“I would love to sleep. I’m jealous of people who can fall into bed and manage REM within seconds. I’m not hardwired that way. Sometimes, a lot of times, I suffer from insomnia,” she admitted.
“Just do what you do at home to get some shut-eye.”
“Not possible. I get up and work mathematical equations until I fall asleep.”
He yawned. “Count sheep.”
“I’ve never understood the counting sheep thing. Why sheep? Why not orangutans or giraffes?”
“Because orangutans and giraffes don’t jump fences. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”
If only it were that easy. She’d never slept with a man before. It was weird to have someone else in the bed with her. She could feel his every movement, could hear his slow and steady breathing. And if there was anything less relaxing she didn’t know. “Tell me something about yourself,” she suggested. “Maybe that will help me sleep.”
He exhaled as if trying for patience and said, “What would you like to know?”
“Anything. We are strangers sharing a bed—that’s not normal in my life. Maybe if I knew a little bit more about you I’d be less nervous.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“All men make me nervous. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. Certain men make me nervous.”
There was a pause. “And I assume I fall in the category of ‘certain men’?” She nodded even though he couldn’t see her head bob in the dark. “What kind of men make you nervous?”
“Handsome ones,” Kat squeaked out, her cheeks heating. Thank God for the darkness. “Ones that are built like Roman gods.”
He barked a short derisive laugh. “Roman god? I can see my choice to limit carbs has paid off.”
Kat smiled at his quip, hanging on his every word uttered in the darkness. Somehow it seemed less threatening to speak her mind when she was sheltered by the dark. She rolled to her back.
“I’m flattered,” he continued. “I think. But there’s no need to be nervous. I told you I would never take advantage of my position.”
She bit her lip, wishing she had the guts to admit that she wished he would. That would be terrible, she admonished herself, but the hormonally soaked libido she hadn’t even known was there, seemed to be in charge. “I know you wouldn’t do anything shady. I already told you that’s not what makes me nervous.”
She heard the frown in Jake’s voice as he asked, “Then what makes you nervous?”
“It’s a self-esteem thing that you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, I’m willing to bet you were pretty popular in high school.”
“Not particularly,” he said, surprising her. “I lived on the fringe of everything.”
“No sports? You know, football, baseball, basketball—the trifecta of organized sports in high school?”
“Nope.”
For a long moment, she remained in stunned silence. “Oh.” She’d just applied a stereotype and found herself corrected. “I’m sorry...I just assumed because you’re so confident and fit that you probably ranked pretty high in the social hierarchy of high school. The teenage arena is usually dominated by people like you, or as I should say, the exact opposite of someone like me.”
“Which is?”
“Geeky, socially awkward, into math and science...the chess club.”
“I like chess.”
She smiled again. “Me, too.”
“I wasn’t popular. Up until my senior year, I was quiet, small and clung to the shadows. I spent most of my high school career trying to disappear.”
“Why?”
“Because invisible people don’t get hit.”
“Were you bullied?”
There was a minute pause before he answered with a short, “Yeah,” and Kat sensed a wealth of unspoken pain beneath that single word. Jake inhaled a long breath and turned on his side away from her. “No more story hour. Get some sleep.”
Kat listened to Jake’s breathing and knew the moment he’d dropped off but it was a long time before she followed him into dreamland.
* * *
The following morning Jake rose before Kat and showered, needing the jolt of water against his face to clear his head. Last night had been strange and not because he’d been sleeping beside a relative stranger. He should’ve been sleeping with one eye open, a catnap of sorts that conserved energy but kept him mentally aware. The exact opposite had occurred—he’d slept like the dead—and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up really dead by making costly mistakes like that.
He scrubbed his body quickly and efficiently but even as his movements were sharp, his brain felt dull and fuzzed. It was Kat. Something about her tilted him upside down. What was with the story-hour sharing episode? He never shared snippets of his childhood with anyone. It’s not as if his childhood had been filled with happy warm-and-fuzzy moments worth sharing. He could sum up his childhood in one word: miserable.
It’d been the yearning in Kat’s voice that had prompted him, something in her voice had pulled the confession right from his mouth like a fish reeled from a line. No more of that, he told himself sternly, tucking the towel around his torso and exiting the bathroom to find Kat awake and waiting. She hopped from the bed and smiled briefly before mumbling something about “needing to tinkle” and maneuvering around him to close the door quickly behind her. He heard an audible sigh of relief as the faint noise of “tinkling” followed and he allowed the tiniest of grins before shaking his head at how bizarre it was that he found her ridiculously...adorable.
In a completely irritating way, of course.
He dressed quickly, saying to the closed door, “Stay put. I’ll be right back,” and went to the car to get some food. He returned with two MREs. He preferred the military Meal Ready to Eat when on a mission. They were fast, nutritious and immediately ready. He could fuel his body within minutes and continue on his mission without losing valuable time. Kat emerged and her gaze fell on the brown packaging designated for her and she grimaced at her choice. “Meatloaf for breakfast? I’ve eaten some strange things in the morning but never a military-issue meatloaf package. Is it good?”
