The Methuselah Project (30 page)

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “You look too young to be a college prof, but I’ve never met a man my age who knows so much about classic literature. Are you a graduate assistant or something?”

The question elicited another amused smile. “What makes you think I’m your age?”

“Well, maybe not exactly my age, but close enough. I mean, you can’t be in your thirties, right?”

A playful twinkle gleamed in his eye. “Nope, I’m definitely not in my thirties. But to answer your first question, no, I never attended college. I’ve just read tons of books. Many of them more than once.”

She braked for a traffic light. “I’m getting a whole new perspective on you. When I picked you up outside that seedy motel, I never expected such a well-educated Yankee gentleman.”

After this ridiculous field exercise ended, might there be a chance of getting better acquainted with him?

“I guarantee that’s the first time I’ve stayed in a lowlife place like Shamrock Paradise Inn. I’m down on my luck, but I’m planning to bounce back. Once I find a job and earn a few bucks, I’ll be on my way.”

“Will work for food, huh? Right now, good jobs are as scarce as hen’s teeth.”

He was parroting some sort of script written by the HO. So how could she manipulate this job angle he kept mentioning? A gear clicked. Would he change his tune if she found him a job? “Roger, you look like you have a good build.”

Even before his lips curved up, she realized her Freudian slip. She ignored the warm glow in her cheeks.

“I mean, you’re in good health, right? A strong back? You can do physical labor?”

“My health? It’s fine. Why?”

“Is there any reason you need to stay in Atlanta, or could you work in another city?” She didn’t know how far to push this training-exercise business, but Roger—or whoever he was—fascinated her. She resolved to stay in contact while fulfilling the organization’s requirements.

Evidently caught off guard by the flurry of questions, her passenger shook his head with raised eyebrows. “No, I don’t have any ties to Atlanta. I just don’t have money for traveling back to Indianapolis.”

“I’ve got this friend named Woody, short for Woodrow, which he can’t stand. He dropped out of the University of Georgia to start his own tree-trimming business in Savannah. He once told me he’s always on the lookout for men with strong backs and a will to work. If you’re interested, Woody would be happier than a tornado in a trailer park. It wouldn’t be a cushy desk job, and there won’t be any health insurance or benefits, but it would be good pay. Cash at the end of each workday.”

Instead of grappling for excuses to decline as she half expected, Roger sat up straight. “That sounds perfect.”

Perfect? Really? What was he up to now? Okay, two could play this charade as well as one. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and scrolled to the correct number while steering the taxi with her left knee. Within moments she had Woody on the line and learned he definitely could use a worker.

“Terrific. He’ll be there tomorrow morning.” She shoved the phone back into her purse.

“Whoa, I don’t have any way to get to Savannah.”

Still feeling impulsive, she nodded. “Oh, yes you do. This will be off the meter, my good deed for the week. If you’ll agree to split the cost of gas with me, I’ll trust you to pay me back out of your wages from Woody. Besides, I’ve been wishing for an excuse to get out of Atlanta. For me, cruisin’ down to Savannah will be a nice little escape.”

He flashed a smile she was beginning to recognize as his trademark. “Believe me, I understand. Nothing in the world is quite so satisfying as a nice escape. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Then it’s all settled. We can hit the highway at the end of the workday. But right now, I’m famished. Let’s grab a quick lunch.” She switched on her turn signal and wheeled into a parking lot. “I’m craving a Big Mac combo with Dr Pepper. How about you?”

Roger paused, giving her a stare. “You know, Katherine, there’s a certain kind of hot sandwich I’ve been dying to eat for a long time. Is there any chance this restaurant might serve hamburgers?”

Now it was Katherine’s turn to stare blankly into his earnest-looking eyes. Then she exploded with laughter. “You crack me up. Yes, I’m pretty sure we can rustle up a hamburger at McDonald’s!”

M
ONDAY
, M
ARCH
9, 2015

B
UDGET
I
NN
, I
NTERSTATE
16, G
EORGIA

T
he next morning, Katherine was still toweling her damp hair when, for the fifth time, she paused to part the curtain of her Budget Inn window. This time Roger was not only awake but outside the cab and stretching. She giggled when he began a series of old-fashioned jumping jacks right in the parking lot.
If it was me who slept in the car, I’d need more than jumping jacks to work the kinks out of my back.

Katherine tossed away the towel and proceeded to brush her hair, which had lost most of its waves and hung nearly straight. She reflected back on the previous night’s drive down from Atlanta. By this morning’s light, the memory seemed bizarre. Almost surreal.

She hadn’t intended for the mention of a hotel to sound suggestive, but when she could barely keep her eyes open on the interstate, she’d had to confess she couldn’t stay awake all the way to Woody’s place. It had been either stop and get a room, or risk falling asleep at the wheel. Based on previous experience with wolves in men’s clothing, she’d expected this organization man to try finagling his way into the room, if not her bed. If he had, she would’ve protested, volunteered to pay for a second room, whatever. Instead, he’d simply asked to borrow the second pillow so he could sleep in the car. Case closed. No chance for her to flaunt Victorian principles.

“I’m afraid that seat won’t be very cozy.” She’d surprised herself by uttering the words.

“I’ve slept in worse places.” Then he’d disappeared out the door and climbed into the taxi for the night.

