Chapter 41
Logan
Logan woke with a start. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t pin it down. He was still soldier enough that his instincts kicked in without thought, holding him completely still until he could pinpoint the danger. He took in his surroundings, trying to remember what was and wasn’t there last night when he’d gone to sleep. The air conditioner banged and clicked outside the room. There had been a brief but heated debate over whether the air conditioner was necessary in 60 degree weather. Quincy had thought not, Logan had disagreed. He had settled the argument by volunteering to sleep naked, so as to avoid getting too hot. He had a moment of worry that she might actually call his bluff. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost his clothes on a dare but he had no intention of sleeping on a questionable motel bed without the already insufficient protection of his clothes. None whatsoever. But she didn’t know that and he tried to maintain a good facade. She finally caved and stole the quilt off his bed to compensate.
Even with his eyes shut, he could tell it was still dark outside. This particular establishment didn’t just skimp on bed sheets and maintenance. Much like their room the night before, the curtains here were thin and not especially successful at blocking the light from the parking lot. So he was sure it was either very late or very early. Other than the air unit, it was completely quiet. No one was moving around outside or inside. If there had been someone else in the room with them, he would have felt it. A movement, no matter how slight. A breath, no matter how silent. Something would have alerted him to their presence. But there was nothing.
Logan finally opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. Just after two in the morning, which meant they still had a good four hours before they needed to be up. As much as he hated to admit it, especially to her, Quincy was right. That trick with the phone had been genius. Brandon was out of the picture, which gave them a little more breathing room to operate. He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, stretching out his arms and legs to their full extent. It felt good to sprawl, having spent hours in vehicles not meant for a man his size over the last two days. And the cold air blowing from the wall unit felt good as it breezed over him. They were almost halfway back to Louisville. If they kept up the pace, they should be back at base in just over 48 hours. He could sleep in his own bed, such as it was. Take as long of a shower as he wanted, without the threat of catching an unfortunate foot disease in the process. He could ride his motorcycle again. No more tiny cars in his future. Not for awhile, at least. He let his mind float, wandering back towards sleep. The air conditioner banged and clicked, the cold air washing over his face and legs. There was no other sound in the room. No other movement.
There was no other movement. Logan sat bolt upright and jerked his head towards Quincy’s bed, disbelieving. She was gone.
Logan hit the light on the bedside lamp as he swung himself upright. He pushed the bathroom door open hard enough that it banged off the wall. Empty. He stepped back out into the room and took stock. Her backpack was still leaning against the wall, so he knew she wasn’t gone for good. She would never disappear without her lifeline. The shoes and clothes she’d bought the day before, however, were. He tried to think of where she would go. She hadn’t mentioned being familiar with the area so he doubted she had somewhere she wanted to visit at two in the morning. As he looked around, he noticed the pad of paper on the desk. It had writing on it. Well, he thought wryly, at least she left a note before risking her life.
1:30. Went for a run. Back by 2:30. Logan picked up the note and flipped it over, thinking surely she’d left more than that. But no. That extremely vague and short note was all there was. He blew out his breath as he thought. 1:30. She’d been gone for half an hour. It was true that Brandon was probably off their backs but even so, what was she thinking? He thought he had convinced her of the danger she was in. Or at the very least, the bullet shattering the glass store front beside her head should have. But apparently not. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He fumed as he jammed his feet into his shoes. And he fumed as he grabbed their backpacks and the remaining room key off the desk. He expelled some of his steam when he slammed the door to their room, and again as he slammed the door of the car. But as he circled the lot, it came back full force. She could have gone one of two ways. Left would take her out to the highway and eventually back to the interstate. Right wound through a residential area, with multiple streets and blocks. The highway would be darker but the residential area would be safer. Probably. But who was he kidding? If she was that concerned about safety, she wouldn’t have gone for a run while she was on a hit list. He turned right.
And soon began to worry he had made the wrong choice. He had worked his way through the streets and still hadn’t found her. It was completely possible that he had missed her. He could have turned down one street as she had turned up a different one. Or he could have pulled off of a street that she was just turning on. But it worried him just the same. Brandon wasn’t the only psycho he was worried about. Kidnappers and killers came in all shapes and sizes. And they weren’t the only dangers. In unfamiliar territory, in the dark, it would be easy to miss a step. She could have accidentally stepped off the curb, or even stepped on something she wasn’t expecting. She could so easily be hurt or lost. As he circled the next block, the swell of anger that had built up against her slowly started easing back out to sea. He knew she liked to run. Or at least ran a lot. But he couldn’t imagine why she couldn’t sacrifice a few days of running while the danger was so high. Or why she wouldn’t have woken him up and asked him to go. It would have still been dangerous but having him along would have reduced the risk. As would a daylight run. So, why make such a sloppy, stupid choice? He turned another corner, moving slowly so he could see through the murky blackness. Unless she wasn’t jogging just to jog. Maybe for her it was more. Maybe it was a way of combating the insomnia and the continuous noise in her head. Did she run so she could have just a few minutes of peace? What would that even be like? To never be still. To never have quiet inside your own head. To never sleep soundly. To never have peace, even for a minute. Did Quincy use running as a coping mechanism, a way to gain peace? Even if just for an hour or two at a time? Possible. No, he realized. Probable. Very probable. The thought made him a little wistful. Dr. Garrison had been optimistic that, given time, Jones would be able to do the same. To find a way of coping with his hearing abnormality. To be able to live a full and productive life. Jonesy hadn’t believed him even though Logan had, and here was the possible proof right in front of him. Again, he couldn’t help seeing Quincy and imagining what could have been. He took a deep breath and blew it back out. He couldn’t worry about that right now. Jones was beyond his help but Quincy was right here. Or she should be. Where was that girl?
