“Both.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, my my my. You are going to be in so much trouble when we finally find a bed.”
Narice purred softly. “So are you.”
Saint truly enjoyed Narice Jordan’s company and wondered if she was his reward for having sacrificed so much for God and country. Lord knows, if he had a normal life she would make the perfect mate. Problem was, his life wasn’t normal. At a moment’s notice he could be in Zimbabwe, Turkey, or jailed in Thailand. Doing this and that wasn’t a nine-to-five gig; he couldn’t come every night and say, “Honey, I’m home.” Looking at her, he felt a pang go off inside himself that made him think about what might have been had he chosen a different path. The moment was not only memorable but scary in a way, because until now, Saint had never questioned his plan to journey through life alone. “I’d better get back on the road. We need to cover a lot more miles before we find a place to sleep.”
Narice plainly felt the change in him. “Something wrong?”
“Nope.”
That said, he let down the brake and steered the car back onto the dark road. Fixing her clothes, Narice didn’t believe him for a minute.
For a while, the interior was quiet. Narice didn’t mind the silence, it let her release her frustration with him and to turn her mind to other things: like this search they were on, her parents, particularly her father, and how he may have spent his last days. Was the Eye really buried somewhere in his hometown? The silence also gave her an opportunity to think about the man behind the wheel. He didn’t impress her as being traditional when it came to gender issues, but maybe she was wrong. “If I’m being more aggressive than you like you need to say so.”
Saint looked away from the road. “Who said anything about that?”
Narice shrugged. “One minute you’re getting me all hot and breathless, and the next you shut down and go far away.”
“Personal issues. Nothing to do with you.”
That only added to her skepticism, but rather than call him on it, she put him out of her mind and fished around in the console between them. “Mind if I put in some CDs?”
“Help yourself,” he said emotionlessly.
So she did, then settled back.
Because of the APB Saint had been warned about by Myk, he didn’t want to be stopped by any member of the Kentucky law-enforcement establishment. With that in mind, he kept Lily’s speed under seventy during the hour or so drive to Lexington. He noticed that Narice hadn’t said a word since asking about the CDs. He supposed that had a lot to do with him, he hadn’t exactly been chatty and he’d broken off their last encounter pretty abruptly. He was still thinking about that, his life, and the choices he’d made. An old mentor once told a much younger Saint that when you start questioning the value of what you do, it’s time to get out of the business. Saint didn’t question the value of his work; he knew very few brothers who’d been privileged enough to carry messages from the Dalai Lama, climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, watch snow leopards at play in the wild, or go diving off the Great Coral Reef. He’d also helped topple foreign governments, infiltrated drug cartels, and posed as a Saudi prince. Doing this and that defined him, but who would he be when it became time to hang up his coat? It was a question Saint couldn’t answer.
It was almost ten P.M. when they entered the Lexington city limits, and the streets were fairly deserted.
“I need to make a pit stop,” he told her. “And I’m sorry, Narice. See why cheetahs don’t make good pets?”
He turned to her.
She studied him for a long moment. “Takes a big man to apologize.”
He didn’t reply.
“Thanks,” she finally told him. “And, yes, a pit stop sounds good.”
“No more being quiet, okay?”
She could see him studying her in the dark, so she said, “You’re driving. I didn’t want to be distracting.”
“You can forget about that.”
“Why?”
“Angel, everything about you distracts me—from your perfume to my thinking about your hot underwear.”
His candor widened her eyes and she stared in amused amazement.
He defended himself. “Hey, I’m a man. What can I say? It’s what men think about.”
She couldn’t suppress her chuckle. “What else do men think about?”
“Whether she liked your kisses? Whether she’ll really let you make love to her when the time comes?”
The embers of Narice’s passion slowly stirred. “And the answer to both is, yes.”
He laughed. “See what I mean about distracting?”
Narice smiled and sat back.
On a spur off the main highway they found a combination gas station convenience store, and got out. Narice noticed a black sedan parked on the side of the brightly lit building. She beat down the urge to stare over at the car’s shadowy occupants and felt a shiver of something cross her soul. As she and Saint reached the door, he opened it for her and she asked, “Did you see that car?”
“Yep.”
“Our friends?”
“Maybe.”
They went inside. The restrooms were in the back. Saint kept an eye on the door and said to Narice, “You go on. I’ll be right here. Careful coming out, though, just in case I’m entertaining guests.”
Narice knew what he meant by guests, so she nodded and headed for the door marked Ladies.
Although there were lots of munchies stashed in the SUV, Saint bought himself a hot cup of coffee, a couple of chocolate candy bars, and a bag of chips. Carefully positioning himself so he’d be able to see the door and Lily, he asked the young brother behind the counter, “Cops got you under surveillance?”
The kid shrugged, “You mean that car outside?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess so. Last few nights, we had some people drive off without paying for their gas. The manager tried to fire me but I told her it wasn’t my fault. She said I should’ve stopped them.” He looked at Saint and said plainly, “She can kiss my ass. They not paying me for that.”
Saint chuckled. “You’re right man.”