The memory left her—what? Wishing he’d expressed at least a hint of carnal lust for her, some romantic interest? She couldn’t resist wondering how his arms would feel around her waist. Maybe her freckles turned him off. She yanked the brush through her hair. Then again, this trip wasn’t real life.

Perhaps Roger, the Yankee gentleman, was a set-up specially designed to make her interested in a relationship with her dream guy so she’d let down her guard and make some kind of mistake. In reality Roger was probably some boring HO banker. She let out a puff of air. The point of this whole charade wasn’t to find a date.

The HO had set into motion some sort of field exercise to assess her strengths and weaknesses. That’s the only reason she’d dared to drive an unknown male to Savannah in the first place. But where on earth was this escapade headed? Instead of trailing so-called Roger Greene and keeping tabs on him, she’d ended up chauffeuring him and then offering him a job—which he’d accepted?

“What can the HO possibly see in this exercise?” she asked her reflection.

She unhooked the hair dryer from its cradle beside the sink and caressed her locks with warm air from the Low setting to avoid split ends.

True, Roger showed intelligence and owned a dazzling smile. He’d also been a perfect gentleman. Other than Uncle Kurt, she couldn’t remember the last man who had held the door for her and stood when she did.

On the other hand, he could irritate her. Like why did he pay such rapt attention to how she drove? Surely the organization didn’t award or subtract points for driving habits? Good grief, she wasn’t a sixteen-year-old taking a driver’s test.

“And another thing.” She turned off the hair dryer and waved it at her reflection. “That antique military jacket … is it supposed to be some kind of puzzle piece to figure out? He’s got to be wearing that old thing for a reason.”

Oh, great. The organization. They’d told her to check in when prudent, but she’d crawled into bed and forgotten. That probably cost her some points.

After punching the long-distance telephone number into her cell phone, she heard a male voice. “Yes?”

“This is Katherine Mueller. I’m on training exercises. Reporting in that I have had my quarry under observation for nearly twenty-four hours. The subject has been in contact with me, but he hasn’t attempted communication with anyone else during this time.”

Even as she spoke the words, she realized they might not be accurate. After all, Greene could have sneaked out of the car during the night, and she wouldn’t have known it.

The voice didn’t question her statement. “Understood. Another organization member will rendezvous today. He will take over the case from there.” Click.

What on earth? What was there to “take over”? Besides, how could another HO member meet up since she hadn’t even mentioned her location? Oh, of course. The same way she found Roger in the first place. The locator chip. He must carry it in a pocket, maybe in that old jacket.

A knock on the motel door interrupted her musings. Katherine donned the oatmeal-colored sweater Uncle Kurt had brought her from Ireland and opened the door. Outside stood Roger, looking well-rested and cheerful as ever.

“Good morning. Okay if I wash up?”

“Of course.” She stepped aside and let him enter, noting that even first thing in the morning Roger Greene cut an impressive profile of masculine good looks and physical fitness. She swallowed. Unlike many men, however, he didn’t behave as though he realized it.

Before long, the two had finished breakfast at a nearby Waffle House and were back on Interstate 16. Roger sneaked a look at Katherine. In the restaurant she’d barely touched her fried eggs and hash browns. A quieter mood had settled over his benefactor this morning.
She’s thinking something she’s not saying. I guess that makes two of us.

“Much farther to your friend Woody’s?”

“We’ll hit I-95 soon. From there we head north. He lives just outside of Savannah.”

He nodded, then resumed staring at the passing scenery. A large airplane glided overhead, apparently descending for a landing. He craned his neck to study this modern flying behemoth. Must be an airport nearby. When he noticed Katherine wordlessly observing him, he leaned back, then froze.

“Stop the car!”

“What? Are you going to be sick?”

“Just stop. Please!”

She angled the taxi onto the asphalt shoulder and braked to a halt.

He pointed. “Katherine, that sign …”

She followed his eyes and read aloud the brown-and-white road sign: “‘Mighty Eighth Air Force Heritage Museum and Memorial Garden. Exit 102.’ So what?”

“The Eighth Air Force …” This must be the same museum the librarian back in Atlanta had mentioned. He hadn’t realized they were heading anywhere near it.

“Doesn’t mean a thing to me,” she remarked. “None of my family was in the military. Or if they were, no one admitted it. My family lived in Germany back then.”

Roger stiffened. He studied her in a new light.
This cute southern girl is German?

“I still don’t get what’s so fascinating about the sign. Did you serve in the Air Force?”

Of course, her branch of Germans wouldn’t be the same as those he’d encountered in captivity. Besides, for her the war must be ancient history. He relaxed and nodded. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

“Aw, it couldn’t have been all that long ago. You’re what, about twenty-three, twenty-four?”

He couldn’t restrain the smile that grew on his face. “You’re a good guesser.”

“Were you ground crew, an air-traffic controller, or what?”

He hesitated. How much more could he reveal safely?

“A pilot.”

“Okay, mystery man, I can see you’re hiding something. But I’ve decided one thing: you’re no chainsaw massacre freak or anything like that. Tell you what, if that museum strikes you as so breathtaking, I can drive you there, if you want. It’s early, but they might be unlocking the door about now.”

Her suggestion lifted his spirits like a firm wind under an airplane’s wings. “Could you? I mean, I already owe you for the ride and meals. But if you have the time before going to Woody’s, that would be swell.”