think that a dude hiding could possibly spark their curiosity enough to—I dunno— suppose that it might be me?”
“Great. They saddled me with a smart ass.” Cheney shook his head as he checked traffic and pulled out.
“Great. They saddled me with a muscle head.”
Cheney shot him a dark look.
“That’s right. Get it all out. That much evil stored up in one space can’t be healthy for you.”
Cheney snorted, turned his face away as he checked the approaching side streets.
Cheney—who in his right mind gave a man named Cheney a gun—pointed the car southwesterly. It was well into the ass-numbing ride and a gas tank later, that they turned off one of many country roads to an almost undetectable gravel path. Bushes scraped the sides of the car like eerily sharpened fingernails leaping out of the dark.
The gnarled branches above clawed boney fingers at the moon, which was their only light since Cheney had turned off his headlamps. It was like some scene from a horror movie, and Sam half expected a raging lunatic with an axe to crash through the windshield at any moment.
Sam gripped the armrest, squinting as though it would help to block out things he couldn’t see coming at them anyway.
“How can you drive in this?” Sam snapped.
“Eyes. Situated at the front of my head for optimal forward viewing.”
“ Now who’s the smart ass.”
He thought Cheney smirked, but he couldn’t be sure. Finally the car stopped. Cheney told him to get out.
“Here? There’s nothing,” Sam argued.
“There isn’t supposed to be. C’mon. We hoof it.”
“Hoof it? In the middle of the night? I still don’t know why you’re holding me, or what you want.”
Cheney popped the trunk and lifted out a duffle.
“Where’d that come from? Do you have any other secrets I should know?” Sam asked.
“I’m a fucking Boy Scout,” Cheney deadpanned. He hooked Sam’s arm. “Walk.”
With Cheney behind him and darkness ahead, Sam had no idea where Cheney thought he should walk. Scrub and trees formed a barrier before him.
Cheney sighed. Before Sam had time to acknowledge the cool metal or the clicking sound, Cheney had cuffed their wrists together. Then dodging around Sam, Cheney walked straight into the natural wall. Sam stumbled behind him, arm outstretched.
“Right,” he snarked at Cheney’s wide back. “Because I was going to run home from here. In the dark. With a big-ass agent chasing me and God knows who else.”
The walk seemed endless. Sam originally thought they’d tromp a few hundred yards and arrive at wherever the destination was. Cheney had different ideas. He zigzagged through the dark like a guided missile. Either he had night vision, or they were spectacularly lost.
“Are we there yet?” Sam quipped tiredly.
“No.”
“Oh, fount of knowledge, pray tell me when we might be delivered of this vegetative prison?”
“When we’re done getting there,” Cheney answered.
“Wow. That’s profound.”
That was it. Enough. Sam dug in his heels. It barely slowed Cheney, but it served its purpose, and Cheney finally looked back. Dawn touched the forest with gray. It had been hours. Fucking hours of walking. It had been more than a day since they’d left the FBI office, and Sam was ready to fall with exhaustion.
“You’re lost, aren’t you.” Sam stated rather than asked.
“No.”
Sam hung his head for a minute, gathering his tired thoughts. When he looked up again, he squared his body toward Cheney. “Can I just have a straight answer? Please?”
Jude looked at his haggard charge. Sam Bahlson was ready to drop, yet he stood his ground and nailed Jude with a steady no-shit stare. He’d looked into Sam’s eyes enough to know the intensity of his blue gaze. Early morning leeched them of color, making them look silver instead. Sam’s once perfectly styled hair stuck up funny in the back where his head had rested against the car seat, and his tightly held mouth had relaxed. The fight in him seemed mostly
“Great. They saddled me with a smart ass.” Cheney shook his head as he checked traffic and pulled out.
“Great. They saddled me with a muscle head.”
Cheney shot him a dark look.
“That’s right. Get it all out. That much evil stored up in one space can’t be healthy for you.”
Cheney snorted, turned his face away as he checked the approaching side streets.
Cheney—who in his right mind gave a man named Cheney a gun—pointed the car southwesterly. It was well into the ass-numbing ride and a gas tank later, that they turned off one of many country roads to an almost undetectable gravel path. Bushes scraped the sides of the car like eerily sharpened fingernails leaping out of the dark.
The gnarled branches above clawed boney fingers at the moon, which was their only light since Cheney had turned off his headlamps. It was like some scene from a horror movie, and Sam half expected a raging lunatic with an axe to crash through the windshield at any moment.
Sam gripped the armrest, squinting as though it would help to block out things he couldn’t see coming at them anyway.
“How can you drive in this?” Sam snapped.
“Eyes. Situated at the front of my head for optimal forward viewing.”
“ Now who’s the smart ass.”
He thought Cheney smirked, but he couldn’t be sure. Finally the car stopped. Cheney told him to get out.
“Here? There’s nothing,” Sam argued.
“There isn’t supposed to be. C’mon. We hoof it.”
“Hoof it? In the middle of the night? I still don’t know why you’re holding me, or what you want.”
Cheney popped the trunk and lifted out a duffle.
“Where’d that come from? Do you have any other secrets I should know?” Sam asked.
“I’m a fucking Boy Scout,” Cheney deadpanned. He hooked Sam’s arm. “Walk.”
With Cheney behind him and darkness ahead, Sam had no idea where Cheney thought he should walk. Scrub and trees formed a barrier before him.
Cheney sighed. Before Sam had time to acknowledge the cool metal or the clicking sound, Cheney had cuffed their wrists together. Then dodging around Sam, Cheney walked straight into the natural wall. Sam stumbled behind him, arm outstretched.
“Right,” he snarked at Cheney’s wide back. “Because I was going to run home from here. In the dark. With a big-ass agent chasing me and God knows who else.”
The walk seemed endless. Sam originally thought they’d tromp a few hundred yards and arrive at wherever the destination was. Cheney had different ideas. He zigzagged through the dark like a guided missile. Either he had night vision, or they were spectacularly lost.
“Are we there yet?” Sam quipped tiredly.
“No.”
“Oh, fount of knowledge, pray tell me when we might be delivered of this vegetative prison?”
“When we’re done getting there,” Cheney answered.
“Wow. That’s profound.”
That was it. Enough. Sam dug in his heels. It barely slowed Cheney, but it served its purpose, and Cheney finally looked back. Dawn touched the forest with gray. It had been hours. Fucking hours of walking. It had been more than a day since they’d left the FBI office, and Sam was ready to fall with exhaustion.
“You’re lost, aren’t you.” Sam stated rather than asked.
“No.”
Sam hung his head for a minute, gathering his tired thoughts. When he looked up again, he squared his body toward Cheney. “Can I just have a straight answer? Please?”
Jude looked at his haggard charge. Sam Bahlson was ready to drop, yet he stood his ground and nailed Jude with a steady no-shit stare. He’d looked into Sam’s eyes enough to know the intensity of his blue gaze. Early morning leeched them of color, making them look silver instead. Sam’s once perfectly styled hair stuck up funny in the back where his head had rested against the car seat, and his tightly held mouth had relaxed. The fight in him seemed mostly
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