As we rolled onto the road, I noticed the iPod at the bottom of Sam's duffel bag and remembered how his voice between Coldplay songs had been my lifeline. I held the iPod to my chest, laughing at the crazy risks he'd taken, and remembering the eggs dripping from his face when Daniels and Stone had slammed him into the breakfast cart.
"Couldn't leave any evidence behind," said Sam, referring my leaving the iPod hooked into hotel bar's stereo system. I'd set the unit to replay one song, but had anyone forwarded to the rest of the album they would have heard Sam's secret message and we would all be in deeper trouble. "Wish you'd hear my message sooner," he added. "Would've saved us both some heartache."
"Doesn't matter. You were there for me. Obviously, I didn't return the favor." Guilt weighed not heavily enough on my mind, but Sam shrugged off my remark.
Deeper in his bag I found more bottles of water, energy bars, a change of clothes from James, dress shoes. My nosiness paid off when I discovered the prescription bottle.
"Sam, I thought you finished your antibiotics."
"They pumped me full of them at the hospital. Those must be the first round from the clinic." He punched out the light and sped toward the interstate. "Let's lay low. No lights."
Tipping the bottle, I stole a pill, grabbed a water bottle, and swallowed the dose.
Sam punched the light back on. "What the hell was that?"
When I didn't answer, he leaned across the cabin and jerked up my sweater.
"Let me see it. Right now." He shoved his palm into my gut and I yelped. When he felt the heat and swelling of my abdomen, he looked at me sideways and punched off the light. "She never lies, Max."
CHAPTER 34
Near the base of the Catskills we turned into a roadside café with a gas station attached, a true local joint with peeling paint and a half-lit Open sign that fit Sam's undercover standards. We hadn't spoken since he'd discovered my infection. The look of disappointment on Sam's face imprinted into my mind, but at least that replaced the image of Daniels.
"I could eat a horse." I said, hesitating to break the silence.
"You might get your chance here." He inspected the restaurant's wood-shack facade as we rolled toward gas pumps.
"We just got gas. And there's no state line this close to the Catskills."
"Nope. But there's plenty of midnight flapjacks." He motioned to the dancing pancakes poster in the restaurant window as we drove behind the building, shouldered up to a stand of pines and set the brake.
"Thought you'd be in a hurry to get rid of me by now," I said, but he ignored me. "An hour tops and you could both be free."
For a couple of minutes Sam sat behind the wheel, jaw grinding, answering phone texts, growing more tense. When I leaned for a look at the messages, he hid the phone from view.
I rolled the antibiotics bottle in my pocket, the rattle of pills harmonizing with my nerves. "You're not going to trust me again, are you?"
He whipped around. "I've trusted you with my life. My job. You wanna act like you're not getting a fair shake here, go ahead. But if I insist on full disclosure on your part it's because I'm the professional, you're the civilian. You can't know everything, Jules. You're not trained for this. So quit feeling sorry for yourself. And start telling the truth once in a while."
"Why, you never do," I mumbled, biting my lip, a little scared now that I'd pushed his hidden buttons.
"Because you know just enough to be very, very dangerous. And you make stupid decisions. Not always. But often enough to give me a fucking heart attack." He started to get out of the truck, then reached back and pulled the keys from the ignition. "And if you weren't so busy planning your escape, you'd have your head in the game. Your eyes have been burning a hole in that goddamn steering wheel for the last twenty miles. I'm sick of it. You don't want to drive, you wanna run."
"I thought running was the whole point here."
"You know what I mean, damn it."
Sure, my escape from him. "The state line was your plan, not mine."
"Yeah, and you protested that plan damn hard."
He slammed the door, jolting the truck. A beat later he popped the hatch, ordered Max out, then slammed that door too.
A ball flew into the woods and Max gave chase. Sam slouched and followed him, melting into the pines. My heart sank to my ankles, where a puddle called my ego was forming.
Good job, tough girl.
I hopped from the truck. Bitter cold forced me to curl my arms together under Malta's old down coat as I followed my guys into the grove, Max's barks serving as crumbs to guide me. The trail snaked through trees that creaked with the wind as moonlight shards sliced through the darkness. In the distance, Sam's shadow leaned against a tree, his hands stuffed into his car coat, his back to me. For a guy trying to control every situation, every outcome, self-doubt wafted off him like thick cologne.
