Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) (11 page)

DonnyBoy: Geez. I’m sorry.

Bella: The worst part was my parents were arguing before they left.

DonnyBoy: Was it something important?

Bella: About some tie company or something like that. It doesn’t sound important now, but they were really angry.

DonnyBoy: That sucks.

Bella: I’ll tell you what. It taught me one important lesson. I never go away angry. And I never go to bed angry. Speaking of bed. better go. Big test tomorrow.

“Hey. You okay?” Lucas jarred me out of my memories. I jerked my head up to see him standing in front of the computer, keys in hand.

“Fine.” I cleared out the computer, fiddled with the software to erase my footprints.

He glanced around the crowded highway stop. “Ready?”

I checked the watch on my wrist. I’d gone over the allotted time. “Yeah.”

I rubbed the center of my breastbone. Near my heart. I ached with a fierce, intense regret.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas’s blunt question jerked me back to the present again.

I didn’t answer.

I hadn’t had time to get quiet and morose the last time I checked on Bella. No time to fall into my usual funk after touching the fringes of her life. Like the whisper of a ghost, she never even knew I was there.

I knew it was for her own good.

But deep down inside, in that place I barely acknowledged existed, I ached for real contact.

A real hug. A real conversation.

Lucas slid his fingers down my forearm until he rested his hand against my palm and meshed our fingers, twining us together.

That simple human touch undid me.

I wanted, I craved, I would have bled to keep the warmth of his hand in mine.

To show him that bit of vulnerability, that little weakness, was unacceptable.

“Just tired.” I disengaged our hands and fought the urge to rub my palm over my breastbone again. “Let’s get going. I need to find an Office Depot.”

“Don’t you like to live dangerously.”

I smiled as he wanted me to do, knowing full well the danger lay not in doing my job, but in wanting his touch.

***

We’d been traveling for hours. The GPS system had no Office Depots or Staples for over two hundred miles. We were almost at the Nevada/Utah border.

I wanted to call Carson. Now.

Again Lucas seemed to read my mind. He gestured to a bin on the wall in the rear of the van. “Use one of my extras.”

I was tempted, but something held me back. I didn’t want anyone to trace me to Lucas. I wasn’t sure if I was protecting him–or leaving myself an out.

Finally I found an office supply store near West Wendover.

I fiddled with the GPS system, searching for an average street name. First Avenue. I plugged in the street name then looked around for a house number.

McDonald’s–58 Billion Served.

58 First Avenue.

Worked for me.

I needed a first name. “What was the name of your first girlfriend?”

He closed his eyes, and with a reminiscent little half smile, he patted his open palm over his heart. “Sarah McBride.”

Was she really that great? I should ignore him but somehow, in that second, the need to know was greater than my need to show indifference. “Was she really that great?”

“There’s nothing like your first romantic love.” Lucas stared at me for a minute. “Come on. You can’t tell me that you don’t remember.”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to remember.

“Who was your first boyfriend?”

Jorge Somebody. The reason I’d been throwing a tantrum. Jorge had wanted to take me out, without a bodyguard and my father had said no. It wasn’t safe in the little South American country where we were living. You aren’t safe, my father’d said.

You’re too overprotective, I’d railed.

I’m cautious, he’d countered.

Stifling, I’d retaliated. You isolate us.

It’s for your own good, he’d stated firmly. And that was that.

That’s
why I’d been throwing the tantrum the day our car blew up.

My father had been right after all. It wasn’t safe.

Lucas nudged me with his foot. The contact was completely non-threatening and yet it touched off a fear in me. “Give me a name. It’s not like I’ll be able to use the information to get any goods on you.”

I gave the English version. “George.”

He opened a bottle of chilled water. “I bet you broke his heart.”

“I doubt it.”

I hadn’t ever gotten to tell Jorge no. The place and time of our potential date had gone unnoticed while I lay in a sterile bed in a hospital no one knew about.

Pushing away the disturbing memories, I shoved open the door to the van.

Unfortunately, mid-morning Fall in Nevada meant sweltering heat. I stepped out of the van into a dry, oppressive heat of over ninety degrees and hustled into the store.

I wanted a change of clothes, a seriously cold Frappuccino, and a shower. The little sponge bath I’d given myself earlier had done nothing to improve my mood.

I headed straight to the phone aisle, Lucas following.

On an end cap I found the paperwork for buying an untraceable phone. I could activate a number, use the prepaid phone card, and toss the phone when I finished.