The kid took Saint’s money and bagged his items. “Nice-looking lady you came in with. She your wife?”
“Yes,” Saint lied, pulling his bag from the counter.
The kid then looked nervous. “I wasn’t beaming on her or nothing, man.”
“It’s okay. Do me a favor. I’m going in the john. If anybody gets out of that car, holla.” Saint gave the clerk a hundred-dollar bill. “Think you can do that?”
The kid held the bill up to the light. Seeing that is was true and not counterfeit, he told Saint, “Hell, yeah.”
Saint grinned then headed off.
Saint was inside the restroom washing his hands when he heard. “Yo! YO!”
He moved quickly to the door. Easing it open just a crack he saw Ridley, Gus, and a man with carrot-red hair Saint had never met entering the store. He quickly closed the door, then tried to plan what he wanted to do. First, he needed to hope Narice would see them before they saw her and he needed to get out of this bathroom. The dimensions were too small. There were three of them and only one of him. If a fight broke out in here he’d get his butt kicked big-time. To negate that scenario, he stuck his hand in his pocket, positioned his fingers on his gun, then walked out of the bathroom as if he didn’t have a care in the world, saying, “Well, look what that cat drug in.”
But his swaggering stopped when he saw the gun pointed at the temple of the scared clerk.
Ridley said, “St. Martin, if you would be so kind as to hand over the weapon I know you have in that coat of yours, this young man will live to see tomorrow.”
Saint slowly brought out the gun. The redhead took the weapon.
Ridley pulled his gun down and told the kid, “Shift’s over. Go home.”
The wary kid looked from Ridley to Saint.
Saint held the clerk’s eyes and said quietly, “Go on home.”
The clerk didn’t have to be told twice. Grabbing his cell phone and CD player, he made a quick exit.
Narice opened the door, but remembering Saint’s warning, she cracked it just a little and looked around the store to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn’t. She closed the door and scanned the bathroom for another way out. The small window by the sink was all she had.
“Now,” Ridley said to Saint. He walked over and placed the nose of his gun against Saint’s temple. “I’m assuming Ms. Jordan is in the restroom. Gus, go get her. Jacobs, get the lights. If the citizens think this place is closed, we won’t be disturbed.”
The redheaded Jacobs hit the switch and plunged the store’s interior into a state of semi-darkness cut through with beams of light from the street lamps outside.
The patch-wearing Green hustled back from the ladies room. “She’s not there. Window’s open, though. She must’ve lit out. I’ll go look outside.”
Even with Ridley’s gun ready to blow his brains out, Saint cheered Narice’s spine and spunk.
Narice had already slipped into the driver’s seat. When she saw Green come out and begin walking to where Lily was parked, she almost panicked then remembered the glass was one-way; he couldn’t see her. The fact that the lights were now out in the store gave her a queasy feeling. Where was Saint? Had they already killed him? She fed Lily the key and revved the engine. She had no choice but to take matters into her own hands.
Green jumped back like a ghost had appeared. It took him a moment to figure out what was happening, but by then Narice had thrown the stick into reverse and Lily was moving fast. Gus had the good sense to leap out of the way. Bracing herself for the impact, she and Lily came through the glass in an explosion of power and sound, knocking over shelves, displays and everything else in their way.
Saint wanted to cheer. He elbowed Ridley hard in the nose, then followed that with a quick uppercut that staggered his nemesis to his knees and sent a stab of pain through Saint’s hand. Ignoring if for now, he looked around for Jacobs and saw him running from the big Caddy barreling down on him like a runaway locomotive. Saint couldn’t decide which was louder, the store’s alarm, the big Cadillac-rumbling engine, or Jacobs’s screams of terror. A grinning Saint scrambled past the wide-eyed Ridley and tried to wave his lady down.
By now Green had run back into the semi-dark store, but Narice was doing her best to keep him and Jacobs occupied until she and Saint could hook up. She chased them like dogs after a rat. Turning the wheel and crushing everything in her path that wasn’t moving, she turned the inside of the store into shambles, but kept them in her lights and on the run. In their mad rush to stay out of her way, they tripped over canned goods, stepped on loaves of bread, and slipped and slid through the liquids on the floor left by broken bottles of everything from beer to tomato sauce. She didn’t see Ridley anywhere, but she could see Saint waving her down. She spun the wheel and charged forward. A blink later, Narice had the door open, Saint was in, and she barreled Lily out through the hole she’d made. As the tires peeled off the narrow sidewalk the Caddy bounced high, but Narice held the wheel firmly and headed out of the lot. In her mirror she could see Green limp out of the store, his gun raised. A few pings hit the SUV. Bullets she assumed, but she was too busy driving.
Saint swiveled around in his seat and stared back at the carnage. The store looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Eyes wide, he turned to her and said, “Damn girl!”
Narice could feel the adrenaline pumping and the rush of excitement singing in her blood. “Hey, couldn’t leave you behind.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, but the only thing still standing back there is the sign.”
“I’ll get it next time.”
He shook his head and settled in.
When the sign for 75 finally came into a view, Narice said, “I think we should take the real Drunkard’s Path now.”
