The Escape (John Puller, #3)(87)

But in this letter Puller Sr. had dug somewhere deep to find the words to persuade a military tribunal to give his son the possibility of life instead of a certain death. He had said things about his older son that Puller had never heard the old man say before. It was like they were two different men, in fact. But there they were, in his father’s bold handwriting. How he had been able to do this while his mind was slowly being eaten away by the disease that was diligently claiming him was beyond Puller.

He put the phone away in his pocket and packed his things in his duffel. He checked out and met Knox in the lobby. He noted that her face was red and she looked exhausted.

“What, did you go for a run while I was up in my room?”

“Why?”

“Your face is flushed and your eyes are red. And you look beat.”

“Might be coming down with something. And I’ve got pollen allergies. And I only had three hours of sleep.”

“Okay,” he said as they walked to the car.

She said hastily, “I’ll be fine. I took something. It’s why I ducked into the pharmacy.”

“Then I’ll drive and you can grab some rest.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

They loaded the car and climbed into the front seats. The clouds had thickened, blackened, and rain was starting to fall.

“Nice time to catch some shut-eye,” said Puller. “Just listen to the raindrops beating on the roof and you’ll pass right out.”

“Yeah.” She snuggled down into her seat with her jacket draped over her and said, “By the way, where are we going?”

“Back to D.C.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You want to go back to Kansas?”

“Not particularly. I think we’ve done all we can there.”

“I need to go back at some point and pick up my cat.”

She smirked at him. “It still surprises me that you have a pet, Puller. And a cat. And it was lying on the bed next to dead Daughtrey like it was no big deal.”

“AWOL is cool under pressure. And she’s low-maintenance.”

“Like her owner?”

“It’s probably why we get along so well.”

“It’s a long drive to D.C.”

“Not a problem. I’ll take the wheel the whole way. Give me a chance to think.”

“So when we get to D.C.?”

“The first priority will be checking out what happened to Niles Robinson.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She closed her eyes.

“Let me know if you need a food or bathroom break.”

“All I need is some sleep.”

Puller reached the highway, headed north, and accelerated.

“You asleep yet, Knox?”

“Not now, no.”

“Sorry.”

“Something on your mind?”

“You have any enemies?”

“Don’t we all have enemies?”

“Anyone in particular with you?”

“Not that I can think of right now.” She straightened in her seat. “And why are you asking me that?”

Puller tapped the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. “I got a text.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

“What about me?”

“That you’re not what you appear to be. That I shouldn’t trust you.”

Knox glanced away, frowning. “Who sent the text?”

“I don’t know. I called the number but no one answered. I’ll try to trace it, but it might be a burn phone. In fact, I’d be surprised if it weren’t.”

“So that’s why you were acting that way this morning?”

“Yes.”

“So you believed the text even though you don’t even know who sent it?”

“I’m not sure what I believed.”

“That’s bullshit. You did believe it. Even after we were attacked in that alley and almost killed.”

“If I did believe it I would have done something about it. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have told you about it.”

“But you didn’t tell me right away.”

“No, I didn’t,” he conceded. “But I’m not a perfect man, either.”

She crossed her arms and sank back into her seat. “Well, I’m not a perfect woman, that’s for damn sure.”

“Anything bothering you? I’ve got time to listen.”

“Nothing on my end.”

They drove a few more miles before Knox said, “I might tell you about it sometime, Puller.”

“That’s fine.”

“And maybe the text was right, maybe I’m not who I appear to be.”

“Text or no text, I never thought you were who you appeared to be, Knox.”

She shot him a glance. “Then why—”

“Let’s just leave it at that for now.”

“I don’t get you, Puller, I really don’t. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out you throw me a curve.”

“You said I was predictable.”

“But I’m coming to learn that you’re not. At least not in all ways.”