Six(81)

I let out a sigh and rolled over to reach the remote on the nightstand. He gave me a glare, but I ignored him as the TV came to life.

I didn’t even get a chance to change the channel or process what show it was when I recognized a photo of the Las Vegas Coroner’s Office plastered on the screen.

A few seconds later, pictures of multiple ME and coroner’s offices popped up, and I unmuted the volume.

“Around the country there have been a slew of explosions to local morgues. Police are still on the lookout for Paisley Warren, a lab assistant wanted for questioning from the devastation in Cincinnati.” The photo from my ID popped up, and the image I hadn’t seen in months almost scared me. “There is nothing to place Warren at the site in Indianapolis or the explosion in Las Vegas, but police have confirmed that similar explosives were used at all three facilities.”

My mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened.

Shit. Motherf*cker. Kicktheshitoutofthesef*ckingKillingCorpsAssholes.

Officially wanted across the country.

I slammed my head into Sir Flopsalot and whimpered.

“It could be worse.”

I turned and glared at him. “How?”

“There’s been no trace of you. The police aren’t even sure you’re alive.”

“Jason’s helped with that, hasn’t he?” I asked. Six nodded. “This is a disaster.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Really? I thought I was supposed to be your cover. How does my face being blasted all over the place not qualify as a bad thing? Dyeing my hair and sticking contacts in my eyes doesn’t hide my features.”

I hopped off the bed and began pacing, biting on my thumbnail.

“People aren’t that observant. They see the colors first.”

“Maybe, but don’t even get me started on the fact that the person supposedly helping to hide me is also someone you suspect of trying to off you.”

That was the moment I realized there was not one, but two guns trained on me—Six and whoever was taking out the Cleaners.





Late in the evening or early morning hours, Six’s phone rang, scaring the shit out of me as it felt like I’d just drifted to sleep.

“Jason?” he said into the receiver.

I couldn’t hear the words, but I could tell they were rushed, worried.

“Where are you?” He dug a piece of paper out of his bag and started scribbling on it. “Yes… Fine… I’ll see you soon.” After hanging up, he turned to me. “Time to get packed again.”

I crawled to the edge of the bed and swung my legs over. Glancing over to the clock, I groaned at the 4 a.m. reading. “Where are we going now?”

“California.”

I sighed as I sat down next to my suitcase and started loading it back up. “At least we can drive there.”

He didn’t respond, instead rushed around, throwing things into bags.

Ten minutes later the room was empty of every item that we brought in. Our bags were in the car, while the trash we’d collected was deposited in a dumpster a few miles away.

“Do you ever check out of motels?” I asked as we merged onto the interstate.

In the rearview mirror, the sky was lighter and I dug into my purse to pull out my sunglasses in preparation for the coming sunrise.

“No.”

“No?”

“Less of a trail.”

I thought about it and nodded in agreement. If someone came looking, they would only have a paid through date but nothing on when he actually left.

Our drive out of Las Vegas was beautiful, watching the landscape change from desert to almost tropical as the sun rose over the horizon.

Close to the border, we stopped for gas, and I took the opportunity to use the restroom and get some coffee. Caffeine had been a luxury over the past months, and I smiled as I held the cup up to my nose and breathed in a substance that was once my lifeblood.

Walking back out to the car, Six was staring down at his phone, his jaw clamped down tight.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling some flyaways behind my ear.

His jaw twitched. “Jason isn’t responding.”

“Do you know where he was headed?”

He shook his head and stuffed the phone away. “Come on.”

Back on the highway again, I convinced him to roll down the windows, letting the warm breeze in. Sure, my hair flew everywhere, even pulled back, but I loved the calm that took over, reminding me of carefree times long ago.

“Ooh, that looks like a shit-tel,” I said as we drove into Los Angeles. “Oh, there’s another one.” Six glared at me. “I’m just saying. Every hotel you’ve chosen but Paris has been the same. I assumed L.A. would be the same pattern.”

“Shit-tel?”

“Yeah. Short for shithole motel. Shit-tel.”

Half an hour later we pulled into another very ‘60s looking motel, but it looked in better shape than the past drug dealer specials.

“Better?”

I pursed my lips and looked around, pausing before nodding. “Yeah, not as afraid of stabbing myself with a stray leftover needle here.”

The places in Vegas were all ripe with hard drugs, prostitutes, and gangs. Besides the guys Six killed the first day we arrived, they’d all left us alone. Then again, Six did have an aura that screamed “Don’t come near me or I will f*ck you up,” which all but the idiots seemed to respect.