Lies(24)

God. It’s taken just about the entirety of the drive for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. And I thought the panic of making a floral delivery on time was intense. Thom has to be an adrenaline junkie or something.

“This is our new ride,” he says.

“We’re stealing this car?”

He stops, glances at me. “Betty, priorities please. We’re on the run from dangerous people. People who want us dead. We need a change of vehicle and our options are not good. Come on.”

Still, I hesitate. I can’t help it. Mom and Dad raised me to try and see both sides of any situation. While the hatchback is admittedly old and crappy, it still belongs to someone. A person who probably needs the money from the sale of the vehicle. I’ve never actively broken the law before (apart from the occasional bit of speeding or jaywalking, which don’t count). Though I don’t actually want to die. It’s a conundrum.

“Give me strength.” He lifts up his shirt, displaying an elastic-type band halfway up his chest. It’s about the width of his hand and comprised of pockets, and is apparently the stealthy version of Batman’s utility belt. From one of the pockets, he pulls out a wad of cash and throws it on the seat of the bullet-hole-riddled Dodge Charger. Then he marches over to the hatchback, pulling out a small kit from another pocket. Lock-picking tools, apparently. “Come get the For Sale sign. Quickly. Stick it in the Charger’s window.”

“Thank you.”

A snort of amusement from him.

In no time at all, with the help of the straightened wire, he has the hatchback open. Next, he sets to work hotwiring the engine. It splutters before catching on, a far cry from the roar of the Charger. Yet I highly doubt anyone will be looking for us in this vehicle.

I put the sign in the Dodge’s back windshield before climbing into the new car. The interior is tiny. It’s like one of those little cars out of Europe. Perfect for the inner city and not much else. Country and Western blasts out of the tinny stereo. Thom surprisingly turns it up. Guess he’s a Dolly Parton fan. I approve of this entirely.

Next, he does the traditional killing of the SIM card before getting out to place his cell under one of the front tires. Guess he ran out of time earlier due to the gunman sneaking up on us. To destroy the entire phone, he must be seriously concerned about us getting tracked down. Understandably.

“We overpaid,” he says. “You know, the bad guys are probably going to find the Charger and the money long before the owners of this piece of shit do.”

“At least we tried.”

A grunt.

“Not screwing over people is important.”

“If you say so,” he says.

“Your empathy levels are of concern to me.”

He gets us onto the highway and on our way before answering. “Guess I’m not used to having many people to care about. Most of my life it’s been everyone for themselves and sacrificing anyone for the greater good. Keeps things simple.”

“And yet you came looking for me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So you were ready for complicated.”

A small line appears between his brows. “Didn’t think it would get this complicated.”

“Relationships. What can you do? Emotions won’t stay confined in neat little boxes just because that’s what works for you.” I try to get comfortable. But the size of my ass versus the width of the seat makes it hard. Thom’s head brushes against the roof; his elbow bumps the driver’s side door. I’m not alone in this quandary. “So what comes next?”

“You want to talk about having children?” he says, sounding a little surprised. “I’m not totally against the idea.”

“No, Thom,” I say slowly. “I mean, what’s next in Operation Don’t Get Killed?”

“Oh. We’re heading to a small airfield to rendezvous with a charter flight to New York. Time to get out of here. You’re going to hole up in a safe house I have in the city while I go and get some answers.”

“Answers from who?”

“People who run the zoo.” His gaze shifts from the road to me and back again. “You know, we could talk about the future if you want.”

I frown. “Still not convinced we have one.”

“A couple of kids would probably be all right.”

“I’m sorry, Thommy Junior. Daddy’s going to miss your school play because he’s off dusting a dirty politician this week.”

“No.” He gives a brisk shake of the head. “Politicians are usually pretty soft targets. You can often just blackmail them into early retirement. Don’t have to resort to wet work. Much less mess, so long as it sticks.”

“What a relief.”

“My job really bothers you,” he says, as if this is somehow news. “I mean, I knew you weren’t crazy about the odd hours and time I had to spend away. But I didn’t think you hated it.”

“Your work hours did irk me. But again, that wasn’t why I left. And also, Thom, that was when I thought you were an insurance assessor. Now I find out you’re some weird vigilante assassin ninja super-spy, I don’t even know what exactly.”

“Just ‘operative’ is fine. Fits onto a business card easier.”

I lean back against the headrest. “Honestly, I have no idea how I feel. Give me the spare magazine so I can reload this gun for you just in case we need it sooner rather than later.”