He shrugged and ripped his open, wasting little time. He didn’t even bother to check the flavor or meal choice. “They’re serviceable. I’ve never had one make me sick. Eat up. We need to hit the road within the next fifteen minutes.”
“Can’t we just hit a donut shop along the way? I could use a coffee.”
“Negative. I warned you this wasn’t a road trip. We need to make serious tracks and that means no meandering into donut shops.”
“I’m not asking you to meander anywhere. I just don’t want to eat that. Most people don’t choose to eat an MRE. It’s meant to keep you alive and that’s it.”
“Exactly.” He didn’t see the problem and spooned a heaping bite of whatever was in front of him. He thought it was meatloaf but upon tasting it, he wasn’t sure. Either way, didn’t matter—it kept his stomach from yowling. “Come on, let’s go. We’re on a tight schedule.”
Kat opened her MRE with distaste and eyed the contents with suspicion. “My uncle Charlie would die if he saw this,” she murmured. “He loved creating culinary masterpieces in the kitchen and I’d been his willing taste tester. Even his disasters had looked better than that meatloaf.”
“Be that as it may, it’s meant to sustain you, not win blue ribbons for its aesthetics. Try it. You might like it.”
“Not likely,” she grumbled, but took an exploratory bite. He was about to praise her for giving it a shot when she gagged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No way. I can’t,” she declared, shaking her head resolutely. “I will lose whatever is left in my stomach if I try to eat that.”
“You can’t eat this but you can eat tha
t disgusting macaroni Frankenfood?”
“Yes. My uncle didn’t approve but I loved that Frankenfood, thank you very much, and although nutritionally your MRE might be superior, at least the Frankenfood tries to preserve the illusion of being edible by making it taste good.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, scooping up the last of his meal. “But it’s your choice to go without. I should warn you, lunch is a long ways from now.”
“You are absolutely refusing to stop for anything else?” she asked.
He answered by stuffing his trash in the wastebasket by the door and shouldering his pack. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Be ready to leave.”
When he left, Kat was eyeing that MRE as if it were the enemy. Hey, at least she wasn’t eyeing him the same way, he thought with a smidge of humor. His good humor didn’t last long, however, when the unmistakable ping of a bullet burying itself in the wooden post barely missed pegging his head. He ducked and spun away on instinct, taking cover and immediately scanning the direction of the shot. Damn. His calculated risk had backfired. He cursed under his breath. The only person he’d made contact with was at headquarters, which meant whoever was out there had tracked his credit card. Or maybe the rented town car, with its busted headlight, had tipped them off. He knew he should’ve ditched it right away. He swore under his breath at the costly mistakes he’d made thus far. He pulled his gun from his waistband and waited. When nothing happened, he took a tiny step in the direction of their room and another bullet shot exploded the glass behind him. Jake took a shot in the direction he thought the shooter was hiding and then bolted for the door, slamming it shut behind him.
“What’s wrong?” Kat asked, a spoonful of her meatloaf midway to her mouth.
“Guess you lucked out. There’s no time for eating. Someone’s discovered our location and they are trying to ensure that we don’t leave without an escort.”
“How’d they find us?” she asked, swinging her legs over the bed to dress quickly. “I mean, do you have some kind of tracking device implanted in your skin or something?”
He cut her a short glance and answered, “No,” but he suffered the knowledge that he’d been the reason they’d been found. He had three scenarios, one more likely than the other two. The credit card had been traced, someone on the inside of his department was crooked and had used the department’s resources to hunt them down or the car had been spotted, leading them to this roach motel, which, given how remote the place was, seemed unlikely but he couldn’t discount the theory altogether. His intuition was screaming something he didn’t want to consider. Seemed highly suspect that the minute he made contact with headquarters, a sniper was suddenly aiming for his skullcap. He wasn’t so naive that he thought his department was immune to corruption but he hated to jump to that conclusion without solid proof. Besides, it seemed a long shot that someone within his department was crooked but a niggling doubt wouldn’t shut up.
“Maybe they’re tracking your cell phone?” she suggested, frantically stuffing her belongings into the Target bag. “I mean, all smartphones are equipped with GPS nowadays, right? I don’t actually have a cell phone because I don’t have a long list of people I would consider calling, unless you consider the pizza delivery man applicable. Come to think of it, I don’t have a list of people at all—”
“Kat...be quiet,” he ground out, and she sank back on her heels with an embarrassed nod. “Stay away from the window,” he told her. “We need to get to the car but they’re going to expect that. I saw another car parked in the back that I think belongs to the proprietor. We’ll borrow his and leave the town car.”
“How are we going to do that?” she asked.
“We’re going to climb out the back window of the bathroom. I already checked last night and it’s big enough to climb through.”
She frowned. “Why would you do that? Were you thinking of escaping in the middle of the night?”
“Always check for two exits when you stay somewhere. Basic survival skill.”
She shaped an exaggerated O with her mouth and nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow you, then.”
He backed away slowly from the window and went to the bathroom, wasting no time in pulling his specialized Swiss Army knife, which contained more than the usual scissors, blade and file. He shattered the glass with the glass punch and the old glass tinkled to the ground.
