time they pulled into the seedy motel but she wasn’t about to be the weak link in their little standoff. He pulled around to the back of the motel like last night and didn’t wait for her before heading for the room.

  If he was going to play that game, so be it. She took her sweet time getting out of the car and stretching before reaching in the back and grabbing her backpack and a couple of waters. She hesitated for a few seconds and then grabbed his bag as well. It was possible she had been a little harsh and maybe it wouldn’t hurt if she offered him something, even if it wasn’t the information he wanted. She tossed his bag onto the bed next to him when she walked in but he didn’t even glance over. Apparently bringing in his bag wasn’t enough of an apology. But it was the only one she was prepared to give at the moment so she just rolled her eyes and headed into the bathroom. She needed a long shower because she could already tell it was going to be a long night.

  That had been the last they had really spoken. So maybe she shouldn’t have left like she did. And maybe she should have actually apologized. She sighed in annoyance. Running was supposed to calm her down, not make her cave to a guilty conscience. But nevertheless, there it was. There was a cul-de-sac up ahead. She’d circle it and head back towards the motel. She might as well face the music. She would owe him an apology for more than her attitude when she got back.

  She was almost halfway back up the main road when lights flared to life across the road. It was so sudden in the darkness that she was completely blinded. She staggered back, head down and eyes clenched against the onslaught. The lights were pointing right at her and she was helpless to get away from the glare. The sound of a car door slamming caught her attention and she struggled to open her eyes. She could hear footsteps crunching over the gravel and she instinctively knew it wasn’t Logan. He might be mad but he would never try to scare her. This was an intimidation technique, which meant she was in hot water.

  A deep voice sounded right in front of her. “Finally we meet.”

  Quincy’s eyes were watering and all she could make out was the silhouette of a man, medium height and build, in the headlights. But the click of a gun being cocked was all too obvious.

  “Do you prefer Kara, Grace, or Quincy?”

  Chapter 43

  The Colonel

  The Colonel was a confident man and didn’t mind saying so. He was very good at what he did. He had been a highly-sought after asset in the military, though he received no official recognition for what he accomplished, and it was his special skill set that had landed him on the agency’s radar. He was given a mission and he accomplished it. He had never failed an assignment. Losing Kara Scott, twice, was nothing more than a minor detail. Acquiring her tonight had restored his perfect record. Everyone got lucky now and again, which was all this had been - a scared girl with a string of good luck.

  He had been tempted to simply eliminate her. That was the order he had given his associate in Sheraton, after all. He couldn’t afford to lose her again, not with the agency breathing down his neck for a resolution. She had been foolish enough to leave a protected envi
ronment in the middle of the night and enter an unfamiliar, remote location. She had obviously slipped past her guard dog, because she would never have been out otherwise. The Colonel had watched the girl jog away from the motel, heading down the road towards a housing development that looped around on itself. The only way in or out was that one road. Once the girl had disappeared from view, he had followed, pulling the car over to the side of the road about halfway down the hill, out of sight of both the motel and the development. She would have to come back this way in order to get back to her room. As he sat in the dark, he contemplated his options, tapping the gun idly against the steering wheel. One shot was all he needed. The suppressor he’d screwed onto the end of the barrel ensured no one would hear a thing, even the girl. There would be no witnesses, no panic, and no way to trace the crime to him, an invisible man. He would be gone before her body guard even knew there was a problem. He shook his head. What kind of soldier let the target sneak away from him? Lt. Davies must be slipping.

  But what if he didn’t need to eliminate the girl? In complete seclusion, there was no reason a snatch shouldn’t work just as well. He had only ordered the elimination because she had proven to be resourceful in a populated setting. But out here, alone and without witnesses, she was playing from a short deck. The agency would much prefer a living specimen to a dead one. When the girl came jogging back up the hill, barring any complications, it should be easy enough to force her into the car. He was always prepared to take a living target - zip ties, sedatives, deactivated door locks. He should have no problem containing her.

  Headlights topped the hill behind him and he tensed. The car, an older model compact, drove slowly by, turning down the first street, and the Colonel cursed. Davies. Slipping or no, If he caught up with the girl there would be no chance for a clean shot. Most likely, the Colonel would be subject to yet another long day of driving across America, presumably towards wherever the doctor was holed up and waiting. He considered that option briefly. If he allowed the Lieutenant to take the girl, he could potentially trail them all the way back to Garrison. It was tempting, yes. But there was no guarantee he could stay on them. Davies was good. He’d managed to keep Garrison hidden all these years, after all. He watched as the car turned down the next street, still moving slowly but never stopping, and the Colonel started to hope. In the dark, with the girl being cautious, it might be difficult to find her if he didn’t know for certain she was there.

  The minutes stretched and the car finally drove back by. The Colonel wavered. Should he follow the car back to the motel? He knew where they were staying, even if he didn’t know the exact room. And he knew the car now. If Davies did have the girl, it was unlikely they would keep driving. There would be no reason to believe their cover had been blown so he decided to give it a few more minutes, see if the girl would appear. And eventually, his patience was rewarded.

  Chapter 44

  Quincy

  It wasn’t Brandon. That was Quincy’s first thought. This man was shorter and thicker, and his voice was deeper. He also spoke with a slight accent that she couldn’t quite place. The man moved slightly to her right, out of the beam of the headlights, and gestured towards the car.

  “Please,” he drawled, “After you.”

