The man had looked familiar, which somehow had made the whole thing even more disturbing and surreal. And then she’d realized why: the camera footage. The man who had planted the bomb and then disappeared in the cemetery. He’d been wearing a cap and glasses, but that sneer was unforgettable.
She had been sure she was going to die. And then Marvin had shown up, claiming to have the thumb drive, and she hadn’t known what the hell to think. And then… had he shot someone in the parking lot of her building? She thought that was what she’d heard, and there was that story about a deer, but when she’d asked he hadn’t answered. But had someone been waiting for her outside her building? Had Marvin killed someone there?
There was too much happening. She couldn’t keep up. And now that the immediate danger had passed, she felt herself wanting to fall apart. But she couldn’t. She had to stay strong for Dash. She just needed a little time to catch her breath. And more than anything, to think. Think.
Marvin had stopped to switch the truck’s license plates just outside of Clarksville, explaining that he kept a spare pair in the truck toolbox just in case. She was glad he was well outfitted, but it made her uncomfortable, too. She had thought she knew who he was. She had taken him into her home, into her body. And now… she felt confused, and frightened, and violated. And also grateful, because he certainly seemed to know what he was doing in the current situation while she didn’t have a clue. But how much could she really trust him?
Somewhere north of Gettysburg, she was finally beginning to nod off from nervousness and exhaustion — or was it the aftereffects of whatever drug they’d given her? — when she felt the pickup stop. She shook herself awake and looked around, seeing nothing but rolling fields and farmland. Marvin was gesturing to a poorly illuminated sign next to a driveway to their right: Big Sky Motel. Beneath the faded blue and red letters, flickering in pink neon, the word Vacancy.
Independent, he signed. We can use cash.
She stared down the driveway but couldn’t see where it led. How do you know?
The corporate chains have policies. The independents are usually family run. They’re getting harder to find, but they’ll always take a cash deposit.
She decided to file his apparent experience with that sort of thing in the same place she had filed his spare license plates: as something better examined later.
Wait, she signed. Cash is bad. They might be looking for that pattern. Someone registering at a hotel within a certain radius of my apartment tonight. For cash.
They can do that?
I’m getting the feeling I don’t know a fraction of what they can do.
I have some prepaid credit cards. Unused. Untraceable to me. In case of emergency.
She smiled faintly. Well, I guess this is an emergency.
I’ll tell them to not even register us. It’s just going to be a night clerk. For an extra fifty bucks, they’ll give us a room key and forget to enter us into the system. Look at this place. I doubt it’s part of Travelocity or whatever.
You sure?
He nodded and turned right into the driveway. A swimming pool was illuminated by the passing headlights, then disappeared again in the darkness. Then an old swing set, a lopsided picnic table, some chairs. He parked a little way past the office — just beyond where someone inside could see the pickup without getting up, she noted. He wasn’t hiding them, but he wasn’t making it easy for anyone, either.
She rolled down the window and heard only the sound of crickets. No distant traffic, no neighbors, nothing. She leaned her head out and looked up. The sky was studded with stars.
Marvin returned a few minutes later. He pulled the truck door closed behind him and showed her a key on a plastic fob. Thirty-four dollars, he signed. Plus a fifty-dollar security deposit. And another fifty for not entering us into their computer system because I’m paranoid about my office finding out I’m playing hooky. Old guy, well into a bottle of Four Roses. He’s not going to remember us.
She nodded and gave him a small smile. He must have known how upset she was, and was trying to make her feel better. It wasn’t much, but maybe it was something.
Their room was at the far end of the structure, which was shaped like a U around a central parking area. Marvin backed in directly in front of the door. She figured parking nose-out was for a quick getaway, but again decided not to ask.
He cut the engine and looked around. Stay here for a minute.
She glanced at Dash. He was still out cold. Why?
He removed the ashtray, and from behind it withdrew a small leather pouch, which he placed on his lap. I’m going to let us into the room next to ours. I asked the owner to give us a room with unoccupied ones alongside it because my wife is a light sleeper. He said no problem, we’re mostly empty tonight, I’ll give you a room at the end of the complex.
She glanced at the leather pouch. Those are lock picks?
He nodded.
She had to ask. Marvin… who are you?
He stared through the windshield, into the darkness.
Right now, I’m not really sure.
CHAPTER
40
The room was clean and functionaclass="underline" two queen beds separated by a nightstand; a table and two chairs; pine-paneled walls and low-pile carpeting. It was deluxe compared to some of the places Manus had stayed, but he wasn’t sure how the woman and the boy would like it. He knew Evie was scared and uncertain, though she was doing a good job of hiding it. Dash seemed all right, and Manus sensed he was picking up his emotional cues from his mother.
They all took turns in the small bathroom. Manus went last, and when he came out, Dash was in pajamas. Smart of Evie, to bring something of their home routine on the road with them, a small comfort for her son. Far back in his mind, Manus was aware of that feeling — a ghost, a vanished memory, a shadow from another life. He noticed Evie looking at him closely and pushed it away.
Dash went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Manus pointed to the bed farthest from the exterior door, then signed, You take that one. Better for me to be closer to the door.
She looked frightened at that, and he realized the possibility of having to engage someone breaching the door was new and unnerving to her. Along with, presumably, everything else that was happening. He signed, Just being careful.
I’ve noticed that about you.
I’m sorry.
It’s okay. I think we need it right now.
I mean… I’m sorry for everything.
Dash came out of the bathroom. He handed Evie his toothbrush and yawned.
She smiled at him. Time for bed.
He smiled back. No school tomorrow?
No school.
He walked over to Manus and looked up at him. Thanks for helping my mom.
Manus nodded, not knowing how to explain that he deserved no thanks for anything he had done.
When you’re finished, will you help me build a desk under my loft? My mom said you might.
Manus glanced over at Evie. She looked discomfited, and he gathered she hadn’t expected the boy to repeat that. And of course whenever she’d said it, things had been completely different.