"You never react when I come up behind you," I said.
"I know your step." His voice was cool. Max dumped the ball, and Sam kicked it across the ground of bark and dirt. "Studied you at your apartment. You lean left. Probably an old injury."
Nothing escaped him, especially not my body. I loved that about Sam. My eyes had studied him, too. I could recognize his misery hunch from two hundred feet in a snow flurry.
"From the accident," I said. "Took eight months of therapy to walk straight again."
He made a quarter turn and gazed up through the canopy at a smattering of stars visible between clouds. "Now I understand why you were so frustrated with your legs at the hospital."
Behind him I found my own tree to hold up my courage. "You were right, Sam. Eventually, I need to be on my own. You planned it this way for a reason. Besides, we could never work."
"Give me one honest reason why not."
I sighed, clouding the air, picking at the tree's rough bark under my hands. The more intense our feelings had grown, the greater my desperation to separate grew, the harder the lies were to speak. "Because we might escape this trouble, but you'll go back for the next assignment. And the next." Just like I'd done to Luke. "Stone was right about that. This isn't just a job to you, it's your lifeblood. You'll never leave. And I'd never ask you to."
I pushed off the tree. "But I can't live in that world and stay sane, Sam. I may stay alive, if I'm lucky, but I'll go nuts waiting for you to come home in a body bag."
Max dropped the ball at Sam's feet, scooting backwards in anticipation of another chase.
"You must have dated a real gang of thieves, lady." Sam crouched and took up the ball, rolling it in his hand. Max barked and Sam launched the ball like a rocket. "Finally had a chance at happiness with your precious Luke. Till death do you part."
"That's not fair." I surged forward, my breath punching the air. "This isn't Luke's fault."
"I agree. This isn't fair." He faced me. "He's dead and I'm not. Neither are you." Sam turned and marched down the path.
Max trotted alongside, the ball holding his mouth ajar, his tail high. At least one of us was enjoying himself.
"This shouldn't be so difficult for a tough guy like you. You've handled gunshots and thugs and crazy women alike, remember. A little breakup's gotta be worth what, a second of your time before your next case, if that."
Sam did a three-sixty. "It's hard for me because I fell for you. The whole act. I lapped it right up. You wanna laugh at me for that, for giving a damn about someone, for wanting something more for myself? Of all people, Jules."
My voice hitched. "What are you saying?"
He dragged a hand over his face, as if that could hide his glossy eyes. "I'm saying…" He stared at the forest floor, like he was searching for a way to take it all back, to give me a dose of my own medicine. "Fuck, I'm not saying anything. Nothing at all."
Max barked. I took the ball and threw it into a clearing encircled by fir trees that pointed like daggers against the night sky.
"I thought this is what you wanted."
Sam's fingers tore at the back of his neck. "Some tough guy. Can't keep you alive, if I can't even keep you."
Finally, I understood his fury, and the choice he'd been giving me. Cameron proved to be a cheat, made certain Sam knew he wasn't wanted. And here I was ditching him willingly, not fighting for him. Even among the soldiers I'd known, nothing spelled weakness like a man's inability to keep his woman. This wasn't about trust or family or even loyalty. This was about someone loving Sam. To the bitter end.
"Luke didn't do this to me, Sam. I did." I stepped closer. Maybe full disclosure only went one way with Sam, but truth would give him a little peace of mind, which was a hell of a lot more than Cameron had given. "I was the one in relationships who ditched first. Most guys thought we were fine, till I was halfway around the world and not returning their emails. My job was always a ticket to freedom when I felt trapped. And Luke was only a matter of time. Engaged or not. Maybe I didn't kill him, but I certainly wasn't offering him an honest life. I'm not a cheat, Sam, and I'm loyal to the core. But I'm no Gibraltar either. I can't be who you need me to be. Stability just doesn't run in my family."
Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding that he understood.
"You've seen the tremors come and go," I said. "That's not relationship material. You need someone solid, someone you can count on, who'll be there for you day in, day out. Someone sane to come home to. I want that for you so much it hurts. But I'm terrified that isn't me."
