Aftershocks (16 page)

“It’s not as hopeless as it seems.” He stroked a hand down her damp hair. “They have employment records, schedules. We can do a targeted investigation. If something’s going to come up, it won’t take long to do so.”

“Another if,” she sighed. “And what if it didn’t get taken off the train?” She concentrated on the details, because the consequences were too much. If she spit out enough variables, they might hit on something they could act on. They had so little time. “What if it stayed in that car for a long time? Where did it go next? Where is it now?”

Grant’s expression changed. Before it had been semi-stony, not revealing much but a hint of reassurance. Now it cleared—still stonyish, but more resolved, less like it was hiding something.

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean about the rail car. Where it is now.” He rose and pulled her to her feet, tugging her along behind him as he trudged toward the shack.

“That’s not relevant. It’s been too long. Hasn’t it?” She tried to trot in the soft sand to keep up but twisted her foot. It didn’t hurt, but she said, “Ow.” Grant didn’t slow. Apparently, he was skilled at assessing other people’s injuries on the run, without even a glance. “I need to get my clothes.”

He released her hand, which tingled as if its circulation had been cut off. Zoe shook it.

“Get them. I have a few things to look up, calls to make.”

She detoured toward the water, hoping the incoming tide hadn’t soaked her clothes. It was still a foot away, but closing in fast. She snatched up the shorts and shirt and hesitated. Did she want to put them on out here, where anyone could watch her reverse striptease, or take them inside where the lack of privacy was more intimate?

The question provided its own answer. She stepped into the shorts and pulled them up under the towel, then yanked the shirt over her head and pulled it down, grabbing the towel as it fell. She was going to be very uncomfortable the rest of the day, with the sand and salt and damp bathing suit. But hopefully the day wouldn’t be that long.

When she got inside Grant was on the phone, his index finger pinning one of the maps on the table. Energy swirled in the air, but Zoe couldn’t tell what kind. She circled around to stand next to him, leaning over to try to figure out the map. It covered the western half of the U.S., showing contour elevations and way more rail lines than she’d ever imagined possible. One set of rails in Wyoming looked like they formed a pentagram. Grant’s finger was mostly covering a symbol in lower Utah, and he was making grunting sounds of assent or disagreement. After a minute, he thanked whoever it was and hung up.

“It’s in Utah.”

“The rail car.”

“Yep.”

The energy was excitement, and it slipped into her, tempered by the hopelessness that had taken up residence. “How do you know it’s the right one?”

“The color, the placement on the train, its destination. You were able to open the door—that limits the possibilities.”

“So who has it?”

He shrugged and started to gather up the papers. “Some guy who lives off the end of an old spur, which was close enough to make it affordable to get the car to his property. No idea what he did with it when he got it there, though.” He glanced at her. “Why don’t you go back and check out of the hotel. I’ll find out about flights to Utah and meet you at the boat dock.”

For some reason, his orders raised her hackles. “Wait a minute. You’re not my boss.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And you’re suddenly in mission mode, ordering me around.”

He looked ready to argue, but closed his mouth and nodded. “Okay. You’re right. Input?”

“I’m going back to the hotel. Stop smirking.” She smacked his shoulder. “I’m going to shower and pack before I check out, and
then
I’ll meet you at the boat dock.”

Grant nodded, his face mock grave, his eyes twinkling. “Much better plan.”

Zoe rolled her eyes and stuffed her own papers into her bag. She didn’t care what he thought. Being part of the plan, even if it only meant a minor modification, made her feel miles better. Her therapist—at least half of them—would have said she was asserting herself to combat any loss of control that would flash her back to the past. Some would call it healthy, others would have made her talk and talk to try to eliminate it.

Okay, enough
. They’d earned their money. They didn’t need to take up residence in her head. It was crowded enough in there as it was.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and headed out to her bike, taking her time as she rolled along the beach road. She had a feeling these would be the last moments of peace and lack of urgency for a long time. She wished she’d fished her hat out of her bag, though, because the sun beat down on her, and she was far enough from the water that the breeze had stilled. But she didn’t think Grant was going to allow her a leisurely amount of time; she’d rather be waiting for him at the dock than the other way around. So she pedaled faster, both to ensure that and to get out of the sun.

She’d just crossed from the open beach-and-marsh area into the town when the back of her neck started to prickle.

The sensation threw her into the past again. While Pat and Freddie’s prisoner, she had grown so used to near-constant watch that when she got home she’d always felt like it was still happening. She hadn’t expected to ever stop feeling that way, but somewhere along the line she had, without even noticing it. Until now, when it was back.

She forced herself not to look around, but whenever she turned her head to check for traffic on a cross street, she scanned the groups of people clustered around storefronts and bar entrances and individuals walking up and down the street. She didn’t see anyone she recognized, but that wasn’t surprising and didn’t mean someone wasn’t there.

A few ideas for giving them the slip flitted through her mind, but she discarded them. There was no time. So she stuck to the original plan and returned the bike, crossed over to the hotel, and went up to her room, where she quickly showered and packed. She checked out and left the hotel only twenty minutes after she came in, about forty minutes after she’d left Grant’s.

Zoe was chagrined to find him standing halfway down the boat dock, negotiating with one of the captains for passage to the nearest island with an airstrip.

“Hey.” Grant handed the captain some money and turned to her while the captain hopped onto his boat and started prepping it. “Joaquin’s going to take us—what’s wrong?”

“Quiet.” It was a struggle not to look over her shoulder. “I think someone’s following me.”

