“He’ll be armed,” Masnick had added. “And carrying that much meth, I don’t think he’ll go quietly. Just so you know.”
Livia knew what Masnick was thinking: better for Weed to die in a gun battle than be sent back to prison. From Masnick’s standpoint, “killed by arresting officers” would be cleaner. More permanent. On top of which, with the passage of time and appropriate discretion, Weed’s death would pave the way for Masnick and Jardin to be open about their relationship, if not about when and how it had begun.
She used the modified Gossamer, duct-taped to the handlebars, to pace him from about a mile back. Carrying that much product, he’d be tail-conscious. She could have just attached a flasher to the bike and pulled him over, of course, but again, with that much product, she’d as likely get a gun battle as compliance. No, she wanted him off the road and out of his car when she finally approached him. Someplace she could talk to him in private, at last.
Just outside the remote town of Twisp, Livia saw from the Gossamer that Tyler was pulling over. It had been nearly three hours now, and she guessed he’d found a rest stop. This was it. Her heart started thudding in anticipation.
She drifted over to the gravel shoulder and used the Gossamer to confirm no other Hammerhead phones in the area. Unlikely Masnick would have set her up-the risk/reward ratio would have made no sense-but it paid to be cautious.
She continued on for another mile, and saw she’d been right. A rest stop along the Methow River. She eased off the highway, onto a gravel road, and into a little clearing carved out among the dense pine trees. She took in a couple of log cabins, not much more than outhouses. A maintenance shack. A lonely vending machine perched between signs for the women’s facility and the men’s. A picnic table. And a single vehicle in the parking lot: a gray Ford Super Duty, a light coating of road dust dulling the shiny new paint.
She parked about twenty feet away from the truck so Tyler wouldn’t spook when he came out, took off the helmet and set it down on the seat, and squatted alongside the engine so she would see Tyler as he emerged and could watch him as he approached. Just a female motorcycle enthusiast in full leathers, out for a ride on the glorious back roads along the Canadian border, examining her bike.
With luck, Tyler might even stroll right up and offer to help with any repairs she needed. Of course, if he did, there was a chance he’d spot the Glock she was holding alongside the cylinder head.
But not until it was too late to do anything about it.
45-THEN
Livia loved everything about San Jose State-the green campus in the middle of the busy city; the glorious weather; the classes on criminals and the justice system; the intense judo; most of all, being in a place where nobody knew her. She was just another freshman in a sea of more than thirty thousand students, in a city of more than a million. It was the most liberating feeling she’d ever known.
Her roommate was a blonde from Berkeley named Cindy. She was nice enough, but Livia didn’t like having to share a space. She needed a haven, a place where she could lock the door and keep everyone out. Where she could set up the Buddha and the photograph, and whisper her nightly vows to Nason without feeling awkward or having to explain.
Cindy picked up on her private nature, and seemed to understand it wasn’t personal. Probably she stereotyped Livia as a typical Asian kid, bookish and shy and obsessed with her studies. Livia was happy to play the role. It got people to leave her alone, and besides, she had to admit that on the surface, it wasn’t exactly inaccurate. But beneath the surface… she wasn’t sure what she was. Despite her newfound feeling of freedom, she still felt… apart from other people. She doubted any of the prosperous-looking students around her could even imagine the events of her past, let alone have survived them. That, and the secrets she kept locked deep inside, felt like a wall between her and the rest of the world.
At random moments, but especially when she was enjoying herself, she felt guilty. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone to college. Maybe she should have become a cop right away, so she could try to find Nason. But she knew it didn’t make sense to feel that way. Rick was a cop, and so was Gavin, and they hadn’t been able to find Nason. She didn’t see what she could do until Weed Tyler was out of prison. So there was nothing wrong with her going to college. But still, it hurt to remember her little bird, and she made sure to say her vows every night before she went to sleep, though when Cindy was in the room, she had to say them silently.
There was a boy on the judo team she liked-Colton, a junior, who had come to SJSU from Los Angeles specifically for the judo and who a lot of people thought had Olympic potential. He had light brown hair and green eyes, and a face full of freckles that reminded Livia of Sean. And he was a lightweight, close enough to Livia’s size so that they practiced together a lot, though she also made sure to train with bigger, stronger opponents. She knew life was less fair than the tatami.
One afternoon after practice, Colton asked if she wanted to get a drink. She didn’t trust alcohol because that time in Llewellyn it had made her feel out of control, albeit in a good way. But she said yes. They went to a bar near the school, and Livia had a beer. It made her feel buzzed, but not so much that she didn’t like it. Afterward, Colton walked her back to her dorm and kissed her goodnight. Livia really enjoyed kissing someone again-the kissing, and the tingling it caused. She wanted to do more than kiss, but after everything that had been done to her, she was afraid to try.
The next few times they went out, they kissed more. And then, one night, after several beers instead of the usual one or two, he asked if she wanted to come back to his apartment. She was afraid, and furious at herself for feeling that way-furious enough that she would have gone with him even if she hadn’t wanted to, because she was never going to be ruled by fear again.
But she did want to. She was afraid of what it would be like. But she wanted to try.
He put on some music-Rihanna’s “Pon de Replay,” a song Livia liked. Then they sat on his couch and kissed for a while, but it wasn’t like the other times, when she had felt the tingling. She supposed that, even buzzed from all the beer, she was too nervous. Colton started touching her, running his hands along her hips and breasts, and it reminded her of what Mr. Lone used to do, which was awful. But she wasn’t going to stop. It would have felt like a victory for Mr. Lone. So she let Colton undress her, and she undressed him, her fingers trembling as she did so. He eased her back on the couch and she tried to relax while he touched her, but it didn’t feel good, she wasn’t wet and tingling the way she was when she touched herself.
“I have a condom,” he said, breathing heavily. “Is it okay? Do you want to?”
She didn’t, but she knew she had to get past it. Had to at least try. So she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
He leaned away and pulled something from a drawer, then fumbled to get it on himself. She didn’t watch. She was afraid seeing his penis would make her remember too many horrible things.
He pushed her legs open-gently enough, but she didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all. Too many memories were being stirred up, too many terrible feelings. The way Mr. Lone had pulled the towel off her. And made her stop covering herself. Those things. And then Colton moved on top of her, and his weight was on her, and his arms were under hers, and she felt him poking at her, trying to push it in. But she wasn’t wet, and it hurt, and she just… she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.