I found an empty counter and grabbed a pen. Pretending to stare off into space, I looked at the stacked boxes of paper.

HP, Hammermill.

Sarah Hammer. Perfect.

I filled out the form with my fake name, then pressed Lucas for a few bills.

“Can you spare an extra hundred?”

“You think you’ll need that much air time, Sarah?”

I ignored him. “I’ll pay you back.”

He gave me a long serious look. “Yes. You will.”

He wasn’t talking about money.

I stuck out my hand, palm up. And suddenly I was thrust back to being fifteen again, asking my father for money, wheedling for enough to go buy an outfit or to hang out with my friends-–along with my bodyguard.

Pain speared. I swear I could hear his voice. “Don’t spend it all in one place, punkin.”

I’d roll my eyes and leave out my hand, palm up.

I forced my thoughts back to the present and blew out the breath I’d been holding.

Fortunately, Lucas hadn’t seemed to notice my lapse. He opened his wallet and peeled out five twenties. “There you go.”

I curled my fingers around the crisp bills and headed for the checkout and away from the painful memories plaguing me.

No Frappuccino. I snagged an icy cold coke, paid the bill and walked outside. “Privacy.”

His face broke into a wry smile. “Something I can help you with?”

I gave him a ‘get real’ look.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

My defenses were down. I needed a reminder of who I was, who I’d fought to become. So these weak feelings would go away. “Privacy.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you in the van and I’ll take a walk over to Bargain Barn and score us some new clothes.” He jangled the keys in his pocket. “Don’t take off without me.”

I looked around pointedly. We were in the middle of the desert, right off the freeway. The assortment of fast food joints and discount shopping was an oasis in an otherwise desolate sea of dirt and tumbleweeds.

Besides, at this moment, he was the only one I trusted. Of course, I had no intention of sharing that with him.

“Cash only,” I reminded him.

“I know.” He rolled his eyes at me then jogged off to the store.

I slipped into the van and dialed into a secure location. After a series of beeps and tones, Carson answered his office line.

“Yeah.” The familiarity of his gruff voice centered me.

“Hey.”

“Hallelujah.” I heard the tap of his pen against his cherry desk. “Where 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 that software?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did it tell you?”

“She lives in a townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. She’s an adjunct lecturer in Department of Arabic Language, Literature & Linguistics at Georgetown and does volunteer work in Afghanistan for an international foundation dedicated to de-mining.”

So far nothing unusual in his findings. “What else?”

“She drives a Lexus.”

“Yeah.” I remembered the ride. Staci’s was cherry red and hot. “Love that car.”

I would never drive anything that flashy. I had a Honda Civic, in an unremarkable light blue.

“The word on the street is,” Lucas said, his gaze still on the laptop screen, “that if you’re interested in supporting a terrorist group, Staci has connections.”

Interesting. His information was dead on. Staci Grant’s cover was as a known recruiter. “You didn’t get that from your software,” I said mildly.

“I also called in a few favors.”

A giant tumbleweed, caught in the high beams, whipped across the empty highway as I waited for him to drop his bombshell. It was discomforting to realize I already knew him well enough to figure out one was coming.

“Staci Grant died a few weeks ago in Afghanistan.”

Now, he’d shocked me.
Very few
people had access to that information. I lifted a brow and turned toward him. With a lazy smile, I tilted my head. “That seems to be misinformation since I’m sitting right here.”

“Cut the crap.” His jaw tightened, emphasizing the hard lines of his face. “I worked with your cousins in Counter-Terrorism. I investigated Staci as part of a task force–until we were told to back off very politely by the CIA. I did surveillance on her for a month. You aren’t her.”

He’d known Staci? Now he’d really surprised me, but I kept my foot steady on the pedal and fingers loose on the wheel.

I figured the game was up. Maybe I should be more suspicious, but although he hadn’t told me he’d actually known Staci, he had been honest about knowing I wasn’t her since he’d rescued me.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I didn’t want to spook you.” Lucas grabbed his Coke from the holder in the dash. His fingers curled around the plastic cup. I tried to forget what those fingers were capable of. But memories crowded my mind, reminding me in high definition detail.

For the first time ever, I regretted my policy of only having sex with someone once. But I lived by my rules and I never broke them.

As I reviewed my situation I wondered...did it really matter if I held back my name? With his contacts he could likely get it on his own. But if I pretended to give something up, Lucas just might be able to help me. I wanted to check out this guy Bella had instant messaged. She didn’t usually reveal personal information.