Nick stroked her hair. “You didn’t know it would go like this. And you wanted them to be near their main sources. Ohio wouldn’t have provided any of them.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “That’s true.”
Chloe came out of the house carrying a basket of muffins and croissants. “Anyone still hungry?” She stared down at the basket she held in both hands, levitated a muffin, and flung it through the air. Nick caught it one-handed.
Chloe beamed. “God, that feels good.” Before she could pitch any others, a familiar rumble reached their ears.
“Riley’s here!” Sam straightened and strode toward the front of the house. The Charger came into view, and he froze, his heart leaping into his throat.
“Son of a bitch!” Nick flew past him, fury in every line of his body.
The side of the car was wrecked.
Before Sam could take another step, the driver’s door opened, and Riley spilled out onto the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
Success can be measured in many ways, and one is the range of partnerships made available by status and authority. Never hesitate to seek partners in unusual places, even in spheres that might seem opposed to our aims.
Driving with Tom was like driving alone. He never talked until Riley asked him a direct question, never requested a rest stop, never offered an opinion on where to get food or sleep for a few hours, even when asked. On the plus side, he didn’t seem to care what kind of music she played.
She merged onto I-95 near Mystic, a few miles from the route they’d take to Chloe’s, and Tom offered to drive. He hadn’t offered to do that at any point along the trip, not even during a major traffic jam outside New York City or when they were almost sideswiped by a gray sedan that changed lanes too quickly. Weird.
“We’re nearly there,” Riley demurred. “I’m okay to make it the rest of the way.”
“You must be tired, though. You can navigate.”
“No, thanks. There’s GPS.” She motioned to the unit, which beeped obediently and told her to drive one point four miles and then take the exit right.
Riley took inventory of the cars around them. She’d studied everything around her intently for the first hundred miles, cataloging dents and scratches and bent antennae and anything else that would help her keep track of followers. The longer they drove the harder it became to remember everything she’d seen, but she hadn’t been able to stop trying.
Like that gray sedan passing them now. It didn’t look any different from the dozens of similar cars on the road, except for a slight curve in the edge of the hood, like something had bent it a little. She’d swear the car that almost hit them yesterday had the same curve.
“Tom, look at that car up there. The one that just passed us. Did we see it yesterday?”
He glanced at the other lane, not even moving his head. “No.”
“Are you sure? They all look similar. But that one has a dent that—”
“It’s not the same. Trust me. That’s what I’m here for.”
Riley frowned at him, but he didn’t react. That was the most he’d said at one time since he got in the car. She sped up to get near the sedan again, trying to figure out why she had this low-burning anxiety, despite Tom’s dismissal of her concern. She’d missed something—she could sense it.
And then she felt it, too. The prickling, like in Anson’s office.
She was cruising in a pack—I-95 was one big pack most of the time—but could still pinpoint the origin of the sensation. The gray sedan, now a couple of cars ahead of her in the left lane. Son of a bitch.
There was only one way they could have found her.
She stole a quick look at Tom, who crossed his arms over his chest and watched the passing landscape. She tried to keep her breathing even and quiet.
With her exit coming up, Riley didn’t have much time to formulate a plan. She slowed gradually to let the sedan get far enough ahead that they wouldn’t be able to get over fast enough to follow, but they must have been watching her closely. They smoothly dodged cars and switched lanes until they were two cars behind her. Riley debated her options for a few seconds. Stay on or get off? Taillights flashed ahead, so she hit the ramp to Route 234. Maybe she could lose them down there.
“Something wrong?” Tom asked, eyes now narrowed on her. He shifted so his left arm was across the back of the seat, his hand uncomfortably close to Riley’s head, and rested his right hand on the dash. Good placement to grab the wheel…
A bubble of hysteria threatened to make her laugh. She needed metal and a plan. She’d tucked one of Nick’s shotguns from the trunk next to her seat since she wasn’t wearing any metal. She hadn’t wanted anything in direct contact with her skin, afraid she’d unconsciously draw energy and burn herself again. Plus, Tom was supposed to be on her side, dammit.
“No,” she answered his question as calmly as she could. He’d never expect to be shoved out the door, but she couldn’t reach his door handle from here, and even the shotgun probably wouldn’t give her enough strength to succeed, and opening the window and sticking her hand out to use the vehicle’s chassis would be too obvious. He’d be able to yank her away before she could draw enough energy.
But maybe she could do something less physical. She ran through the steps in her head until she knew what to do.
She had to act quickly. Traffic had thinned considerably on this smaller road, and Riley and the sedan were already the only cars on the quiet two-lane. Towering trees dappled the road with shadow. The few houses were mostly large, on giant tracts of property and set way back from the road. There were few streets to turn onto, all residential neighborhoods lined with cars. No room to maneuver, no way to get enough speed to lose them. Besides, the Charger was too distinctive to stay lost for long.
Riley spotted a crossroads up ahead that was open enough for her plan. She reached down next to the seat to grip the shotgun while she hit the accelerator, sucking energy and concentrating hard on using it to pull the door handle on the passenger side. Please work, please work, please work. A click reverberated along the thread of energy, like the vibration of a thread on a spider’s web. Yes!
Riley jerked the wheel left, spinning the car. The door flew open and Macho Tom, who hadn’t bothered wearing a seatbelt, flew out the opening with flailing arms and a shouted curse.
Riley kept the car going in a circle. It lurched almost to a stop, facing the way she’d been going originally. She hit the gas, the vehicle’s momentum slamming the passenger door closed. In the rearview mirror, she saw Tom sit up at the side of the road. The sedan sped by him without even slowing down.
No time for her to even take a breath. She’d slowed so much the sedan closed in on her tail, then suddenly whipped out into the oncoming lane and pulled up next to her. She glanced quickly over but only saw two silhouetted figures, their shapes unlike the men who’d been in Anson’s office. But the prickling was a lot stronger now, with them only a few feet away, so they had to be part of Numina.
The passenger motioned her to pull over.
“Hell, no.” Time to see what Nick’s car was capable of.
She slammed on the accelerator and pulled ahead, letting up for the curves but picking up speed halfway through each of them. The car was heavy and the steering tight, but it handled those curves like a lover. She whooped as she rounded the third turn, the sedan so far behind now she couldn’t see it. But she didn’t let up. She kept going, reducing her speed to a safer level, but still flying toward the ocean and Sam.