  Quincy hesitated, considering her options. She could try to make a move on him. Maybe startle him enough to shake the gun loose. But he had a good hundred pounds on her. And that gun was rock steady, trained on her left leg if she wasn’t mistaken. So he wasn’t intending to kill her outright. Not here, at least. It was entirely possible he was intending to drive her somewhere, kill her, and dump the body. A cheery thought. Or she could just make a run for it. If she could make it out of the glow of lights, she would be much harder to see. She could take her chances in the woods, hoping to lose him in the trees or at least be much harder to hit. The man was watching her patiently, a half smile on his face. He seemed amused, like he knew what she was considering and was waiting to see how it would play out. He was indulging her, giving her time to choose how she wanted to play it. But he wasn’t worried, that much was clear. Whichever option she chose, it wouldn’t matter. He was confident she would be coming with him, one way or another.

  Quincy took a step forward, and then another. The man stepped back even further, allowing her to move towards the car while keeping a polite distance between them, the gun never wavering. She reached for the back door but the man stopped her.

  “Now, now. I would very much appreciate it if you would sit up front with me.” He opened the front door with a flourish and waited until she had slid onto the seat before leaning down. “Don’t forget to buckle up. Safety first.”

  The car door swung shut and the man moved around the car towards the driver’s seat. Quincy glanced around, trying to get a feel for the car. She slid her hand slowly towards the door handle but found it locked. He must have engaged the child safety locks. She wouldn’t be able to open a door unless he allowed it. She really didn’t have much else to work with. The car was pristine. The man had kept the keys in hand, there was one flat of water bottles on the back bench seat, and nothing else. When he opened his door to get in, Quincy noticed the overhead light didn’t come on. Logan had said that was a trick used by professionals. But she got the feeling that this wasn’t just some collector sent to bring her in.

  “Do you recognize me?” he asked as he started the car.

  “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?” she replied innocently. “If you hadn’t blinded me, maybe I could say.”

  He just smiled. “Sarcasm has very little effect on me. As does goading or guilt. This will go much more smoothly if we can speak to each other in a civil manner.”

  “I’m not super interested in making this go smoothly for you. So be aware, my sarcasm meter is on overdrive.”

  “Noted,” he said, “But as I asked before, do you recognize me? You should. You’ve seen me twice before tonight.”

  It was still too dark to make out features, especially without street lights, but there was something familiar about him. He said she had seen him before.

  “You were in Boise, at the truck stop. And in Chicago.”

  “That’s right,” he said, seeming pleased with her answer. “The first time you burned me, I was surprised and a little impressed. Very few of my targets get away. But the second time, I knew you were special.” He seemed to mull his words over. “But of course you’re special. It’s why I was sent for you. All of my targets are special. But you seem to be more aware. Of your surroundings, of the need for caution, of the danger you’re in. The others had no idea. They were easy pickings. Their gifts didn’t protect them as yours did. Even if it was only on a subconscious level.”

  The man made a turn onto the interstate in the opposite direction that Logan’s route had been taking them. She did her best to not look back.

  “You never did answer my first question,” he said.

  “What question was that again? This whole kidnapping business has left me a little frazzled.”

  He smiled indulgently. “I asked what you would prefer to be called. I’ve known you as Kara Scott, Grace Elliott, and not Quincy O’Connell. All three lovely names, of course. But surely there’s an identity you prefer?”

  She hesitated. “Quincy. I go by Quincy now.”

  “Of course. You’ve stuck with Quincy far longer than your other two aliases, which I find very interesting. But we’ve no time for psychology now. You may call me Colonel.”

  “Okay, Colonel. Riddle me this - what’s so important about me that you’ve tracked me across the country and through three different aliases? And why take me alive? I assume the sniper a few days ago was yours?”

  The Colonel opened his mouth but Quincy beat him to it.

  “I’m not done. Who are the other targets you mentioned? Who wants a bunch of random people so bad they’d hire a wet work mercenary to take care of it?”

  He tried to speak again but she had one more. “And what gift
s do you think I have? If it’s the gift of dry wit and a caustic attitude, sure. But that’s all I come armed with.”

  “Is it my turn now?” he asked. Apparently two could play the sarcasm game, although his still sounded more amused than anything. “I will answer all of your questions openly and honestly. Unlike your friend.”

  Quincy went cold. “My friend?” she asked, hoping he was just bluffing.

  “Your young man. Mr. Auberdeen mentioned he was with you when the shooting occurred and was mysteriously missing afterward.” The Colonel seemed to sense her fear. “Not to worry. I have no real interest in the Lieutenant, provided he doesn’t continue to complicate my mission. He is a direct link to Dr. Garrison, true, who is an important resource to my company but my mission is you, not him. I left him alive.”

  Quincy sagged in her seat, relieved. Logan didn’t deserve any of the trouble she had brought on him, and she had brought him a lot.

  “But if I were to guess, I would say he didn’t really tell you much about your role in all of this. He would have tried to ease you into it. Am I right?”

  She stared stonily ahead, refusing to play his game.

  “Well, I won’t do that. I’ve read your medical file and I’m eager to see exactly how it works.”

  Chapter 45

  Quincy

  “I’m sure Lt. Davies was trying to be gentle but I do not suffer the same affliction,” the Colonel said.

  “If by affliction, you mean empathy or human decency, then I completely agree,” Quincy answered snidely. The Colonel simply smiled.

  “That is exactly what I mean. I am paid to perform a certain job or service. It matters very little to me what that job or service is. Human decency, as you so delicately put it, does not factor into the equation.” He paused to glance at his phone, and then texted what Quincy could tell was a short set of numbers. Coordinates possibly.