Dark Rest: A Lance Brody Story (Book 5.5)

by Robertson Jr, Michael

  So the boy had screamed and she and Lance had taken off, on the move to help.

  Turns out it had been nothing. Just a child who might have seen a snake and gotten scared. His father had come running—as any good father should—and then everything was right in the world again.

  But not really.

  She’d heard the way Lance had told her to pass the exit ramp for the gas stations and restaurant, to keep driving to the rest stop. He’d not given her a reason, and she’d not asked, but she’d heard the tone all the same.

  A feeling. He’d had a feeling. That had to be it. Leah was trying to learn so much about who Lance was, how he operated in a world in which he was such an outlier, using senses and feelings in ways that others could not. She wasn’t certain she’d ever fully understand any of it—wasn’t sure it was even possible for somebody without his gifts to understand—but she’d do her best. For the rest of her life she’d do her best.

  So she’d driven here, not knowing what to expect. And if the young boy hadn’t been the reason for the skipped exit, then what was?

  Leah entered the restroom and was pleased to see that the facility was cleaner than she’d expected. She stopped to take in her surroundings, which was something she’d been doing long before Lance Brody had ever come into her life. When you had a father who taught you how to handle a shotgun before you could consistently tie your shoes, and you’d then suffered through the disappearance of a sibling who had ended up being murdered, you learned to be cautious and hardened. Not ignorant to the idea of threats, blinded by a sense of immortality as so many young people tend to be.

  Leah instantly recognized the fact that she was not alone in the women’s restroom.

  Audible over the low hum of the fluorescents above, she heard the slight shuffling of sneakers on the tiled floor, the gentle creak of weight shifting on a toilet seat. Then there was a sound like the jangling of keys that was quickly silenced, as if them announcing themselves had been accidental.

  Leah waited. Leaned down and saw a pair of sneaker-clad feet in the last stall, all the way at the end, just before the door to what must have been a janitor’s closet. The door was open only the slightest bit. She took a few steps closer, cleared her throat just to make sure that her presence would be known to whoever sat in the last stall. She didn’t want it to appear that she was trying to sneak up on anybody. Leah entered the middle stall and did what she’d come to do, her ears alert and waiting to see if she could pick up anything else from the person at the end of the row. Hearing nothing and feeling much better, Leah left the stall and went to a sink, washed her hands thoroughly and used the mirror to keep her eyes on the pair of sneakers behind her. They did not move, seemed rooted in place.

  Something tugged at Leah, something in her gut that told her maybe the person in the last stall was the reason Lance had told her to pass the exit, to come here.

  Because the more Leah watched the pair of sneakers in the mirror, and the more she thought about everything she’d seen and heard since she’d entered the restroom, the more she thought the person in the stall might be trying to keep themselves hidden.

  Outside, the sound of a fast approaching engine suddenly echoed off the restroom’s walls.

  The person in the stall let out a tiny gasp.

  Leah turned and took a step toward the stall, stopped a few feet from it. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need help?”

  The person inside said nothing.

  “I’m here with my boyfriend,” Leah pressed on. “Can we do anything for you?”

  Nothing. Just the sound of someone trying to keep their breathing under control from the other side of the stall door.

  Leah waited another beat, then heard the soft screech of tires on asphalt, followed by a car door opening and closing.

  7

  Lance stepped out of the men’s room and saw a pickup truck parked diagonally across two spots next to the Tesla. The truck shined in the moonlight. Sparkling paint from a recent wash and glinting chrome and tires black as the night. It was modest in size—as modest as trucks could be these days. The SUV the little boy and his father had driven away in had been both taller and wider—but it looked new and expensive. Something from the luxury line.

  A man, presumably the truck’s driver, was leaning down and looking through the Tesla’s driver’s side window. He wore jeans a button-down shirt, no jacket. He was average height, and appeared to be maybe in his thirties, though it was difficult to tell from Lance’s vantage point. For just a moment Lance thought maybe the man was simply a fan of the brand, much like Leah had been. But then the man did something that quickly squashed this theory. He reached down and opened the sedan’s door, which caused Lance to wonder why somebody who drove such a presumably expensive vehicle would risk leaving it unlocked in a parking lot. The car’s interior dome lights switched on and even from here it was apparent to Lance that the vehicle was empty, unless somebody was laying down across the backseat. The man, apparently coming to the same conclusion, cursed loud enough for Lance to hear and then slammed the door closed. When the man’s head darted up and he stared in the direction of the restrooms, Lance took a small step backward, half concealing himself behind the wall of the men’s room doorway, positioning himself to a point where he was fairly certain he could not be seen, but he could still see out.

  Lance hadn’t liked the way the man’s head had snapped toward the building, like a hunter that’d suddenly picked up the scent of his prey.

  The man started moving fast, his walk quickening until it reached a casual jog, his head on a swivel as he crossed the parking lot and then bounded up onto the sidewalk and through the grass, as if searching for somebody—whether because he was trying to find them, or making sure he wasn’t being watched, Lance wasn’t sure. He thought it might be a little of both.

