Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(93)

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We drove east on the 80 for a few hours, through Sacramento, the traffic growing sparse. If we’d stayed on it for another three thousand miles we would have ended up somewhere in New Jersey. We neared the Sierra Nevada range and the road snaked into the mountains as we approached the infamous Donner Pass. It peaked, then dropped sharply through the forested mountains that led to Lake Tahoe. We stayed on the 80 as the ground flattened again and then hit the Nevada desert, just scrub and brush in the darkness.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“I guess.”

“You nervous?”

I gave him a look. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s not me, is it?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Comic books. Why do you like them so much? What made you like them?”

He considered. “I guess when I was a kid they were so exciting. More exciting than real life. Real life seemed boring.” He thought more. “Now it’s different. Now they’re about possibility. Anything can happen. Like, anything is possible. Characters can always get to the next page, the next issue. No matter how bad things get.”

I nodded.

“How about you, Ash?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what I like about them.”



* * *



When I finally turned off the highway it was almost nine o’clock. The unpolluted desert sky crammed full of bright stars. A scimitar of moon. The barren landscape enveloped us.

“They live pretty far out,” he said. His voice casual but clearly nervous. “You’re not lost, are you?”

“I’m not lost.”

“Are we almost there?”

I nodded. “We’re almost there.”

I turned onto another road. This one just a narrow unpaved strip, narrow enough that I would have had to slow and pull over for an oncoming vehicle. The car bounced up and down against the rough road, pebbles kicking up into the undercarriage with sharp pings. “This is a ski house?” he asked uncertainly. “Where are the mountains?”

“They couldn’t afford Tahoe. So they picked something a little farther out.”

“Oh.”

We kept driving. I flicked through radio stations, looking for any music. Some country song came on, a baritone voice furred with static.

“Where are we, Ashlee?” he asked again. There were no houses in sight. No vehicles. Nothing. Outside the windshield the world was pitch black except for the headlights and stars and yellow light that melted off the moon like tallow.

I slowed as we came up on a narrow turnoff, took it.

We left the road entirely, bumping across dirt tracks.

He didn’t bother to hide his nervousness anymore. “Ashlee? Where are we? There aren’t even any houses here.”

“We’re almost there,” I said again.

We bumped along another fifty yards.

I stopped.

In front of us the headlights cast twin pools over scrubland.

“Ashlee. Is this a prank? Let’s just go back home. C’mon. This was a bad idea.”

I looked at Jordan Stone. “It’s too late, now. It’s too late to go back. Come on. I’ll show you where we are.”

He started to say something, but I was already getting out of the car. I left the lights on. After hesitating, he got out and joined me. We stood in front of the headlights, looking out at the blank landscape. Shrubs and low cacti threw strange shadows over the earth.

“Ashlee. What is this?”

I looked at Jordan Stone directly. “The trouble you mentioned. Why you couldn’t leave the state. You never told me what happened.”

His face paled in the glare of the headlights. “What are you talking about?”

“What did you do? That you aren’t supposed to cross state lines?”

He flinched like I’d hit him. “Nothing. Just something stupid. A long time ago,” he muttered.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home, Ashlee. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I don’t know where we are. I need to get home.”

“Maybe my name isn’t Ashlee.”

He stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

Now that it was finally happening I didn’t know exactly how I felt. Something was missing, though. The feeling of triumph that I’d always imagined. That wasn’t there. Everything just felt flat. Empty. Like the scrubbed and shadowed ground around us. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” I said. “You have no idea.”

His face was paler. He took a step back. “Recognize you? What are you talking about?”

“But why would you, I guess? Although people always told me I had my mother’s eyes.”

He was utterly confused. “Your mother? What does she have to do with this?”

“Everything,” I said. “See, Jordan, she has everything to do with this.”

And then, slowly, Jordan Stone understood.

His face seemed to gain in years and he started backing away from me. Slowly. As if his feet dragged weights. Inching his way backward toward the car.