The Comfort of Black (12 page)

“Breakfast of champions?” she asked.

“I didn't stop for groceries,” he said. “And all I had up here was bacon and coffee. Sorry.”

“What is this place?”

He handed her a mug of coffee and sat next to her, pushing his own chair a few inches back from the table.

“This place,” he said, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “This place is a bit of an Underground Railroad station.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, you know of the Underground Railroad?”

“Of course. That was almost two hundred years ago.”

“The metaphor still works for this place. For what I do.”

She finally crunched a piece of bacon and had to restrain herself from shoveling all of it into her mouth at once.

“So, you help black people escape their Seattle slave owners?”

He put his head down and chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“So what, then? What exactly is it you do?”

“I help people start new lives,” he said. “People in trouble. People who have gotten themselves into a situation with no other choices. Some of these people are criminals. Others are people who have been abused. Mothers with children. Men
who have been framed, or don't trust witness protection. People who, if they were back in society under their own identities, would likely be killed or jailed. I help them disappear, and this place…” He looked around and took in the tight surroundings. “Well, this place is where many of my clients start their journey.”

“So you help people to disappear?” she asked.

“I do.”

“And how do you do that?”

“Through a series of intricate steps, none of which can be skipped. There's a formula for erasing one's existence, and if you leave out just one part it won't work.”

“How much do you charge for such a thing?”

He shrugged. “Some clients pay me almost every penny they have to disappear. Others I do pro bono, depending on their circumstances. Overall, it balances out so I don't worry about paying bills. I live fairly humbly, after all.”

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“It was close and safe.”

“I want to go home.”

He nodded. “I know you do.”

“You said you have my phone. Where is it?”

“In your purse, in the kitchen.”

Hannah stood and moved to the kitchen. Her small black purse was hanging around the back of a chair. She picked it up and looked through it. Everything seemed to be there. She picked up her phone and pressed the side button, but nothing happened. She held it down a few seconds but it remained lifeless.

Black called over. “I told you I drained it. I didn't want you to be tracked. I only use prepaid cells without any GPS functionality.”

Hannah felt like she was drifting further into space, with no tether left to stop her.

Black walked toward her in the kitchen and opened a cabinet above the sink. He pulled out a laptop and took it back to the
table. Hannah followed. He booted it up and logged on with an impossibly long password.

“You can make a call on this if you want. The person you want to reach won't recognize the number so they might not answer, but it's anonymized and the only way to communicate out here. Or you can send an e-mail if you want. The IP address is untraceable.”

“Or you can just take me back to civilization,” she said. Hannah didn't know if she really meant that. Truth was, as much as she didn't want to trust this man, she was much more worried about being in a place where Dallin and his
risk-management employee
could find her. But she no longer believed in the concept of heroes, and she wasn't ready to freely accept Black as one.

Black reached out to touch her arm but seemed to decide against it. “Don't worry, Hannah. I'm not keeping you here. I saw you in trouble and just wanted to help.”

Hannah's stomach let out another growl. “So you just happened to meet me in a Starbucks, where you sensed something bad was going to happen to me?”

“I didn't sense it,” he interjected. “You told me yourself.”

“And then you followed me for no other reason than your concern for a stranger,” Hannah continued. “You overpowered a huge guy in a parking garage—”

“I didn't overpower him. I had a gun. Makes things easier.”

“—and then you whisked me here, stealing a van in the process. All out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Is there a question there somewhere?”

“No question. It seems staged, like you were waiting for me in that coffee shop. Like I'm some pawn in some bizarre game of yours.” She squinted at him. “What do you
really
want with me?”

An emotion swept over Black's face, brief but distinct, that Hannah couldn't quite place. If she had to guess, it was frustration, but it didn't seem as simple as that.

“Like I said, a thank you would be nice,” he said. “Believe what you want, but I saved your life.”

“My life wasn't yours to save,” she said. She didn't even know what she meant by that, but it felt so true. Maybe he saved her, maybe he didn't. All Hannah knew was she was in some remote cabin in the woods and couldn't leave without the help of a man she'd briefly met yesterday in a coffee shop.

Black gently shook his head. “Of course. You're right. I'm sorry. You have no reason to trust me or anything right now. Your world is in upheaval. I'm just trying to help. Please…” He gestured to the laptop. “Make as many phone calls as you want.”

She sat and Black logged into software that looked like something out of the movie
War Games
. It ran on a DOS prompt, and after a few more series of 1980s-style menus and password prompts, he asked her for the number she wanted to call.

The first person who came to mind was her sister, and Hannah recited the phone number to him. After typing the number into the keypad, he passed her the headphones, which had a pull-down microphone. She eyed him and he took the hint, leaving the kitchen and giving her as much privacy as the small cabin afforded.

She didn't even know what she would say to Justine.
I've been kidnapped twice. Dallin had me drugged and shoved into a trunk. Now I'm somewhere in the woods with a man who helps people disappear
.

Four rings and no answer. Voice mail. Hannah felt another burst of panic.

Did they get to Justine, too?

After all, Justine had been there when Peter confronted them. Did that make Justine some kind of liability in whatever this was that was happening?

“Justine, it's me. I just want to tell you I'm fine. But things aren't good. Dallin…he…look, just stay away from him, okay? I hope you and the boys are okay. I'll call again soon when I can. Be safe and…just take care of Zoo, okay?”

She didn't know how to hang up using the software, so she
motioned Black for help. He walked back over, read her face, then typed
\END CALL
at the prompt and pressed return.

“She wasn't there,” she said. “God, I hope she's okay.”

