are you?”
“On the road.”
“Last address I had for you was in California. Then you stopped calling.” Carson’s code for my tracking beacon. He spoke as if his line wasn’t secure. Taking his cue, I formulated what I needed to say. We only had a few minutes before my position could be triangulated.
“I had to have surgery...and didn’t want to bother my friends.” I placed the emphasis on friends, hoping Carson would pick up on this. “Cousins, either.”
“Family?” The U.S. government was my family. The contemplation in his voice threw me.
“Yeah. They were really happy to see me .” I hoped he’d get the emphasis on me. If he read the transcripts from my ring transmissions, he would know that the man had used my name, not Staci’s but it bore repeating.
“Do you need me home right away?” Could I get transport? He could arrange it within two hours.
Instead, he confirmed what I’d already suspected. “The road is fine. Take your time. See the sights.” That way he could see who was interested in my absence.
Worry gnawed at me and an unrelenting feeling that something wasn’t right.
“How’s my package?” My sister. Bella.
“Good, good.” Carson asked, “Any other news?”
Nothing else I could share over a possibly tapped line. I thought over the transmissions he would have received through my ring before I had to toss it on the side of the road. He knew about the syringe, Lucas and John Wishbone. Everything else would have to wait. “I’m good.”
“Do you need supplies?”
Cash. I thought about how every time I’d hit a public location, there’d been someone waiting. Then I thought about Lucas. He was my ace, as long as no one knew about him. “We’ve got it covered.”
That should tell Carson I still had company.
I really should get off the line but I hesitated. I thought about Barb, about the liquid, about how much I owed Lucas Goodman. One thing couldn’t wait. “One favor?”
“Anything.” The fervor in his voice threw me.
“I’m going to send you a name.”
“Okay.” He paused. “And?”
“Find out what you can for me.”
“Is this related?”
“No.”
“I’ll check it out.” He paused as if he were going to say something else. “Stay safe.”
I disconnected the call and texted John Michael Wishbone to Carson’s cell. As I waited for the text to go through, I wondered what that note in his voice had been. With anyone else, I’d have thought fear. But that didn’t make any sense.
THIRTEEN
“What’s your real name?”
As I’d done every other time he’d asked, I answered, “Staci Grant.”
We’d been back on the road for hours. We’d crossed into, and out of, Utah with little fanfare. At just past midnight, I was driving. I’d managed to avoid talking by taking turns sleeping and driving, but Lucas had just woken up.
Darkness cocooned us in an intimate bubble, the only light from the glow of his laptop.
“Give me a bone. Something.” He had a miniature laptop on his knees. “Come on. I’ll give you hair color as question number one. I know Staci’s cover is a legend.”
“What would make you say that?” Yeah, we’d been over this before. Now I knew him better. And I wanted more information.
“I have a sixth sense about these things. I could always spot a manufactured identity.”
“Even legends?” I referred to identity covers that were painstakingly created over years.
“Legends are harder, but yeah. If I felt the identity was off, it usually was.”
Interesting. I wonder what could he tell me about Staci Grant? “You have ‘people tracking software’ on that?”
“I subscribe to a service.” He tapped something else into the computer.
“You have internet capability?” I eyed his laptop.
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t use any computer that could footprint back to you. And wireless isn’t very secure.”
He was right so I let it go.
“Did you track Staci with
“On the road.”
“Last address I had for you was in California. Then you stopped calling.” Carson’s code for my tracking beacon. He spoke as if his line wasn’t secure. Taking his cue, I formulated what I needed to say. We only had a few minutes before my position could be triangulated.
“I had to have surgery...and didn’t want to bother my friends.” I placed the emphasis on friends, hoping Carson would pick up on this. “Cousins, either.”
“Family?” The U.S. government was my family. The contemplation in his voice threw me.
“Yeah. They were really happy to see me .” I hoped he’d get the emphasis on me. If he read the transcripts from my ring transmissions, he would know that the man had used my name, not Staci’s but it bore repeating.
“Do you need me home right away?” Could I get transport? He could arrange it within two hours.
Instead, he confirmed what I’d already suspected. “The road is fine. Take your time. See the sights.” That way he could see who was interested in my absence.
Worry gnawed at me and an unrelenting feeling that something wasn’t right.
“How’s my package?” My sister. Bella.
“Good, good.” Carson asked, “Any other news?”
Nothing else I could share over a possibly tapped line. I thought over the transmissions he would have received through my ring before I had to toss it on the side of the road. He knew about the syringe, Lucas and John Wishbone. Everything else would have to wait. “I’m good.”
“Do you need supplies?”
Cash. I thought about how every time I’d hit a public location, there’d been someone waiting. Then I thought about Lucas. He was my ace, as long as no one knew about him. “We’ve got it covered.”
That should tell Carson I still had company.
I really should get off the line but I hesitated. I thought about Barb, about the liquid, about how much I owed Lucas Goodman. One thing couldn’t wait. “One favor?”
“Anything.” The fervor in his voice threw me.
“I’m going to send you a name.”
“Okay.” He paused. “And?”
“Find out what you can for me.”
“Is this related?”
“No.”
“I’ll check it out.” He paused as if he were going to say something else. “Stay safe.”
I disconnected the call and texted John Michael Wishbone to Carson’s cell. As I waited for the text to go through, I wondered what that note in his voice had been. With anyone else, I’d have thought fear. But that didn’t make any sense.
THIRTEEN
“What’s your real name?”
As I’d done every other time he’d asked, I answered, “Staci Grant.”
We’d been back on the road for hours. We’d crossed into, and out of, Utah with little fanfare. At just past midnight, I was driving. I’d managed to avoid talking by taking turns sleeping and driving, but Lucas had just woken up.
Darkness cocooned us in an intimate bubble, the only light from the glow of his laptop.
“Give me a bone. Something.” He had a miniature laptop on his knees. “Come on. I’ll give you hair color as question number one. I know Staci’s cover is a legend.”
“What would make you say that?” Yeah, we’d been over this before. Now I knew him better. And I wanted more information.
“I have a sixth sense about these things. I could always spot a manufactured identity.”
“Even legends?” I referred to identity covers that were painstakingly created over years.
“Legends are harder, but yeah. If I felt the identity was off, it usually was.”
Interesting. I wonder what could he tell me about Staci Grant? “You have ‘people tracking software’ on that?”
“I subscribe to a service.” He tapped something else into the computer.
“You have internet capability?” I eyed his laptop.
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t use any computer that could footprint back to you. And wireless isn’t very secure.”
He was right so I let it go.
“Did you track Staci with
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