He’d sent her a photograph of a small herd of animals drinking from a lake, then followed it up with three question marks.
“What the—” She squinted at the animals, trying to figure out what they were. And then she decided it was too early in the morning for sleuthing. She rolled onto her back. She closed her eyes. Her brain filled with Juice Newton for a blissful minute before she opened her browser and pecked out—
Animal that looks like water buffalo and gazelle
Wiki answered—
Wildebeest, also called gnu
“Gnu?” she mumbled. Then, “News.”
The read receipt had gone through, so Mike knew she’d seen his text. Andrea was trying to decide whether to respond or to throw her phone across the room when the three dots bounced, indicating Mike had more to say. She watched the text bubble pop up—
You forget my number again?
Andrea tapped the message space, but she didn’t type. She wanted to think about Mike watching the dots bounce on his end. She let Juice finish wailing about love being a little bit hard before she wrote back—
Still 911, right?
The dots bounced again. And again. And again.
All for a thumbs up.
Andrea closed the app. She held the phone to her chest and stared at the ceiling again. She wasn’t going to let herself get caught up in Mike right now. Instead, she focused her thoughts on the Vaughn family kitchen, summoning the gold chandelier and melamine counters, the spider-like judge unfurling herself across the table.
Andrea had been convinced last night that Esther Vaughn didn’t know anything about Jasper’s string-pulling or Andrea’s connection to Clayton Morrow. Now, she was second-guessing herself. A federal judge could get all sorts of information, and Esther Vaughn wasn’t exaggerating by much when she said she’d been around almost as long as the USMS. Considering the average age of a congressman was nine thousand years old, she probably had tons of friends in high places. Sure, it was illegal to search the Marshals’ private databases, but if the last few years had taught the world anything, it was that politicians did not play by their own rules.
She felt her muscles twitch impulsively toward her phone, but she stopped herself from searching—who can find out if you are in witness protection?
“Oliver!” Bible banged his fist on the door as he shouted her name. “Oliver! You up yet?”
She groaned as she pushed herself out of bed. She knew it was Bible, but she still peered out between the curtains on the window. The sun lasered into her corneas. She was so blinded that she couldn’t make out the time on her phone. She opened the door, using her hand as a visor so that the sightlessness wouldn’t become permanent.
“Still in your jim-jams?” Bible asked.
Andrea wasn’t going to apologize for her shorts and matching T-shirt. “What time is it?”
He looked at his watch, though he had to know. “Pretty late. Thought you might wanna go for a run with me.”
“A run?” She felt her head shake. It was like he wasn’t speaking English. “What time is it?”
“Wa-a-a-ay past eleven. Like, almost noon practically.” He started bouncing on his toes. “Come on, let’s go for a run. Do you some good to get those endorphins pumpin’ in your brain. Didn’t wanna say this before, but if you put on the brakes after training, you’ll never get back in shape.”
“I—” Andrea turned back around to stare longingly at her bed. If it was just past eleven o’clock, that meant she had seven hours before she had to be back at work.
She looked at Bible again. “What?”
“Fantastic.” He slapped his stomach, drumming out a beat with both hands. “You know what they say, Oliver. The skinny Marshals love their wives.”
“Wh—” She couldn’t ask what again. They’d both had maybe four hours of sleep. How in God’s name did he have this much energy? “Bible, I—”
“The motel clerk told me there’s a nice trail across the road that takes you into the forest. Puts you directly in back of that hippie-dippie farm ol’ Chief Cheese was telling us about yesterday.” He was pointing away from the motel, but she couldn’t see past his finger. “We’ll grab some breakfast after. Pancakes are my treat. Bacon, eggs—they don’t have biscuits, but did I mention pancakes? Thanks for joining me, partner. I’ll wait across the road.”
Andrea was still trying to form a sentence when he reached out to grab the door knob and pull the door closed. His voice was muffled on the other side as he shouted a way-too-cheerful good morning to someone in the parking lot.
She leaned her back against the door. Her headache had been made worse by the unrelenting sunlight. She wanted desperately to go back to bed. Which was why she forced herself not to. Yet another cliff she let herself fall off.
Andrea was too lazy to change out of her pajama shirt, but she found a sports bra in her duffel for the sake of decency. Her running shorts were a wrinkled ball stuffed into one of the side pockets. She was looking for a pair of matching socks when the import of Bible’s request finally hit her.