“That’s handy,” Kat observed with interest. “Where can I get one of those things?”
“Special issue,” he answered, pushing the broken glass clear of the pane with a rolled-up towel, then gestured to her to hurry. “Let’s go. With any luck whoever is out there didn’t hear the glass break but if they did, they’re going to figure out real quick our plan.”
Kat approached the window, shaking her hands. “This looks a lot easier in the movies,” she admitted, shooting Jake an uncertain look. “What if I get stuck or something?”
“You won’t. It’s big enough for us both to clear, now get moving. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m starting to wonder if I should’ve chanced the anesthesia,” she grumbled, and he couldn’t have agreed more. Flying would’ve been a hell of a lot easier.
“Too late now,” he said, helping her up to the window. She cleared the pane to jump to the ground a short distance below. Jake landed soundlessly beside her and gripped her hand to run.
The ancient Camaro looked equal parts rust and nostalgia but Jake didn’t have time to be picky. He slid into the driver’s seat and ripped the wires beneath the column to kick-start the old classic muscle car, and it roared to life with only a mild sputter to clear its throat. “Not bad,” Jake said, flashing a grin at Kat. “It’s a shame a car like this is owned by a fossil like him. This baby’s got some life in her.”
“Great! Then burn some rubber already!” Kat suggested. He agreed, flooding the car with gas and spewing rock and dirt as he cranked the wheel and sped out of the parking lot. No shots rang out behind them but Jake knew they were far from in the clear.
Chapter 7
“Do you think they’re following us?” Kat asked fearfully, glancing behind them and scanning for a rapidly approaching vehicle trying to climb up their exhaust pipe. Seeing nothing but average everyday traffic, she looked to Jake for answers. “I don’t understand. How did they find us?”
“I don’t know,” he answered curtly, but she sensed he was holding back information. Did he think she couldn’t handle it? He continued, watching the road with a critical eye. “You might be right about the cell phone,” he said, fishing his cell from his pocket. He handed it to her. “Punch in this code at the opening screen—7863.”
She did and watched as the screen started to melt away. “Whoa. What just happened?”
“Internal self-destruct. Now toss it from the window.”
“But that’s littering,” she protested with a frown. “I can’t just litter. That goes against my promise to limit my footprint.”
“Isn’t that a little hypocritical of you?” he asked. “You work for a pharmaceutical company. The chemicals they work with aren’t exactly earth-friendly.”
“Well, I know. But I try to mitigate what I do personally to bring about the total destruction of the planet. Although I suppose you have a slight point.” She exhaled unhappily and tossed the phone, wincing at the faint crash and shatter they left behind. “I’ll have you know that one action puts me at square one with my ‘days pure.’”
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
“It means I’ve gone 1,260 days without littering. Not even a wad of gum.”
“That’s great. I’m sure the earth is grateful.”
“Your sarcasm says otherwise.” She sniffed. “Someone has to care about the earth. My uncle was really big on the green movement. When he was coherent, that is.”
There was the slightest hesitation before Jake said, “Your uncle has Alzheimer’s, right?”
“Yes.” God, she hated that word. When someone had Alzheimer’s, they no longer existed as anything but an old person with a broken brain and that killed Kat. Her uncle was more than a broken brain. He was her only family and the only living person who had ever looked out for her. Her uncle had been her universe. But no one knew that because they didn’t think to ask anything beyond that simple word.
“That sucks,” Jake said, but he said it in the way that most people did, as if they were simply offering what was expected of them when faced with something tragic. It probably wasn’t fair to judge them for their attempt at social etiquette but Kat found herself more and more snarly when offered such stale platitudes. “Must be rough,” he added.
At her stiff silence, he said, “For what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty noble of you to dedicate your life to researching a cure.”
“It’s not noble at all,” she disagreed with a touch of heat to her words. “My reasons for aggressively going after a cure are entirely self-serving.”
Jake did a double take. “How do you figure?”
“Because I don’t care about anyone but my uncle getting better and I spent three years of my life trying to perfect a drug that was never going to work, anyway. And worse, it’s something that can be weaponized. I should’ve spent the last three years trying to find a cure for cancer.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up for going after something that’s near and dear to your heart. That’s how people find results—it’s the passion to succeed that makes the impossible possible. You have a reason to fight. You have a reason to keep going when all signs point to failure. Don’t apologize for what fuels your passion. You’re a freaking genius, girl. I wish I had half your brainpower. You have a gift and a talent that you were meant to use for the greater good.”
She stared, unable to believe what Jake had just said. She took back her snippy internal thought about flimsy platitudes and how useless they were. Jake actually cared. Why? She didn’t know but the sentiment felt wondrously warm and cuddly up against her heart. “Thank you,” she said, not sure what else to say. An awkward silence followed but she didn’t feel compelled to fill it as she normally did. No, maybe it wasn’t awkward silence at all. Maybe...it was just silence. The car rumbled down the freeway, eating the miles, and Kat settled against the stiff vinyl seat. Her nose tingled at the sharp scent of aging car and cold seats and she let the silence take over as she drifted into a memory.
Moving Target Page 5