  When the man reached the cement walkway in front of the building, Lance’s heart suddenly kicked up in his chest, his hackles raised. Because when the man reached the restrooms, just as Lance was about to step further inside the men’s room and pretend to be just finished washing his hands, as to not indicate that he’d been spying on the man, the man made a left turn instead of a right, heading straight for the women’s room.

  Leah.

  The signs fixed to the wall and above the doorway of each restroom very clearly indicated which was which, and when you coupled this with the strange behavior Lance had already observed, it was very clear the man had intentions other than relieving himself.

  Lance sprang from the opened men’s room doorway. “Hey!”

  The man jerked to stop, spun around fast. He stood in-place, but Lance saw the man’s fists tighten, flex hard enough to see the whites of his knuckles before he eventually relaxed them.

  “What?” The man’s eyes bore holes into Lance. Up close, Lance could see his initial observation had been correct. The guy was early thirties, had a day’s worth of stubble and bright white teeth that showed as he spat the word. The jeans and shirt were crisp and looked pricey. He wore leather shoes that looked like they might have had a four-figure price tag. And beneath the pricey wardrobe, there was an anger seething. It was as visible as the shining paint on the man’s truck and the white enamel of his teeth.

  “That’s the women’s room,” Lance said, taking a small step forward, standing up tall. He had six or seven inches on the guy.

  The man’s fists flexed again, and Lance actually heard the knuckles crack this time. The guy was shorter, but he looked wound-up, full of energy. His shirt fabric was snug against muscles beneath. Gym muscles, Lance thought. Built for looks, not function.

  But they would still make for a hard hit, should it come to that.

  “I know,” the man said.

  They stared at each other, each man standing in the cone of light from the lamps overhead of each doorway, like actors in a stage play, on their mark and ready to begin. Out on the highway, an eighteen-wheeler roared by. Neither man turned to look, not
wanting to risk taking their eyes off each other.

  “Are you a woman?” Lance asked.

  The absurdity of the question rattled something inside the man, and he suddenly looked offended.

  “The fuck did you just say to me?”

  The fists flexed again.

  Lance stood his ground, stayed calm. He’d dealt with far worse than hot-headed prep boys. He didn’t want to fight the guy, and had no idea what was actually happening right now, but he knew that Leah was inside the women’s room, and he didn’t want this guy near her.

  “I asked if you were a woman,” Lance said. He held up his hands, “No judgement. I’m very progressive, trust me. But if you’re not a woman, I don’t see what reason you have to be going into the women’s restroom.” Lance took a step to the left, revealing the opened doorway to the men’s room behind him. “The men’s room is very clean, if that’s what you’re worried about. I admit I was skeptical myself when I arrived, but somebody does a good job with this place’s upkeep. I’m not saying I’d eat off the floor or anything, but…” He shrugged.

  Lance was rambling. Though he was naturally very quiet, he had the gift of gab when it was necessary. He was stalling, trying to keep the man occupied long enough for—

  Leah stepped out from the women’s room doorway.

  8

  Leah had positioned herself to where she could peer out of the women’s room and watch as a man had jumped out of the driver’s side of the newly arrived pickup truck and then examined the Tesla. When he opened the driver’s door, she crinkled her brow in confusion. She’d only skimmed the surface of her fascination with Elon Musk and Tesla when she’d explained to Lance what the car was. She’d done lots of reading and research on the brand, had watched countless YouTube videos of Tesla owners showing off their cars and testing different features and situations. It was a bit of a guilty pleasure for her.

  So she knew that this particular Tesla was a Model S, and that by default, when the driver walked away from the vehicle carrying the key fob, the car would lock itself when the fob left a certain proximity. Which meant that the key fob was either inside the car still … or the man had a fob on him.

  She studied the man’s attire, then gave the pickup truck a once-over. It all looked expensive. He was apparently somebody who liked nice things. It would make sense that the Tesla was his. But then why was it here, abandoned at two in the morning? Leah strained to try and look into the passenger side window of the truck. Saw nobody. Which meant the man wasn’t here to retrieve the Tesla unless he planned on leaving the truck. Which she doubted, considering how haphazardly it had been parked.

  She was processing all of this when panic suddenly seized her as she realized that the man was now moving quickly in her direction. She took two quick steps backward, concealing herself inside the restroom. His footsteps were coming hard and fast, only a few feet away from the women’s restroom doorway now. Had he seen her? She wasn’t sure. Probably not. It was too dark outside the building, not bright and blinding like the fluorescents inside. She turned and looked behind her, back to the last stall, saw the sneakers pull themselves up and out of view, a clear yet pointless attempt at hiding.

  And that confirmed it. Whoever was in that stall did not want to be found.

