Sam comes on the screen full of seriousness. “What fuckup have you done this time, Paulson?” Then he sees me and cracks a smile. “You son of a gun. Did you take out Paulson?”
“Is that his name?” I say. “He needs to be relegated to kitchen duty.”
“One of Carter’s boys in Missouri,” Sam says. “I’m guessing he fouled up your apprehension.”
“In a big way. Not sure what happened to the other. Slick driver.”
“You know her well,” Sam says.
“Seriously?” I should have recognized Colette’s driving. “She going to end up on the rack because of me?”
“Nah. She’s playing by the book. She’s good.” He glances down and frowns. “Let me wipe this car before they figure out it’s you.”
The dash goes dark and everything electronic in the car goes out. The engine continues its quiet hum. I’ve left the streets of downtown Albuquerque and am heading toward the desert.
The system reboots and Sam comes back on. “I’ll be in touch as I can. I have to cover these tracks.” He kills the transmission.
Time for me to head back to Tennessee and see if Jovana is stupid enough to attend that fight.
And tell The Cure about the unfortunate state of his Infiniti.
17: Mia
Holy crap, this car. I feel like Jax!
The accelerator moves almost on its own, as if it can sense when I want to speed up or slow down. I’m distracted by the screen in the dash and the displays on the windshield. When I run off the road for the third time in five minutes, a sultry female voice from the speakers asks, “Would you like to commence auto-drive?”
I wonder what that entails. Is it like cruise control, where it manages your speed? Jax sometimes turned all the way around in his car, paying no attention to the steering wheel.
“Yes,” I say.
But as soon as my voice is registered, the voice says, “Authentication needed.”
I don’t see or hear anything scanning me, but I sense I’m being monitored.
“Pulse rate elevated,” the voice says. “Heat signature not in database.”
The car starts to slow down. I push on the accelerator, but nothing happens.
Crap!
“I’m Mia Morrow,” I say quickly, then add, “A special.”
I’m trying to impress a car.
“Mia Morrow verified.” The car begins to speed up again. “Auto-drive initiated.”
The wheel starts to move beneath my hands. It neatly manages a curve.
We pass a speed limit sign and the voice says, “Please state your preferences for our records. Speed limit? Below or above? Provide your answer in five-mile-per-hour increments.”
“Speed limit,” I say. The car slows down to precisely sixty-five miles per hour.
Well, that’s boring. “Actually,” I add, “one hundred miles per hour over the speed limit.”
The car shoots forward like a rocket. A visible beam shoots out ahead of the car, following the white line to guide its direction.
I clutch at the wheel, but the movements are disconcerting, so I let go again and grip my seat belt, which has tightened down against me.
“Destination?” the car asks.
“Uh, actually, let’s do the speed limit again,” I say.
The car glides to a normal speed. The light beam goes out, although the steering wheel continues to follow the curve of the road. I guess it takes bonus tech to auto-drive at high speeds.
“Destination?” the voice asks again.
I don’t know what to tell it. “Jax De Luca?” I ask.
“Whereabouts unknown,” it says. “Last known location: Ridley Prison. Would you like to go to Ridley Prison?”
“No,” I say quickly. Weird it doesn’t know Jax was at a silo a few days ago. But I definitely don’t want to go to the jail. For all I know the car will bust through the walls. I think for a second. “Colette,” I say. Shoot, I don’t know her last name.
“There are 17,576 women with the name Colette in the mainland USA,” the voice says. “Please narrow your choices.”
“Colette the Vigilante,” I say.
“Mia Morrow is not authorized for that information,” the voice says.
Well, boo.
I can’t go to a silo. I can’t get to Jax or Colette.
The road is quiet. Only the occasional car passes, its headlights piercing the dark.
“Destination?” the car insists.
I’m beginning to hate her. “Stop auto-drive,” I say. Maybe now she’ll leave me alone.
I hold on to the wheel again. I’m probably a sitting duck in this car. As soon as Klaus gets free, he’ll alert someone. He might even be able to take control of his vehicle remotely.
What was I thinking?
Still, the giddiness of being in such a car doesn’t fade.
“Does this car have a stealth mode?” I ask.
“This Aston Martin is equipped with three cloaking levels,” it says. “One. Heat and infrared. Two. Radar and transmissions. Three. Low visibility.”
“I want them all,” I say.
“Reminders. All internal heating will be turned off. All ability to communicate will be cut. Low visibility can only be achieved in certain light levels and environments.”
“Fine, fine,” I say. “Just do it.”
“Cloaking levels one, two, and three initiated,” it says.
I try to relax. I figure Pale Boy and whoever sent him will think I’m clueless. Hopefully this car is smarter than they are.
I drive for another hour, fighting sleep. I don’t know where I’m headed or what I’m doing next. When I feel like I’ve done enough random zigzagging on highways and back roads to make it difficult to figure out my path, I pull over beside a twenty-four-hour convenience store to look at my stash.
“Can I get a light?” I ask the car.
“Interior lights will compromise cloaking levels one and three.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “It’s just for a minute.”