Grant narrowed his eyes at Joaquin. “Hey, amigo!” He stepped closer to the boat and asked the man a question in Spanish. The guy shrugged and shook his head, then rattled something back. Grant said “
sí
” and turned to lounge casually against the tie-post.

“What was that?” Zoe watched him scanning the dock from under his hat.

“With you thinking you were being watched, it seemed a little too easy that this guy was ready and eager to take us over. But I don’t think he’s lying.”

“About what? What did you ask him?”

“If anyone paid him already to take us.”

“And he said? Besides no.”

“He asked if we still wanted to go over. Said his cousin had a boat further down the dock if we didn’t like his.”

She nodded and waited. Joaquin disappeared below decks, and a minute later the engines powered up. Smoke floated out of the hatch.

“That’s encouraging,” she muttered.

Grant twisted to look. “Just oil burning off.”

“Like I said.”

He grinned. “I don’t see anyone who’s paying you extra attention. What made you think they were? You see someone?”

She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “No. Just a feeling.”

He looked up at the second-story windows of the buildings flanking the dock. “Couple of kids up there might have eyes on you.”

Zoe wandered in a random pattern, like someone bored with waiting, until she could see who he was talking about. Two dark-haired, white-shirted young boys leaned against a wrought-iron railing across a doorway above a fish shop. They saw her looking and immediately straightened, but instead of disappearing inside, they called to her and waved their arms. She caught the words “pretty lady” in Spanish and winced.

“If they’re watching me, they don’t care that I noticed.” She waved back, sending them into spine-bending swoons.

“They could just be sophisticated about it. Pat and Freddie didn’t mind using kids,” he pointed out.

“True.” She watched the boys for a minute. They put on a show for her, calling compliments, hooting, jeering down at a group of slightly older teens on the sidewalk below, who ignored them. It was a nice diversion until Joaquin told them he was ready, but when she turned, her instincts screamed at her that someone was close. A threat.

She spun, but her conscious and subconscious definitions of “close” apparently didn’t match. No one was within ten feet of them.

“Come on, hon.” Grant patiently held his hand out to help her onto the boat. She glared at it for a second, really wanting to climb on herself, but he was setting up a cover. Being argumentative would call attention to them, and that was the last thing they needed.

No, she thought a moment later. The last thing they needed was company.

They’d barely settled onto the cushion-covered aft bench when two guys lightly leaped from the dock to the rail of the boat, then onto the deck.

“Howdy!” The taller one tipped an actual cowboy hat. His boots clicked as he crossed the planks to them, and one thumb hooked through the belt loop of his jeans, as if out of habit. “You folks taking the tour?”

Grant gave him the stone face. “No.”

“Too bad. We love just motorin’ around these islands. The uninhabited ones are really cool.”

Zoe tuned him out, leaving him to Grant, and watched his buddy. This guy seemed less out of place, wearing a tank top under an unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt and board shorts. He said something to Joaquin, handed him some money, and wandered over to join his friend.

“Hey, sweetie. Wanna go up front and watch for dolphins?” he asked the cowboy.

Zoe waited until they’d done so before she murmured, “We’re in trouble.”

“Yeah. If they’re gay, so am I.”

She eyed the dock. The boat was slowly rotating away from it. “We could jump back.”

“Not a good idea.”

She didn’t argue. They’d already missed the short window. “Now what?”

“We lose them later.”

“What’s the plan? The original one,” she added.

“Boat to the next key, small plane to Miami, flight out of there tonight to Salt Lake City. Layover in Atlanta, though, so I can work with that if we don’t shake them on the way.”

They watched the “couple” lean against the port-side bow rail, beach-boy leaning on his elbow and facing aft, where he’d have a better view of Grant and Zoe than of any sea life.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen them before.” Grant kept his voice low, though Zoe could barely hear him and didn’t think the other guys had any chance at all.

“No, never saw them. They don’t seem like Pat and Freddie’s kind of crew.”

“Ex-cons, cons, or soon-to-be cons.”

“Well, yeah, but more than that. Zealots. These guys don’t have that weird light in their eyes.” She tipped her head back to enjoy the sun but left her eyes slit to watch the two.

“Maybe Pat met them in prison or something.”

“Maybe.” He was resourceful. And who knew? Maybe he’d branched out. “Are they a danger to us?”

“I don’t think anyone is a danger right now. If these guys know you’re on the trail of the totems, there won’t be any reason to hurt you or anyone else.”

She wanted to believe that, but was afraid it was too simple. “Do you think that would change if they lose track of us? Would they try to grab someone as insurance?”

She appreciated that Grant didn’t give her the easy, expected answer. He was silent as the boat reached open water and picked up speed. She grabbed at her hat as the wind caught the brim and tightened the strap at the back.

“They might,” he finally said. “They’d go for the most vulnerable, the one you care about the most.”

Her involuntary whimper shouldn’t have been audible, but Grant’s head turned slightly toward her and his hand twitched, as if he’d arrested the instinct to comfort.

“I have someone on her,” he said.

Her lips parted, her eyebrows rising. “On who?”

“Olivia. An old partner agreed to be extra eyes.”

Tears welled and she gripped his forearm in relief and gratitude. “When did you do that?”

He shrugged and folded his arms, removing her grip. “The day you got here. I know you said you told her parents so they could take steps, but this is added insurance. Just in case.”

“Thank you.” Her voice cracked, and a little of the tension left Grant’s body.

“So it doesn’t matter at this point if they keep track of us. We’ll play it by ear, okay?”

She nodded and settled back on the bench, closing her eyes and shifting her hat to cover the expressions she couldn’t hide.