  The footsteps echoed off the bathroom’s walls now, closer than seemed possible without the man actually being inside with her. Leah spun and looked for anything that might be used as a weapon to defend herself, not really knowing why, other than knowing that Lance had brought them here for a reason, and that she doubted very much that if the man from the pickup truck had had to use the bathroom badly enough to move as fast as he was moving now, that he would have taken time to stop and investigate the Tesla.

  She had nothing around her but paper towel dispensers and a trashcan built into the wall. She looked to the back wall, saw the partially opened door. There might be something back there, something she could use. Or maybe she could hide, try to make herself invisible like the person in the last stall.

  No. That wasn’t her style.

  She took in a deep breath and tightened her core and was ready for … well, anything, really, when she heard Lance shout, “Hey!”

  The footsteps stopped.

  Leah let out the breath she’d been holding. Listened as the two men had an exchange in which Lance had asked if the man was a woman, which caused Leah to roll her eyes and have to stifle a chuckle by clasping her hands over her mouth. But the man had not laughed, instead his voice had grown full of malice.

  When Lance started rambling about the restroom’s cleanliness Leah understood what was happening. He was stalling for her, waiting for her to emerge so they could handle this together. She stepped out of the women’s room doorway and could only go a couple feet because the man was blocking her path, his back turned to her.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Leah said, trying to sound friendlier and peppier than anybody had any right to sound at two in the morning. The man spun around and Leah saw more than anger in his eyes, she saw violence.

  She’d seen the same look on her own father’s face in those times when he’d had a bit too much to drink when she and Samuel had been younger and … well, it had never ended pleasantly. She kept her smile in place, but her heart started pounding harder in her chest.

  The man must have realized that he was scaring her. Whether he would have been as concerned about her well-being had Lance not been standing behind him, Leah doubted very much, but for now the man seemed to sense that his actions were causing concern, and likely would do him no good in accomplishing whatever he set out to do.

  Leah watched as Lance took a step closer when the man had turned to face her. She risked a quick glance in his direction, hoping he’d get the message to stand down. She had this … for now.

  The man’s voice suddenly grew soft and docile, almost pleading. “I’m sorry.” He turned so he was facing the parking lot, took a step back so that he could speak to both of them. “I might have started us off on the wrong foot. I’m…” He paused, and to Leah it looked as if he were trying to summon some tears in an effort to seem more dramatic. In the end he just gave a pathetic sounding sigh and squinted his eyes briefly as if they stung. “I’m trying to find my sister. She’s missing.”

  Leah’s bullshit detector sounded all kinds of alarms in her head. She didn’t need any of Lance’s gifts to realize the guy was lying. His act was almost comical it was so bad. The man hung his head down and stared at the ground, trying to milk his somber performance. Leah took the opportunity to look to Lance. She quickly jerked her head back toward the Woman’s room and nodded. I think she’s in there.

  “Missing for how long?” Lance asked.

  The man shrugged, “A day or so?”

  “Or so?” Lance asked.

  The man said nothing. Shrugged again.

  “What’s her name?” Lance asked.

  “Allison.”

  “How old is Allison?” Leah asked. She thought she knew what Lance was doing.

  “Uh…” the man started.

  Bingo.

  “Twenty. Sorry,” the man said. “I always have to stop and do the math.”

  Lance cleared his throat and said, “If she’s twenty, and has only been gone for a day or so, like you said, how do you know she’s missing and not just off on her own … living her best life, as the kids say. I mean, I think they say that, right?”

  The man didn’t like this. He stood straight again, and there was a renewed anger in his eyes. The false sadness vanished in an instant. “Are you making light of my situation?” he asked Lance.

  Lance shook his head. “Not in the slightest,” he said, and his voice carried its own bravado. Letting the man know that they both knew there was more to whatever was happening than the man was letting on.

  Leah watched as Lance held the man’s stare for a beat before he looked past the man’s shoulder and said to her, “Leah, is there a girl in the restroom who might be twenty
years old?”

  “Not that I saw.” Which wasn’t a lie, not really. She’d not actually seen the person that’d been in the stall at the end of the row, so she’d have no way of knowing how old said person might be.

  The man looked from Leah to Lance, and then back to Leah. He must not have liked what he saw. “I think I’ll just check for myself, if you don’t mind.”

  He turned toward Leah and tried to push his way into the women’s room. Leah stood her ground, meaning to block the way, but the guy was too strong and he essentially hip-checked her into the side of the doorway. Leah saw a flash of movement and just as the man was about to place a foot over the threshold Lance grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, hard.

  The man grunted in frustration and anger and swung a wide-arching punch toward the side of Lance’s face. It was slow and clumsy and totally expected and Lance used his free hand to block the blow and then latch onto the man’s wrist, clamping down tight.

  The men froze, tangled in each other’s grip, the action over as quickly as it had started.

  The moment lasted a second or two longer than Leah thought it should have, and she thought she saw something odd quickly work its way across Lance’s face. Almost like a grimace of pain, but not quite.