Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(21)

“That’s rough.”

“I didn’t know her, so I don’t feel the impact the way I do with losing my father. It’s more like this empty hole in my life that is ever present.”

I give her a quick glance. “Any siblings to help fill that void?”

“I was the first for my parents, and my father never remarried.”

“That’s a long time to never remarry.”

“He was terrified of losing me. I don’t think he had the capacity to fear losing someone else. And he was passionate about his work. It consumed him.”

“Which was what?”

“Both of my parents were researchers for the University of Texas in Houston. That’s where I grew up.”

“Impressive. I come from a family of archeologists. I suspect we both had some interesting dinner-table conversations.” I pause a moment and shake my head, the realization hitting me. “Wait. Research? Is that how you learned to make a bomb?”

She laughs a bit sadly. “Yes and no. My father said I had a knack for making things that weren’t supposed to blow up quite explosive. It terrified him. Needless to say, my lab time was quite stressful to my father.”

I inhale, her explanation jolting me with a realization: She set a bomb. A bomb blew up my family home. It’s a close connection I do not like. “How is it that your father was a researcher and you ended up a secretary in Austin?”

“I finished college at Berkeley, but California didn’t suit me. The university offered me a job, but the program was cut before I got home. I tried to stay, but without the university, all I had was missing him.”

“You’re a chemist?”

“Yes.”

“Working as a secretary,” I press again.

“I was with Sheridan as a chemist for almost a year, then there were layoffs, and I was kept on as a secretary.”

It’s a ridiculous story. Completely f*cking ridiculous. “You know I can check all of this, right?”

“It’s the truth.”

“How old are you?” I ask, trying to find truth of my own.

“Twenty-six.”

Four years younger than me, which would have made her only twenty when my parents were burned alive. But that means nothing. I did a lot of shit at twenty I’m not proud of. I reach down and turn up the radio, needing out of this conversation and back into my own head. Trying to put the pieces together again, with Gia as a possible part of the puzzle. Could she have been there that nightmare of a night six years ago? Or maybe her father? My gut says no, but something doesn’t add up with her. In the absence of Jared’s aid, I’m going to have to use one of my familiar private for-hire contractors to check her out.

Gia seems to get that we’re done talking, and lies down across the seat again, but she isn’t sleeping. I sense her unease, her alertness. I wonder if she regrets the story she just told me, or simply everything about tonight, the way I regret so many of my decisions. It’s a thought that shifts me back in time, and I am twenty-two again and of the opinion that I am invisible, refusing to listen to my father’s always sound advice. I can almost smell the smoke and wood from the crackling fire my father and I sat around that night, years ago, almost taste the strong-ass coffee we were drinking.

“You don’t have to run around the globe with this ‘treasure hunting’ operation chasing God-knows-what for rich old farts.”

“Isn’t that what we do, anyway?” I argue. “Treasure hunt?”

“You’re chasing money, not history, and history is often the key to the future.”

“Sheridan wants me to locate a piece of art for him, Father. It’s not that big a deal, and he’s offered to wipe away your debt to him.”

“He’s the wrong person to get into bed with.”

“You borrowed money from him to fund this dig site.”

“Which is how I know he’s the wrong person to get in bed with.”

I drift into more of those moments, revisiting my mistakes, promising myself that Gia won’t be one of them, until near dawn, when we finally enter Lubbock, Texas. After surveying my options, I pull in to one of the many cheap motels in the city, this one with not a big rig in sight, which is the idea. We don’t need CBs radioing us in to Sheridan for cash, and we don’t need lobby cameras or extra eyes.

Beside me, Gia stirs and I flatten my hand on her shoulder. “Stay down. We’re at a motel, and Sheridan will have a reward out for a man and a woman fitting our description.”

She slides onto the floorboard and sits, the hoodie over her legs again. “Where are we?”

“A motel,” I repeat, irritated at the way the soft, sexy whisper of her voice radiates through me. I let down my guard while we were driving, the way I let down my guard with Meg, and it can’t happen again.

“Which city?” she presses.

“The one we’re spending the night in.” I grab a baseball cap from a bag behind the seat and tuck my way-too-long blond hair underneath it to hide the color. Climbing out of the truck, I say, “I’ll be right back, and don’t even think about getting out and finding a phone. The motel has an outdoor check-in and the window is right in front of the truck.”

“Darn. I really wanted to call Sheridan and ask him to go ahead and kill me and get it over with.”