An overhead light pops on.
The sight of my grandma’s quilt gives me some comfort in the unfamiliar car. I’m glad I took it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get home again.
The pile of gadgets I took doesn’t mean anything to me. The watch, the shoes, bits of metal with no obvious use. Two slender metal wands. The big onyx ring I was wearing is in there. It must have fallen off my finger during the struggle. I put it on again.
I sit back against the driver’s seat. What am I doing here? Nobody knows where Jax is. This car won’t help me.
Maybe I should just drive to the silo and take my chances.
“Your temperature and pulse indicate fatigue and hunger,” the car says. “Would you like a cold beverage or caffeine shot?”
“Yes to the cold beverage,” I say. Good thing, since I don’t have a penny to my name to even walk into the convenience store.
A list of drinks scrolls on the dashboard screen. I choose “Mr. Pibb” and have to smile that my would-be abductor has the same soft-drink preferences as me.
A buzzing sound by my elbow makes me shift nearer the door. The console opens and a can of Mr. Pibb rises from inside.
This, I understand. I take the can. Can Vigilantes get anything they want, anytime they want it? I remember Jax calling that guy to bring me clothes. Who was that? Armond? I had been half asleep, but I caught the end of the conversation.
Armond. Could he find Jax for me?
If this is Klaus’s car, he would know Armond too. And Armond isn’t a Vigilante, so it shouldn’t snub me.
“I need to contact someone,” I tell the car.
“This will compromise cloaking level two,” the voice says.
“Fine. Whatever. Please contact Armond,” I say. Then I realize, shoot, I don’t know his last name either.
“There are 1,598 men with the name Armond in the mainland USA—”
“The one who designs Jax’s suits.”
“Cont
act found. Would you like a secure transmission?”
My heart speeds up. “Yes,” I say.
“Connecting.”
It’s going to do it!
After a moment, the bald man I remember from before comes onscreen. “Identify yourself,” he barks. Then his face softens when he sees me. “Who are you?” he asks.
“I’m a friend of Jax,” I say quickly. “The girl he got the clothes for.”
Armond frowns. “I’ve made a lot of women’s clothes —”
“Recently,” I say. I don’t want to know about all the clothes Jax has commissioned for other women. “In St. Louis. The red sweater dress and blue pantsuit.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, sitting back. “Que bonita, very slight. Did you like the clothes? Jax favors the color red.”
“I noticed,” I say. “I need to find him.”
Armond laughs. “Many a pretty lady has tried to locate the elusive Jax.”
My face burns hot. “Not like that. I — I stole a car for him.”
Armond sobers and looks around me. “Who’s had this car?”
“I don’t know. A man came and tied me up. I got free. Jax would want to know.”
“What sort of man?” Armond asks.
“Pale. German accent.”
“Dios,” Armond says. “This is interesting.”
“Can you find him for me? Or at least get him a message?”
“I can try,” he says.
“Tell him the safe house was compromised again. A man, slightly shorter than Jax, pale, blond, with a German accent. He wanted to know why Jax was interested in me.”
“Are you safe?” Armond’s bushy eyebrows draw together in concern.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to force a laugh. “I did steal this car!”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m figuring it out. I have it cloaked.”
He nods. “Good, good.” He glances down. “You sent this securely. Do you want to unencrypt it so I can send Jax your location?”
Unease flows through me. “No. Just tell him to meet me —” I try to think. What sort of code could I use about where to go?
A map is projected on the screen. I’m in a small town called Jamestown. But I’m just twenty miles from one named Alpine.
“Tell Jax I learned how to tie an alpine coil in Tennessee,” I say.
“All right,” Armond says. “I will try. Be careful.”
“I will.”
The screen reverts to its standard line of commands.
I can only hope Jax isn’t too far away.
18: Jax
I’m just inside the Tennessee state line when Sam patches through on an encrypted channel.
“Don’t tell me. You need a cinnamon roll,” I say.
Sam doesn’t laugh.
“This’ll be quick since I have to cover my tracks,” he says. “You need to head to Alpine, Tennessee. Pronto. Mia is waiting for you.”
“What? Mia?” My hackles rise.
“She was attacked by a man with a German accent.”
“Klaus?”
Sam nods. “Possibly. Apparently she tied him up. She also stole an Aston Martin from the guy.”
“My car?”
“That’s what Armond says. He got a visual during the transmission. When Mia couldn’t find you, she contacted him. Smart lady. Okay, I’m out. Get to her, Jax. They’re on to her.”
He kills the transmission.
Holy hell. Mia is in the game.
This is an incredible betrayal by Klaus.
My fury is hard to contain that someone who once worked so closely with me is now in league with Jovana. If I hadn’t seen all the evidence myself, I would never have believed it.
There’s something larger at play here. More than Jovana getting me out of the way to protect her father’s criminal network. My mistake in killing Singer for her is part of a bigger plot. I aim to find out what it is, but not until I know Mia is secure.
I’m doing a shit job convincing myself I only care about her safety. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since she took off down that drive back in Missouri.
