“First of all”—Nick holds up a finger—“we need to go back to Mount Pleasant.”
“Fuck that,” I growl. “No.”
“Yes,” Nick insists. “My truck is still in Mount Pleasant.”
“Who cares? I’m not giving in on the drive, but if I were to give in, why the fuck would we need two trucks?”
“Because this is how Wendy and I do things, OK? We’re leaving here in Wendy’s truck, we’re driving to Mount Pleasant so I can pick up my truck, and then we’ll split up—”
“Fuck you.” I laugh. “Do you think I’m stupid? Let me guess, you and Wendy get in your truck and Sasha, Harrison, and I get in Wendy’s truck—”
“I’m not going,” Harrison says.
We all stop the conversation to look at Harrison. “What?” I ask.
“I’m not going,” he says. “I’m going home, Merc. I’m too old for this shit. So maybe Nick’s idea is a good one.”
I let out a long breath of frustration as I look over at Sasha. We’re all sitting at Nick’s backyard picnic table. It’s late now. Dark and no moon. But there’s a whole line of citronella candles in the middle of the table, so everyone’s face is flickering with flames. Sasha shrugs, and we’re so close, her shoulder bumps against mine.
“It’s probably for the best,” Nick says. He’s talking to Harrison. Then he looks across the table at me. “And no. You and I can drive in my truck and Sasha and Wendy can drive in hers.”
I don’t know that I fully understand the deep connection these two killers have with their fucking vehicles, but whatever. If Harrison’s out—and it sounds like he is—then we really don’t have a choice. My truck is back in Fort Collins, so… “Whatever,” I huff. Then I look at Sasha again. “Is this all OK with you?”
I’m talking about her riding with Wendy, but I think Sasha is more worried about being stuck with Nick. “Sure.” She smiles at Wendy, who is sitting across the table next to Nick. “I’m sure Wendy and I have enough in common to fill a two-day road trip.”
And this makes me think about spending all that time with Nick.
I groan because it’s gonna be horrible.
Sasha pats my arm as she reads my mind. “You’ll live.”
After an uncomfortable sleep on Nick’s floor—Harrison took the couch, Sasha stayed in the jet, and Nick and Wendy took the only bedroom with a bed—I wake just as the sun is rising. We say goodbye to Harrison, pile into Wendy’s truck, and start our ten-hour drive to Mount Pleasant.
Nick and Wendy trade places driving while Sasha and I doze in the back.
Pretty much no one says anything and we stay the night at the hotel. Sash and I get separate rooms, but Wendy and Nick stay together.
They are a team, I realize. And I guess I knew this, but I didn’t understand the extent of their connection. They are a couple and they do couple things. Like speak without words. They shoot each other those looks.
So I spend all of the day-two drive thinking about that.
Nick isn’t chatty, so I’m grateful for that. He doesn’t prompt me for small talk. In fact, he pays more attention to Wendy—who is in a whole other vehicle—than he does to me. So this gives me a lot of time to think.
Thinking can be good. But overthinking is almost never going to get you where you need to go.
So lots of what-ifs begin creeping into my mind as we head south. And we’re just starting to get to that part of Louisiana where you don’t dare pull over to the side of the road because the vegetation could be hiding any number of weird bayou predators when it hits me.
Something is wrong with this entire… what to call it? Encounter? Job? Mission? Take your pick. And here’s how I know something is wrong:
I got to thinking about the image board where all us dangerous types hang out to get intel. And then I started thinking about how that anonymous person misdirected the diggers away from Sasha and on to Nick. I don’t ask him about this even though that would probably make the last couple hours of this nearly intolerable drive go faster, because I don’t want to tip him off.
He was that guy. I know it. I feel this in my gut and you don’t get as far as I have in this fucked-up shadow world without listening to your gut.
Fine. I understand that move. Distraction, right?
Look here, not there. Follow me, not her.
Mistakes always happen when you’re looking the other way.
I knew this.
But even though you know things, when you’re in the middle of a PSYOP it’s almost inevitable that you lose your way—even if it’s just for a few moments as you stop, calm yourself down, and put the pieces together.