Saint agreed. Every policeman in the state was going to be on their tail. Since the police would probably concentrate their search on 75, heading for another road seemed like a good idea. He reached down and punched up the map software. A new route using secondary roads showed on the screen. The drive across Kentucky would now take longer, but Narice and Saint didn’t care.
As they distanced themselves from the scene of the crime, Saint had no words to describe Narice. When he first met her she’d been just a name in a file; Narice Jordan—schoolteacher and daughter of the man The Majesty called the Keeper. He knew where she lived, how much taxes she’d paid last year, and that she’d never gotten so much as a parking ticket from the law. All the facts and figures had been in the file, but nothing that spoke to her strength or courage. “Want me to drive?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to ice this hand before it swells up like a pineapple.”
“How’d you hurt it?”
“Busting Ridley in the jaw.”
“Good for you,” she said with gusto.
Saint undid his belt and leaned around the seat to flip up the lid on the large blue cooler sitting amongst the tools, boxes, and other stuff he’d brought along.
Narice asked, “Do you want me to pull over so you can get what you need?”
“No. You keep driving. The more miles we put between us and the scene of Hurricane Narice, the better.”
She agreed.
Saint put the ice in a small plastic bag, then slid his aching hand into the cold cubes. After a few more moments the hand was so cold and numb the ache toned down.
Narice looked over at him in the dark. “Do you think it’s broken?”
“Hope not.”
The next big city on the original route was Knoxville, Tennessee, 181 miles south of Lexington. After that they’d twist and turn their way through the mountains to Chattanooga and then on to Atlanta. Right now, Atlanta was a good 300 miles away. They had a long way to go.
A few minutes later, the sign appeared for Reed’s Crossing, where according to their map, they could pick up Highway 421 that ran a drunken path parallel to the interstate. They’d still be traveling south, but the highway made enough of a swing east before reconnecting with 75 that Saint hoped it would throw the dogs off the scent.
Being a city girl, Narice didn’t like driving the backwoods, but tonight because 421 was shut down for some type of repairs they were following the detour. “Do you think we should turn around and go back to 75?”
Saint shook his head. “No. This may be a blessing in disguise.”
“The road is certainly disguised. Where the heck are we?”
Saint used his free hand to bring up the map. A cursor blinked their position. “There.”
“Doesn’t matter. I still don’t know. Country people need to get some streetlights.”
It was as dark as Narice had ever seen. Third-world countries probably had better lighting. To make matters worse the road was narrow and unpaved. Good thing Lily did all-terrain well, otherwise they might be sitting on the side of the road with flat tires. “I can’t believe I tore up that store that way.”
“I felt like I was in Bonnie and Clyde.”
“I know. Can I go to jail?”
He smiled at her question. “We’ll tell them you did it for God and country. Don’t worry about it. The government has a budget line for stuff like that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“So I won’t get a visit from someone’s lawyer down the road?”
He chuckled. “No, Narice. I’ll take care of it, soon as we find the Eye.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I know you will.”
She turned her attention back to the road. “How do you think they found us, again?”
“Don’t know. Last time they saw us we were heading south. Ridley and Gus are smart but it doesn’t take a whole lot of brains to station a few teams along the road south and wait. We were at the farm overnight. That would have given them plenty of time to se
t something up.”
“So we stumbled on them—they didn’t find us?”
“Exactly.”
“Lucky us,” Narice cracked. “Now they know what we’re driving.”
“Plate too, probably, but Myk gave me plenty of fake plates. We can be from any state or country in the world.”
Narice didn’t know why she was surprised. “You two thought of everything.”
He looked around at their dark surroundings. “Everything but this detour. Where the hell are we!”
Neither of them knew, but Narice kept driving and prayed she didn’t miss a detour sign in the dark.
Thirteen
After another thirty miles of twists and turns on the narrow road, Saint made an executive decision. “Angel, we passed a campground sign a little ways back, I say we hole up there until morning. Even with the GPS it’s too damn dark out here.”
Being an urban African-American Narice wasn’t sure how she felt about camping out in nowhere Kentucky in the middle of the night, but decided she’d come too far to wimp out now. “I’m game.” In the meantime, all the ruts and holes were rattling her spine and teeth. Lily might be an SUV but this road with its posted speed limit of 45 mph was more suited for an F-150 than a souped-up, tricked-out Caddy. Narice felt like she was driving a stagecoach.
A sign appeared in the headlights: CAMPGROUND CLOSED.
She turned to her ever-resourceful companion. “Now what?”
“Guess we keep driving.”
So, that’s what they did.
Narice gave up the wheel an hour later and Saint took over. His hand still ached but he’d sustained worse injuries, so he just dealt with it. “You can stretch out in the back if you like.”
The two rows of seats behind them were folded down. Piled on top of them were various long-handled tools, coolers, boxes, Narice’s suitcase, and myriad supplies he’d brought along. Lie down where? “I’m tired, but not tired enough to sleep on a cooler.”
They shared a grin in the dark.
She added, “Besides,” and she cuddled up next to him as much as the bucket seats and the console between them would allow, “you stayed awake while I drove. I should at least do the same.”