But I was right to let her go then.
Just like it’s right to meet up with her now.
It’s eighty-five miles from where I am to Alpine, which is more of a community than a town. I probably shouldn’t call attention to myself, but now that Sam has wiped this car, I decide, screw it, and plug into semi-stealth at high speeds. Without Vigilante status, I don’t have the luxury of blatantly ignoring civilian safety laws, but this car can repel standard-issue speed monitoring easily enough.
Mia has shown more pluck than I gave her credit for. Tying up a Vigilante and stealing his car? Who does that? As a silo director, I rarely saw trainees come through with that level of tenacity. Hell, I rarely saw full-fledged Vigilantes take that level of risk.
Other than my team. Sam. Colette. And back in the day, Klaus.
If I have his car, I can get to Jovana for sure. The data inside it will lead me directly to her. His driving history. The identities of people who rode in it.
I want that car. It used to be mine, until I got sent to Ridley. Klaus kept it.
Supposedly for me.
As the car hurtles along the freeway, I keep telling myself this is why I’m headed Mia’s way. My car.
The town is in the middle of nowhere. Population 496. It’s the middle of the night now and hardly anything but freight trucks are on the road.
The Aston Martin should be easy to spot.
The town is silent and still as a morgue. I cruise along the highway and pull up to the blinking red light. Mia sure chose a fitting location. She’s a country girl through and through.
Ahead is a convenience store, probably the only establishment in the whole town that’s open. I scan for my car, but the only vehicle in the crumbling parking lot is a battered Volvo.
Where is she?
I pass by a string of storefronts on what might once have been a bustling square. Just on the other side I see another building with the lights on. A diner. I glance at the clock on the dash. 2 a.m. Must be an all-nighter for truck drivers. Two big rigs are taking up a line of parking spots.
I roll past them and there it is, my sleek little silver Aston Martin. Klaus better not have put a scratch on it.
The diner has broad windows showing the interior. Difficult to defend. But a quick glance tells me Mia isn’t inside. You can see every booth and stool.
I pull up next to the car. Satisfaction courses through me just looking at it. She will be mine again.
It, I correct myself. The car.
Not the girl.
I walk up to it. The windows are fitted with false blackout screens that make it appear you can see inside even though you can’t. I tap on the glass, knowing I am breaking the security grid.
I can’t see the red alarm or hear the warning, but the door flies open and Mia shoots out of the car like an arrow.
She stares at it a minute like it’s possessed. She wears flannel pajamas and a pair of men’s shoes that are way too large for her. I have to squelch the urge to take her in my arms. She looks lost and frightened.
“Sorry,” I say.
She freezes, stands up straight, and touches her wild loose hair before she turns around.
Her face is calm now. “Jax,” she says. “You came.” Either she’s hiding her emotions or it’s no big thing to her that I showed up.
I’m not sure what sort of welcome I expected. Hysterics, I suppose. Throwing herself at me. She had been so insistent that I keep her before.
I stuff down any disappointment at her nonchalance. “You called.”
“The car is yelling at me,” she says.
This makes me laugh. “I set off the alarm.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relax. “I thought I’d broken something.”
“What were you doing?”
She lifts her arm and shows me a Vigilante watch a lot like the one th
at was confiscated from me at the silo. “I was punching all the buttons.”
I take the watch off her wrist. “Do you always act this impulsively?”
Her eyes flick to the ground. “I had nothing to do while I waited for you, and no idea how long you’d be. You didn’t contact me.”
“You had the car in stealth. You couldn’t receive transmissions.”
“Oh.”
I lean inside the car with the watch and press the all-clear. The interior light stops pulsing and the feminine voice silences its concerned intonations.
“It’s a nice car,” she says.
“It used to be mine.”
“Really?” She glances back at it. “I like it.”
Too many of the buttons on her pajama top are undone and my groin tightens. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask. “You always seem to be out in your sleepwear.”’
She glances down, notices the buttons, and frantically begins to fasten them. “I didn’t exactly have time to change after I escaped from that man in my bedroom.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Bedroom?” Sam hadn’t mentioned this.
Her cheeks bloom pink. “He tied me to the posts like you did. Are all Vigilantes this kinky?”
My gaze slides down to the top, now buttoned to the neck. I imagine Klaus unfastening them and a rage burns in my belly. “What else did Klaus do?”
Her face changes. “Klaus? So he isn’t dead.”
“The reports of his demise were greatly exaggerated.” I take her arm and drag her to the other side of the Aston Martin. “Get in,” I say and open her door.
She ducks inside, scooting aside a quilt filled with all sorts of Vigilante tech. “Where did you get that?” I ask.
Her face beams up at me, all innocence. “I stole it.”
Picturing her rooting through Klaus’s clothes on the floor beside her bed sends another shot of fury through me. I slam the door and go around to the driver’s side.
I take a few seconds to restore my driving status in the computer and relegate Klaus to a guest driver so I can retain his data. Then we jet out of the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” Mia asks. She’s bubbly and exuberant, like we’re on some sort of vacation jaunt.
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