Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) (28 page)

“We should probably get going,” Sam said.

Nodding, Lane pulled out his cell, calling Al and asking for the guys to return.  They arrived a few minutes later, heads hanging in shame and embarrassment.  Harry slid into the back seat without looking at Samantha.  Al fixed the car wordlessly and climbed in next to Harry. 

When they were on the road again, Samantha cleared her throat delicately to get their attention.  “As far as any of us is concerned,” she said, “Riddle, Oregon does not exist and will never be mentioned again.”

“Fine by me!” Al said.

#

Salt and vinegar, white cheddar, onions and parsley.  Where, Sam thought, was the ranch flavor of corn chips?  She had her Dr. Pepper; all she needed were some dang plain corn chips.  She’d visited gas stations across the West Coast and had yet to understand why in the world most couldn’t stock the original, boring flavors of her favorite snack items.  

“Sam,” Lane whispered in her ear, “Looking for these?”

Turning, Sam saw Lane holding a bag of corn chips.  He shook the bag with a smile.  Sam reached for the bag and Lane yanked it out of her reach.  “Ah ah ah, we have to talk.”  He looked around to make sure that Al and Harry weren’t hanging around nearby.  “This is the only chance we’ll get.”

Damn it.  Sam didn’t want to talk.  But she did want the corn chips.  Her stomach was growling, a noise that told her it would only be happy if it had something processed, salty, and with some sort of artificial coloring.  She allowed Lane to lead her to the back of the QuickPick mini-mart, uncomfortably aware of the similarities to the last time someone had led her to a rendezvous near the nacho machines.

“We need to talk about the kiss.  Kisses.”

Oh.  No. 

“We do?”  Sam really didn’t see the need.  She’d already forgiven him, what more did he want?  After all, the kiss was entirely his fault.  Entirely.  She may have kissed him back, but could you really blame her?  Lane was...Lane.  She doubted a girl on this earth could resist kissing him back.

“Don’t you think it’s important?”

Sam bit her lip, squirming.  She hated this touchy feely stuff.  No amount of corn chips was worth this sort of torture.

“Do
you
think it’s important?” she asked.

“Samantha, will you please stop doing that answering with a question ploy?”

“I’m answering with questions?”
Lane crossed his arms.  “Fine, I’ll just refuse to pay for your snacks from here on out.”

Now he was playing hardball.

“OK, you got me.  The kisses happened under dubious circumstances.  I didn’t entirely dislike the second one.  But don’t worry, I don’t hold you responsible.  Does that about cover it?”  Mr. Girl, she added silently.  Mr. Girly Girl who always has to talk about relationships and feelings like he’s some... girl. 

“Almost,” Mr. Girl said, “But what if it meant something to me?”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I liked kissing you, all right?  It was nice.  No, it was a hell of a lot better than nice, and you know it.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t see sparks fly on a regular basis.”

Sam shrugged in grudging agreement.

“And the truth is, I would like, I mean, I would like to try it again sometime if you didn’t object.”

Lane waited, breath bated, to see what Sam’s response was.  She didn’t respond.  She just looked at him.

“So?”

“So?”  She looked pointedly at the corn chips.

“Are you going to say something?  Do you object or not?”

“When you put it so charmingly, how can a girl resist?”

“Like you’re one to talk, Little Miss...doesn’t talk.”

“You’re truly terrible at being mean.”

“I know.”  Lane sighed, “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Fine.  I guess I don’t.  Object, that is.”

“OK, well, great.  But something tells me starting a romance under these circumstances isn’t the best idea.”

“So, wait, what was all of this for?  You’re just wasting my time!”

“No!  Here’s what I’m saying.  We put everything on hold for now.  Strictly platonic.  And then, when all of this is over, we go on a date.  Or, if you like, we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Samantha mulled this over while Lane tapped his foot. 

“It’s a date,” she said finally, handing him her drink.  “Hold this, please, while I use the restroom.”

Lane grinned and took the soda, looking like he’d just won a marathon.  When her back was safely turned away, Sam allowed herself her own smile of triumph.

#

As far as gas station bathrooms went, Samantha had to give this one some credit.  Not only was it by far the cleanest she had yet encountered, but it was also clear that someone somewhere was trying to dispel the gas station bathroom reputation.  The bottom half of the three-stall room had been painted green, the top half sky blue.  Hand-painted flowers dotted the green half and fluffy sponge clouds occupied the upper half.  Pots of silk plants and country signs completed the look.  It wasn’t to her personal taste, but she appreciated the effort.  Especially the lavender scented towel to dry her hands with.

Preoccupied as she was with both the décor—which amused her much more than it would have under normal circumstances—and her thoughts about Lane, and Lane’s shoulders, and her objections, Sam was caught completely unaware when a body slammed into her, shoving her back against the wall, forcing her face into one of the silk plants she’d just been admiring.  The feel of the chill barrel of a pistol or revolver under the jaw was unmistakable. 
Damn it
, Sam thought,
that’s exactly what I get for daydreaming.

“I’m sorry,” a male voice whispered in her ear, “I can’t let it happen again.”  He sniffed, and a shift in body weight suggested he was wiping his nose. 

Sam’s face was full of green leaves, “Hmmphwhat?”

“You’ll go bad just like he did.  And I can’t let them have you, too.”  Another sniff.  Actually, it was more like a sniffle.  Wait a second, was this guy
crying
?  A crying assassin?  God, what a wimp. 

Wimp he may have been, but when Sam heard the click of the gun cocking, she knew she was screwed if she didn’t act.  When the guy sniffed again, she was ready.  When he went to wipe his nose, releasing some of the pressure used to force her down, Sam brought her leg up and back.  If Sam hadn’t felt it, the scream and release of pressure was a sure indication that she’d nailed her attacker square in the family jewels.  Groaning, he collapsed on the ground where he curled up into the fetal position and whimpered.  

