Lies(12)

“You’re a natural,” I say as he climbs back in the car, handing over my bag of junk food.

“Hmm?”

“The way you move and behave and everything. So sneaky.”

He turns on the engine, reaching over to grab the bag of Swedish Fish.

“Where did you learn it?”

His glances at me. “I’m not supposed to talk about that, Betty.”

“Yeah, but I figure if you’re right about us being stuck together for the foreseeable future—”

“Which, unless you’d prefer being dead, I am.”

“Let me finish talking,” I say. “Once we get through this, if we survive, I’m sure you can figure out a way to pacify your bosses while ensuring we spend as little time in each other’s company as possible. You’re a clever and cunning dude. It comes with the job territory, right? So we get your organization off our backs and live separate lives. See other people. Have our emotional and sexual needs met elsewhere.”

“You’re planning on cheating on me?”

I shrug. “Is it really cheating, though?”

The look he gives me is flat and unfriendly.

“Or,” I continue, “you can start talking.”

“Me talking is going to fix things?”

“Not even remotely.” My laughter is completely without humor. “But here and now, we could maybe get along just enough to almost be friendly.”

“Remind me: What’s in this for me again?”

“Are you actually telling me you want to resurrect our relationship in some form?” I cock my head. “Seriously?”

The smallest of shrugs.

“That’s honestly the best you can manage? And you wonder why I was leaving you, with such stellar communication skills as that. Wow.”

“C’mon, Betty—”

“You know, you’re the one who dragged me into this mess,” I say, well and truly cranky now. “Basically, you talking would be a start toward attaining a little forgiveness and building some small level of trust between us…assuming you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Nothing from Thom. Perhaps he’ll get sick of me and kill me himself. After all, what do I know about this man really?

“Isn’t it nice, having me all compliant and agreeable?” I ask.

“Isn’t it nice, riding in comfort instead of being bound and gagged in the trunk of the car?”

What an utter and absolute douche-canoe. And this is about when I see it. “Holy shit. A man is robbing the gas station.”

“Is he?” Thom doesn’t even turn to look. “Car’s bulletproof. We’re fine.”

“Yes, but the woman behind the counter isn’t. Oh my God, do something!”

He cocks his head. “Betty, we’re trying to stay under the radar. Crimes like this happen all the time. She’s handing over the money. He’s not going to shoot her.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“What I do know is, if I go in there and spook him, odds are someone gets hurt.”

Inside the station, the woman is pushing the cash and packets of cigarettes across the counter. She’s crying and shaking. The robber stuffs all of the assorted loot into the pockets of his sweatpants and hoodie.

“Oh, this is horrible.”

“See, he’s leaving without a shot being fired.”

“That poor woman. She might lose her job. I wonder if she even has medical insurance. You’d have to get post-traumatic stress disorder from something like this, right?”

The heaviest of sighs comes from the man in the driver’s seat. “Put your seat belt on,” he orders. “Now.”

I do as told.

Thom swears under his breath. His eyes are locked on mine, but suddenly the SUV jumps forward, tires screeching as he suddenly slams on the brake.

We don’t hit the robber. Or at least, I didn’t think we did, but he is on the ground screaming, so obviously something happened.

The driver’s side door is flung open, hitting something with a dull thud. I think it was the gunman’s head. Then Thom steps out, grabs the pistol out of the bad guy’s hand, before settling himself back into the car.

“Is he dead?”

“No,” says Thom. “I just ran over his foot and knocked him out. Couple of broken bones and a concussion. The lady at the counter is already calling the cops. She’ll get the cash back, and he’ll be fine. It’ll be educational for him.”

Huh.

With more squealing of wheels, we take off. Guess Thom wants as much distance between us and the gas station as possible.

“A couple of broken bones and a concussion?” My stomach turns queasily at the thought. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch,” I say. “Still, thank you for not being a complete sociopath.”

“You’re welcome. But we can’t save everyone, okay?”

“Okay.”

In all honesty, I’m kind of stunned. He did a nice thing, sort of. Used his powers for good instead of evil. Maybe he’s not too far removed from the basically kind and ethically moral person I thought he was. Only, there’re still all the lies and bad sex to be considered. His willingness to waste my life on a fake relationship to keep his cover intact. So yeah, not very deep down, I kind of still hate his guts and want to shoot him.