The Countdown (The Taking #3)(10)

Unlike the narrow road we’d been on, the parking lot was wide and vast, and way more congested than the time of night warranted. When we pulled in, I had to ask, “You sure this is a good idea? There’re a lot of people here. What if the Daylighters catch up with us?” Just to make my point, I turned to scan the road behind us, but no one was there.

My dad scowled at the mention of the Daylighters, but he was already buttoning the flannel shirt he’d been clutching when he’d come sprinting out from between the trees, which was probably a good thing because there were still sweat marks beneath the underarms of his T-shirt. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me, they won’t find us here.”

Sliding me a sideways glance, Tyler pulled into the crowded lot without saying a word. He managed to wedge the battered pickup between two enormous semis, making my dad’s truck look miniature-sized, like some sort of windup toy.

I still wanted to talk to Tyler, but not here. Not with my dad listening.

“Wait here,” my dad told Nancy as he ruffled her head, but she refused to be appeased by a little affection. “Don’t be like that,” he promised. “I’ll bring you some leftovers.” As if that was the reason she growled when I reached for my door.

Whatever had really spooked her, she’d definitely transferred her fears onto me. In her mind, I’d become the boogeyman.

Transference—I’d learned the term in psychology, but now the word itself held so many more meanings to me.

Transference could literally mean moving something from one place to another, like the way I’d been taken, literally plucked from the road that night on Chuckanut Drive. Or the way my memories had been moved from my old body to this new one.

My dad reached back in the truck and came out with the pair of sunglasses I hadn’t been able to find. He offered them to me. “It’s still dark. We don’t need anyone noticing us.”

“Me,” I corrected, hardly able to hide my annoyance at being singled out, even though no one else’s eyes were glowing. “You don’t want anyone noticing me, you mean.”

“Kyra . . .” My dad sighed.

“Whatever.” I took the sunglasses and slipped them on. “It’s fine. I get it.”

I hoped the tint actually disguised my eyes rather than just making me look like some dork who thought it was cool to wear sunglasses at night.

Coffee. That’s why we’d risked pulling over. My dad needed coffee.

The World’s Best Pie was just a bonus.

“So how long do you think we have? Until they find us again?” Despite my strange choice in eyewear, I hadn’t drawn a single glance. Maybe because I wasn’t the only one with questionable fashion sense. I’d spotted at least half a dozen oil stains, several pairs of suspenders that were definitely not of the hipster variety, and more than a few (not-even-trying-to-hide-them) butt cracks. There was even one guy sporting a “Free Mustache Rides” T-shirt and an idiot’s grin. As if he really believed he had a shot at someone taking him up on his offer.

My dad ignored me and signaled to one of the waitresses wearing a cotton candy-colored uniform before she rushed past us with her coffeepot.

“Can I get a refill here?” He wore his own version of a cheesy grin as he waved his cup in her direction. She paused just long enough to top him off, and didn’t even acknowledge Tyler or me before rushing away again, eager to escape into the kitchen, probably hoping to steal a quick smoke break before having to go another round with Free Mustache Rides.

My dad settled the lip of his mug just beneath his nose, lingering before actually taking a sip. I could smell the strong brew from the other side of the booth and tried to decide if that was a good thing or not. But from the blissed-out expression on my dad’s face I guess I had my answer. After finally downing several long slugs, my dad dug into the pie and that blissed-out expression shifted to shameless ecstasy.

“You have got to try this,” he said through a mouthful of the crumbling apple confection. He held out his fork, offering me a bite.

At any other time, and maybe for Old Kyra, the offer would have been tempting. But now, and to New Kyra, who had different, and less than impressive taste buds, the suggestion wasn’t all that appealing.

I shrugged. “Maybe next time,” I refused, like we were regulars and I wasn’t passing up my one and only opportunity for the World’s Best Pie.

“Ben, seriously,” Tyler interrupted. “Who the hell was that back there? Did you get a good look at them? Did they see you?” Tyler was leaning forward, his face screwed up in determination.

My dad scowled, the fork halfway to his mouth, and then he glared, first at me and then at Tyler, before setting it back down again. After a second he shook his head. “No, I didn’t get a good look.”

“Then how do you know it was them?” Tyler pushed, and I wondered if maybe it was never Agent Truman at all. If maybe my dad had seen—or heard rather—the same people Tyler had.

The Returned must die.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled.

My dad cleared his throat and then gazed at me intently. Despite the fact that my dad was sitting right there, Tyler threw his arm over my shoulder and yanked me closer to him reassuringly.

I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised, me, my dad, or Tyler, but I smiled just a tiny bit.