Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(54)

Fourteen-fifty Ewing Avenue was my address.





CHAPTER


12





“THAT’S not possible,” Chase choked out.

Could it be possible? Who else could it be, in my home? If she had survived, she would have perfect motive to set up a checkpoint. No one would better understand the need for a safe house.

She’s alive. She doesn’t know I’m alive. She’s looking for me. She’s putting herself in danger.

She needs me.

My hands covered my mouth, as though I’d been speaking my stream of panicked thoughts aloud. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make them real. Hope was a dangerous thing. Too much hope in a time like this could destroy a person. Set up unrealistic expectations. Yes. Best to proceed with caution.

“It’s a trap,” Sean said. “Think about it. Why else would a checkpoint in her name come up now, while the Bureau’s hunting for the sniper? They’re baiting you.”

My heart sank like a stone. Sean’s assessment seemed far more likely than the alternative that my mother was actually alive.

“The Chicago carrier had us look up the name and address a week ago. Before they framed you,” said Polo. “The mainframe does say that Lori Whittman’s deceased,” he added, looking sorry.

“But it says that about Chase, too,” said Billy helpfully. “I checked.”

“Are you sure she was dead?” I asked, but my words were so quiet that no one heard me. I repeated myself.

“Yes,” Chase said. “I saw her die.”

“But you got in a fight with Tucker, right? You told me you don’t remember what happened.”

“Whoa,” I heard Billy say.

“Someone hit me,” Chase admitted. “I woke up in a holding cell.” His hands hung slack at his sides. His shoulders bowed. He looked like an old man, and for the first time since before her death, I wanted to comfort him.

Marco, Polo, and Billy were glancing back and forth between us.

“Maybe she was just hurt,” I said. “Maybe…” I covered my mouth again. Don’t hope don’t hope don’t hope.

“I guess there’s only one person that knows for sure,” said Sean cautiously.

Chase was far away. My insides, when I could feel them again, were tight as a drum. I whispered his name, needing him to come back.

He looked up, remembering the rest of the room. He coughed. “Right. Tucker.”

“And I told him to leave,” finished Sean.

Chase spun on him. “What?”

“How was I supposed to sit here with him knowing…” Sean looked away, like he was afraid of upsetting me again. “Cara was leaving for her cousin’s anyway, so he went with her.”

My heart rate kicked up a notch. What had Sean done? At the worst, he’d given Tucker an out to go straight to the MM. At best, Cara and Tucker would be out in the community, close to curfew, attracting a lot of attention as an unwed couple. One glance at Chase and I could tell he was thinking the same.

“When? When did they go?” I asked.

“I don’t know … twenty minutes maybe,” said Polo. “Marco and I were still looking for the address the carrier left.”

Chase’s hand gripped mine so hard I winced.

“We need to leave,” he said urgently. “We all need to get out. He’s turning us in.”

“Hold up, big guy,” said Polo. “Who’s turning us in?”

Chase zeroed in on Sean. “We have to risk the roads tonight.”

Sean gave him a sober nod and left the office.

“What about the safe house?” Billy said. “Wallace said…”

But Chase was already following Sean toward the truck. I snagged his sleeve as he barreled past.

“I have to go,” I said.

“I know. We are.” Chase’s tone was clipped.

“I have to go home.”

His eyes brightened with caution. Hands on my shoulders, he leaned down to make sure I understood his next words.

“Em, she’s gone. I know what I saw.” He stopped when he registered the determination on my face. “What if Sean’s right, and it is a trap?” He sounded frightened. Not of the MM, but of what he might find. Of hoping, just like me, that she was alive.

“I have to know,” I said.

He glanced over my shoulder, staring at nothing. Then, with a short, muttered curse, he swung back into the office.

Marco and Polo had already set out water and food for our trip, and Sean was preparing to load it in the back of the truck. I raced to help him, finding Cara’s folded Sisters of Salvation uniform on one of the dismantled crates.

I broached the silence. “We have to make a detour.”

To my relief, he only sighed and said, “I figured.”

Low voices rumbled within the office, and then I heard Billy’s cracking voice yell, “You’re doing what?”

“Oh no.” I reached the threshold just in time to see Polo place a set of car keys in Chase’s open palm.

“You’re going to get caught.” Billy’s face had gone ashy.

“Our shift is up at eight A.M.,” said Polo. “That’s when we’re reporting it stolen.”