Logan turned back onto the highway and headed towards the motel. It was after three by now. It was possible he had missed her completely and she was back at the room. Where he would kill her. And then kiss her. Maybe. Or maybe that would just muddy the waters. Man, was he tired.
But all thoughts of killing her disappeared pretty quickly. He parked right in front of the room this time, knowing he would be leaving again whether she was in the room or not. If she was, they were hitting the road. Despite how tired he was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and figured they might as well capitalize on it. If she wasn’t, well, he didn’t know what he’d do but he doubted it would be staying in the room. But he knew before he opened the door that she wasn’t there. He stood in the open doorway, eyes closed, more worried than he knew how to say. She wouldn’t be almost an hour late without reason. It was stupid to leave the room at night without him but he could maybe understand her reasoning. What she wouldn’t do was say she was coming back at a certain time if she wasn’t going to stick to it. She left that note to try to keep him from worrying. Being late would only amplify his worry. No, she was late because she couldn’t get back. As he stood in the doorway, running possible scenarios
through his head, a car passed the motel, heading for the interstate. At the sound of the engine, Logan automatically glanced over. A dark mid-size, possibly a Sebring, headlights off. The windows were tinted, keeping Logan from getting a clear line of sight into the vehicle. But it didn’t matter. There were precious few reasons to drive at night without headlights. Quincy was in that car. He didn’t know how these guys had caught up with them again and he didn’t care. He could figure that out later. Right now, he needed to keep a visual on that car. Leaving the door to the motel room open, he bolted back to their rental and squealed out of the parking lot in the same direction.
Chapter 42
“We feel free when we escape - even if it be but from the frying pan to the fire.” Eric Hoffer
The need to escape, to breath, is intrinsic in nature. Built into each individual soul. The girl’s soul is no different.
Her mind, yes. But not her soul.
* * *
Quincy
Quincy’s feet pounded against the pavement in a slow, steady rhythm. She usually had trouble finding her pace at the beginning of a run but as the minutes stretched out, her mind would slowly begin to clear and her stride would gradually lengthen until she found that middle ground. Tonight was no different. As stressed as she was, the familiar routine of running started working its magic and she settled into that easy pace, and although her feet still beat to the phrase people like you, it was growing fainter with every step.
It was a beautiful night for a run, with a sky clear enough to see stars. Away from the main hub of the city, they lit up the night like a beacon, providing her with plenty of light to see the road in front of her. It was also quiet. So, so quiet. Once you made it far enough away from the interstate, it was almost like you were alone. For the first time since this madness started, she was alone and she could think. Could breath. Logan had been great, what with saving her life and all. His concern for her seizure-like headaches and his kindness and patience in not pushing her to talk were both endearing and appreciated. But she was used to being on her own. And even when she wasn’t alone, so few people noticed her that she felt invisible. Sharing a car, sharing a room, had been more together time than she was used to. Even though Logan would blow a gasket if he knew she had gone out alone, especially at night, she had needed this badly. The jog, the quiet of the night - she could finally let her guard down and think. And what she was thinking about wasn’t the assassination attempt. Or the long, monotonous drive. Or her weird headaches. Or even Logan. She was thinking about Kara Scott and Gracie Elliot.
