Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(46)

“We’re getting on the highway,” said Chase.

When Billy’s head fell, I placed my arm over his shoulders. Tentatively, like I’d once seen Wallace do. Billy didn’t make a sound. I think I was the only one who knew he was crying.

*

THE minutes passed, each lacing my muscles more tightly together. It was exhausting to be so on-edge, so powerless.

In the dim glow of the flashlight I could see the shadowed outlines of my companions. Billy, curled into a ball on the floor, fast asleep. Chase, hunched over his knees. Tucker, shifting positions every few minutes, unable to sit still. Which was more dangerous? The killer inside this box, or outside?

A half hour passed and my neck began to cramp. I rolled my head on my shoulders. We ran out of water, and the friction inside my throat felt like sandpaper.

An hour. No one wanted to jinx us, but collectively we’d begun thinking we might be in the clear after all.

As my breathing grew less shallow, I became excruciatingly aware of the sharp scents of sweat and blood and heavy smoke that filled the truck. With such little ventilation, the stifling air made me nauseous. I leaned against the cool metal walls, letting the reverberations from the road rattle my bones.

A plan began to take shape. Tubman would meet us at the checkpoint, but we weren’t going to the safe house. Rebecca was still somewhere in Chicago and I couldn’t rest until she was found. I wasn’t sure how Chase was going to take the news, but he wouldn’t be able to change my mind. He, of all people, knew the importance of keeping promises. He’d promised my mother he’d find me, after all.

I stared at Tucker, wondering what he would do. He’d fooled the others; he wasn’t the dream recruit Wallace and Sean had talked about. I couldn’t imagine him fighting against the precious organization he’d been so proud to be a part of. No, he was only out for himself, to progress in rank, to shoot down anyone who got in his way, and it seemed a terrible mistake to give him the location of the safe house.

And yet I kept seeing him on the third floor of the Wayland Inn, surrounded by smoke, desperately attempting to rescue an unconscious Sean. As much as I tried, I could not think of a reason why he would start a fire and then stay in the building, why he would risk his own life to make others believe he was good. It left only the possibility that he was absolutely insane—which I hadn’t yet ruled out—or that he had changed.

The box containing us seemed to tighten.

He shifted positions, and in the low light I caught the reflection of metal. I straightened and grabbed the flashlight to shine in his direction. In his hand was a small red pocketknife; he’d already succeeded in sawing his cast halfway off.

My stomach turned. Freed from that cast, he’d have full use of both hands and would be even more dangerous.

“Shouldn’t you leave that on?” I asked flatly. “See a doctor or something.”

“She’s right,” said Chase. “You only need one arm to stab me in the back.”

Tucker shook his head. I thought I could hear him chuckling.

“It’s sweet you two are worried.” He didn’t even look up.

“Oh, I’m worried,” I said between my teeth.

The tires continued their consistent rotation on the highway.

“Don’t be,” said Tucker. “I’ve got nowhere else to go.” He cast a languid but deliberate look my way. For an instant I saw my own hatred mirrored back at me. I saw how Tucker blamed me for ruining his career and his life. And then the look was gone. The cast came off with a tear, and he groaned in relief, scratching one forearm, then the other.

“You, on the other hand, are off to Chicago, I hear,” he said.

“Maybe I am,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

I could feel Chase’s eyes boring a hole through me, but didn’t dare look away from Tucker. He leaned back against the ribbed metal siding, as though it were as comfortable as a couch.

“Your pal Sean told me. You’re lucky to have such good friends. Especially considering that reward on your life.”

Riggins flashed again in my mind and brought with him a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t protected me because we were friends, but because he thought I was the sniper.

I hadn’t noticed that I’d moved to the edge of my seat until Chase placed his left hand on my knee, and when he felt the energy making my leg tremble, he spread his fingers and pressed down, holding me in place.

“She’s luckier than you’ll be,” said Chase.

Tucker’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Come on,” he said. “I think you can cut me a break. After everything we’ve shared.”

My eyes widened as Tucker’s gaze lowered over me. The memory of kissing him in the Knoxville detention cells, trading my integrity for information, was sticky and sour in the back of my mouth. “God, I wish Jennings could have seen that,” he’d said. “We wouldn’t even have to kill him. He’d off himself.”

Chase’s hand gripped my leg so hard I nearly winced.

“You’ve shared nothing,” I said, fury making my voice shake.

And then I turned to Chase and kissed him.

His mouth wasn’t soft, as it usually was, or even heated and demanding, like the night we’d clung to each other. His lips parted in surprise, but he barely responded, not even to touch me.