That
, Sam thought,
was surprisingly easy.

“
He
, who’s this evil
he
you think I’m going to take after?  Not my dad?”

“Yes, your dad, of course.”

First the motorcycle assassin, and now this guy, and Sam was entirely sick and tired of hearing about her father. 

“Stop crying,” Sam said.  Bending down, she gently took the gun from him.  She wasn’t surprised to see he’d left the safety on.  Lucky her, that the assassin that managed to take her completely by surprise was either totally incompetent or incapable of actually pulling the trigger.  Or maybe not so much lucky as pathetic on her own part.

Grabbing some toilet paper, she wadded it up and handed it over to the man in lieu of a tissue.  “I’m not my father.  I’m not going to lose it like he did.”

“He didn’t lose it,” the man said, pushing himself to a sitting position and resting against the wall.  The craggy, sad face was that of an old man but his hair was still a dark brown.  An overly aged forty-something.  “I should know.  I was assigned to him for his transition.”

“You were his teacher?”

He nodded forlornly, his head buried on his chest: “He was a latebloomer, too.  You were already born.  But I thought, maybe we could get through it.  I never had a problem before him, you know.  I had a clean track record.”

“Something went wrong,” Sam said.  Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a half-eaten chocolate bar.  “You want some?”

“I’ll say,” he sighed, accepting the chocolate bar and taking a bite.  “I thought he transitioned OK, but something broke, you know?  Then, after your mom left, he...really went off the deep end.  Started doing things.  Evil things.  Terrible things.”

“And the wonderful N.T.U. didn’t rein him in, he didn’t go to jail?”

“Ha!  Right.  N.T.U. can’t touch anyone the Corp doesn’t want them to find.”

“And what about me?”

“I don’t think even they could’ve guessed what would’ve happened.  I mean, if I’d known, I’d’ve—”

“Ambushed him in the bathroom and tried and shoot him in the back?”

“Huh,” he said.

“Sure.  Right.”  Sam said sarcastically, “Well, thanks for your insight.”  Straightening, she rubbed the crick out of her back.  “I’m sure my friends are wondering where I am.”

 “Wait.”  He grabbed her pant leg.  “Just promise me something?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me you aren’t going to turn out like he did.”

She smiled down at him, “I promise.”

Sam left the crying man in the bathroom.  He didn’t have the guts to come after her again.  He was too full of self-blame to do anything else. 

Sam hadn’t spent much time around her father, but it was long enough to know that the insanity plea hadn’t been a hoax.

Had it?

Chapter
25

Thoughtful as she climbed into the front seat, Sam stopped Lane before he got on the freeway.

“Slight detour,” she said, “We aren’t going to Seattle just yet.”

“Why not?” Lane asked.

“My father,” Samantha said.  “You were right.  Audrey was right.  My dad is a loose end.  It’s time we took care of that.”

“Well damn,” Al said, “I’d be glad for your change of heart, but that means more time in the car.”

#

It was one thing to know something was necessary, to understand the logic in the decision.  It was another thing to believe it.  Sam knew she should see her father, should tie up loose ends, should see for herself that he had nothing to do with any of this.  But she couldn’t quell the feeling deep in her gut that said that she was making a mistake: that there was a reason she’d moved so far away and lost herself in the big city.  That maybe she didn’t want to know the full truth.

 But she’d made the decision; she’d follow through.  Sam did what she had done so many times before.  Rather than letting the anxiety overwhelm her, she took the hurt, pain, fear, and compartmentalized it.  That way, she could get on with her normal life until the absolute last minute.

She concentrated on the road, the crossword puzzles she’d picked up: anything and everything else.  This was, she’d learned, the best way to deal.  The best way to effectively manage getting through everyday life when the weight of the world loomed over your head.

Sam managed quite well until they started passing buildings she recognized.  They drove through Steilacoom, passing small houses, catching glimpses of water through the darkening trees.  When they passed the low stone wall that bordered Western State Hospital, she restrained the urge to throw up.  There was no postponing this pain.  It was coming up, and it was coming up much faster than she wanted it to.

#

“We’d like to see a patient, please.”

“It’s late.  Visiting hours are over.”

Lane leaned forward.  He took Samantha’s hand and smiled at the receptionist.  “We’ve traveled so far, surely you could make an exception?”

The woman’s face softened a fraction, “Name?”

“Gibson,” Lane supplied.  The woman shook her head, “Nuhn uhn, sorry.  We don’t have any Gibsons here.”

“Edward Mikelson,” Samantha supplied smoothly, shrugging by way of explanation when Lane shot her a surprised look.  “I changed my name after the trial.  Special dispensation.”

“That’s why it was so hard to find any information on you.”

“Probably,” Sam said, completely unapologetic.

“Relation?”  The receptionist, a battle axe with a kitten calendar and elaborate nails, didn’t care about the drama in front of her.  She just wanted to get her job done and get rid of these people.

“She’s his daughter.”

The woman typed something swiftly in the computer.  Waited thirty seconds for effect.  “I’ll need proof of ID and you have to fill this out.”  She handed Sam a clipboard.  When Sam returned after filling out the extensive forms, the woman peered at her over wired glasses: “I didn’t know Ed had a daughter.”

“Sometimes,” Sam said, “I’d like to forget I had a father.”

“You can wait there.  In a few minutes, someone will take you to see him.  He’s in the minimum security wing.”

“Minimum security?” Samantha choked out.  The receptionist nodded: “He’s essentially recovered.  Just trying to serve out his sentence in peace, now.  Wouldn’t be surprised if they let him out soon, crowded as we are.”