Black said nothing to reassure her that Justine was fine.

“I don't know what to do,” she said. “I can't go home. I don't want to stay here.” She turned to Black. “Why don't you trust the police?”

“Because I used to be a cop,” he said.

“That doesn't tell me anything.”

His jaw muscles twitched. “Look, Hannah, all I know is you're a target, and the people after you are professionals. Filing a police report or even having your husband arrested won't protect you. If the people after you know what they're doing, and it seems they do, they've already planned for a failed abduction attempt. Despite the fact you were in a public place, I'm quite certain there won't be any evidence left behind. It will be your word against theirs, and, while the justice system figures it all out, you'll remain a target.”

“I can't believe this is my husband we're talking about here. He…I
love
him. Or at least I loved the man I thought was him.”

Black put a hand on her arm, and she let it remain.

“Hannah, in my work I deal with clients who are at the end of their ropes. Emotionally. Physically. It's my job to assess the situation analytically. Objectively. If I couldn't do that, most of my clients would be dead rather than living life happily and anonymously. I'm telling you, from a professional viewpoint, that you going home right now is not a good idea.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” She moved her arm away from him. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to hit something. She thought how good it would feel to hurl her mug of coffee at the wall and watch it shatter, watch the coffee spray like blood against the empty, undecorated, anonymous sheetrock, the wall of a safe house where people began the journey of leaving the only world they knew. “Am I supposed to disappear, too? You want me as a client, is that what you're saying? You went through
my purse. You researched me. You know I have money. That's why you don't want me to go to the police, isn't it?” She heard her voice get louder and it felt
good
. It would feel better to scream, but she wasn't quite there. But she was close. “You don't trust the police?
Bullshit
. You want me in your control, because then you can fill me with fear so I can pay you for protection. Is that it? Hell, if it's money you want, I'll pay you just to
drive me the fuck away from here
.”

But where would she go?

He nodded patiently. “I understand how you feel. I'm not suggesting you disappear. But I think you should stay here for a day or two until we can figure out why your husband tried to have you taken. It's unlikely, but maybe we will get lucky and be able to find some evidence of what they did to you. I can help with that. But I can't help you if—”

“Why are you helping me at all?” Now the yelling came. “I didn't ask for your help. I don't want it now. I didn't ask you to take me here and make me goddamn bacon and pretend you're my savior. I don't know who you are. Don't you understand that? You think you're my hero, and all I see is a man who chased me when I tried to escape this cabin.” She felt the sweat on her forehead, but her skin felt cold. Clammy. Her stomach churned and she tasted a flood of saliva in her mouth.

Don't puke
, she told herself.
Don't be weak
.

Hannah closed her eyes and stilled her body. A few moments later her stomach steadied.

When she opened her eyes she saw Black walking back to the kitchen. He picked up a set of keys off the counter and came back to her.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll take you wherever you want. But they'll come for you again.”

Black opened the front door and gestured for her to walk out. It almost seemed a bluff, but she believed he would take her back home. She had a momentary resistance, a brief pull that she did, in fact, want this man to protect her. She wasn't at all certain
she should go home. But the door was open, and Hannah looked at the growing daylight and knew she would pass through that door, with a stride of defiance, whether it was the logical decision or not.

She looked straight as she walked outside, avoiding his glare. The daylight was strong and the smell of trees filled her senses. The white van, the one Black stole, sat in the dirt clearing in front of the cabin. In the distance, a group of birds chattered excitedly.

Hannah paused and sucked in a deep breath of air, holding it, steadying herself. Then she closed her eyes, soaked in the sun on her face, and slowly exhaled, letting the movement of the air from her lungs ground her. Stabilize her.

The moment she opened her eyes, something exploded next to her head.

At first, Hannah didn't know it was a bullet. All she knew was a chunk of wood frame exploded next to her head, sending splintered shrapnel into her face. As she instinctively reached to feel her cheeks, Black shouted, “Down!”

A second later he slammed into her from behind, pushing her to the ground, his weight grinding her against the dirt walkway. She then heard three muffled pops, each one followed by a concussive thump and spray of dirt on the ground near them. Black's weight shifted as he repositioned, and his elbow dug painfully into her lower back.

“Gunshots,” he said. “Keep down.”

A deafening bang exploded in her ear, and she realized Black was shooting back. Another distant pop and a chunk of ground erupted next to Hannah's face. She finally touched her cheek and felt the warmth of blood ooze beneath her fingertips.

Black squeezed off two more ear-shattering rounds and then leaned down and looked at her face. His eyes narrowed as he gently touched around her left cheek and the side of her neck. “It's not a deep cut,” he said. “We can't go back inside. We'd be trapped.” His words were steady and calm, reassuring, no hint the two of them were potentially seconds from death.

The firing from the woods ceased. For the moment.

“What the hell is happening?” she asked.

“I'm guessing your husband wasn't happy with how yesterday turned out, and somehow they found us.” He paused. Hannah heard what he did from the woods: silence. “We have to get to the van out there,” he continued. “It's our best chance.” His voice was
closer now, in her ear, his warm breath sweeping through her. “I saw the shooter—he's fifty meters away, maybe more. He's going to come in closer. I want you to get up and run to the van. I'll cover you. Open the side panel door and get down on the floor. There're no seats in the back so you'll be able to lie flat.”

She nodded, but Black seemed to sense her fear. “Hannah, listen, I've been in some bad situations before. I know this is scary, but our best chance is to do what I'm telling you, okay? I know you have a whole trust-issue thing, but now's not the time to be defiant.”