We stood side by side, staring into the placid field of wild grass tipped with frost, the mist penetrating my cheeks, my eyes. There's nothing I couldn't bear, I realized, except hurting this man. Clearly we needed to end this soon. The further we traveled, the closer we grew, and the more our inevitable separation would feel like tearing skin from skin.
Max ran through the field searching for his ball, the tip of his tail visible above the tall grass, like a locator beacon. He darted back and forth, enthralled with the smorgasbord of smells and wild game, the explorer in him unleashed. I envied his freedom, his spirit. His fearlessness.
I slipped my hand into Sam's, wishing for his forgiveness.
"Truth is," said Sam, tucking our hands into his coat pocket. "You're my one true shot."
My breath shuddered. "I know."
***
We walked hand in hand toward the restaurant across a dark parking lot, our silent death march. Sam's firm grasp was unapologetic. He'd agreed to stick to the state line plan at my insistence, despite reservations, so we'd come to a solemn truce. Soon there'd be no more in-fighting or suspicions or hotel rooms or lovemaking. Just memories, preferably pleasant ones in the end.
The door's old-fashioned bell announced our arrival, and Sam signaled two fingers at a waitress. Her frilly dress reminded me of Nashville's Grand Ole Opry days. Crepe eyelids were laden with blue eye shadow, but her wrinkles said she was well beyond age-appropriate for the dress or makeup. A jeweled fingernail wagged toward the "Seat Yourself" sign.
I rounded the corner to look for a booth. And came face to face with a uniform. His nametag sat at eye level: Deputy R.T. Burke. He was staring at my muddy shoes.
"This way, baby." Sam's hand flattened on my lower back, guiding me to a far booth, where he waited for me to slide behind the table first, whispering, "Calm and steady."
"He just caught me off guard."
I jumped when the waitress slapped two menus onto the orange lacquered table. "Fresh pot's brewing. Buffalo burgers and chicken-fried steak are the house specialties, both twelve-ninety-nine. Denver omelet with red peppers is the breakfast special. Take your time deciding." She flurried back to the kitchen when a man's voice called "order up."
"This isn't going to get easier, is it?" I looked at my hands. When had the tremors returned?
"Shhh," said Sam, stroking my arm with a near-instant calming effect. I dropped my head against his shoulder, and his lips met my forehead. Having to leave Sam was not the same as wanting to leave him.
"Ah, that's sweet," cooed the waitress. "Newlyweds. I can always spot 'em." Her hand-drawn eyebrows arched as she remained hopeful of our confirmation.
"Right again." Sam gave her a taut smile and flipped his coffee mug right-side up.
"Just got this eye for love, you know." She shrugged as she untied and retired her white apron, her flat chest jutting forward. A tight ponytail helped hide the gray streaks in her hair.
Sam scanned the menu, while my eyes remained locked on Deputy Burke, watching which booth he chose, how he folded his newspaper back on itself, and how occupied he seemed with reading instead of inspecting us.
Sam pinched my arm. The waitress stared at me, and I realized he'd already ordered.
"I'll have whatever he's having," I said, leaning into Sam.
"Too cute." She scribbled and poked her notepad with the pen. "Up in a jiffy."
Sam hung his arm over my shoulder. "Relax. He's not going anywhere. You're always anticipating what isn't there. You must think that's what we do, but it's not. We don't anticipate. We calculate. Lot less anxiety that way."
"If you're telling me your training comes down to math, you should know I got a D in calculus."
Sam chuckled. "Not exactly. Try it. Just tell me what you see."
I re-examined the deputy, as if I had a camera lens to scan his body, frame his movements, even recast his skin color in a hue other than fatigue gray. "He's reading the
Times
. Probably educated. But he's squinting, like he needs bifocals but he's too proud to admit it."
"Pretty good, Rookie. Now watch how he interacts with his environment."
My mind replayed the tape of him sitting, getting comfortable. "I noticed the waitress brought his coffee the minute he sat, so I assume this is his usual stop. That outstretched arm makes him look like he owns the place. And he's sitting kind of low in the booth for a tall man. I'd say he's tuckered. Maybe he just woke up to go to work."