It had been easy jumping from one alias to another. Seamless, really. Grace, Kara, even Quincy, were all very much alike. Part-time college kids working their way through school. Low-rent apartments, no personal belongings. They were walk-aways. She hadn’t really even needed much in the way of documentation to accomplish her goals. Applications to college were ridiculously easy to fake. Both the diner and the bar had been a breeze. Old Gus hadn’t even gotten around to making her fill out paperwork until the third or fourth week she had worked for him. She had been a little worried about the library at first. It was an upscale place, academic and above board. But they had accepted her college-issued i.d. without question. She wondered what they must think. Or if they’d even thought of her at all. She had missed her shift yesterday. And she obviously wasn’t going to be there today. She could understand the bar in Chicago not alerting the police. Bartenders were a dime a dozen and she got paid under the table. She probably wasn’t the first to walk away from that fine establishment and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. Even the diner in Boise probably hadn’t made too much noise. She was shockingly well-liked there, despite her penchant to keep to herself. The waitresses and Dave the fry cook treated her like their little pet and the truckers had quickly developed a protective streak, which she deeply appreciated. But again, people moved on. Sometimes with no warning. She did feel a twinge of guilt. Doris and the others had probably worried over her. She should send them a postcard, let them know she was fine. Fine-ish. But the library was a respectable establishment. They kept proper paperwork and employment records. She assumed. Surely someone would notice if she didn’t show back up. Or what about the Boatrights? Wouldn’t they worry if she stopped coming around suddenly? Some of the other shop owners, too, had become used to seeing her. And what about the shooting? Would anyone think to link that to Quincy’s disappearance? It was kind of depressing to think they might not. That she could disappear and no one would even blink an eye. She had deliberately created that distance, though. She had encouraged invisibility. So she had no one to blame but herself. Although Brandon disappearing at the exact same time as she did might ring some bells. Or make her that much easier to write off, she realized. The gossips down in Circulation would no doubt spread the word. They had overheard Brandon asking Quincy out and now they were both MIA. Wink, wink. Giggles all around. It did have a sort of symmetry, though. Brandon did, after all, have a secret rendezvous planned for her, although she was pretty sure he was the only one meant to enjoy it.
The road between the motel and the small neighborhood a few blocks away was level, with few cars going back and forth this time of night. The city apparently felt that street lights out here were either A, unnecessary, or B, an expense no one cared to pay. Probably a little of both. And without street lights, it was sometimes difficult to see, despite the light from the stars. But there was no sidewalk either so in the event a car did come along, she was going to have to take her chances.
Since she didn’t have her phone with her to play music or one of her audio books, she counted to herself. One, two, three, four, breathe, one, two, three, four, breathe. As much as she didn’t want to, she was going to have to ask Logan, point blank, what he had meant with this little quip. It would drive her crazy otherwise. And she needed the full version. She needed to know how Jones’s story connected to her. Why Logan had been looking for her. Why he felt the need to get close. Why he would risk his life to protect hers. She had a feeling, if she asked him directly, he would tell her. Which was maybe why she hadn’t done it yet. It was easier to ask vague questions and get vague answers back. But that wasn’t going to help her with whatever strangely surreal situation she’d found herself in.
She could hear the sounds of the night as she ran towards the housing development and it was oddly comforting. It sounded and felt so much like her route back home. Sheraton. She slowed a little as she realized she did kind of think of it as home. How she had allowed that to happen, she didn’t know. Friendship wasn’t the only thing she’d let slip under her guard these last few months.
And speaking of that friend, she was starting to feel kind of bad. If Logan woke up, which he probably would, and she wasn’t there, he would not be amused. It was worry for her, she knew, but after this afternoon, he might think the worst. The conversation in the car had gone from silliness over radio preferences to something more dark and intimate than she was ready for and she had shut him down pretty hard. She would hate for him to think she had ditched him after everything he had done for her. The note she’d left had been a pretty paltry effort and didn’t really assuage her conscience. She really didn’t know why she couldn’t answer his questions. He wasn’t asking for access to all her darkest secrets. He just wanted basics. Name, rank, serial number - he was a soldier, after all. But every time he asked a question about her past, something inside of her pushed back, hard, and she didn’t know why.
Logan had been tapping his fingers against the steering wheel for 17 minutes and it had become more than simply annoying. She was getting jittery, her nerves pulling even tighter than they already were. He was spreading his restlessness around and she didn’t appreciate it. They had swapped out driving when they stopped for lunch. Instead of fast food, Logan had suggested an actual sit-down restaurant and Quincy had readily agreed. She wasn’t used to spending so much time in a car. She ran and walked everywhere she went and this constant, prolonged inactivity wa
s going to be the death of her. And Logan too, if he didn’t stop drumming those fingers.
They hadn’t spoken since they left the restaurant over an hour ago. Quincy chalked it up to the post-lunch wind down, which was fine by her but she didn’t figure Logan had ever gone so long without talking. It had to be a record, but it looked like he was about to snap. She leaned forward and flipped the radio on, for background noise if nothing else. Anything to distract from that infernal tapping. His fingers stilled and Quincy leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, relieved. Momentarily. It wasn’t long before she could feel his eyes on her.
“What?” she asked, not bothering to open her eyes.
“Are you serious?” he asked. “This is what you want to listen to?”
She shrugged her shoulders dismissively and could practically feel the eye roll. She hadn’t been listening at all but since it obviously bothered him so much, she tuned in. Some kind of political shock jock, spewing angry nonsense for ratings and little else. She felt him shift in his seat as he leaned forward, flipping rapidly through stations before settling on something that sounded like country music. From the 80s or 90s.
“Oh yeah, this is much better Grandpa,” she teased.
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
It was a question asked rather for appearance than anything else, as he didn’t seem inclined to change the station regardless of her answer.
“Well, it’s no talk radio but whatever makes you happy, I guess,” she answered without any real heat.
“You can’t really tell me you like talk radio, right? I mean, you had to be going for background noise and not listening pleasure. Come on, ‘fess up.”
Shattered Highways Page 22