Chapter 13
Thirteen
John’s knees ached. By his count, six and a half hours was way too long for a road trip without a break. He shifted in the tiny red car’s passenger seat.
“You can move to the back,” Vivian said. “So you can stretch your legs? Sorry about the car. I needed an automatic if we’re taking turns, and this is all they had.”
Because he couldn’t drive a manual.
“Nah.” He gestured to a blue sign with the image of a person sitting under a tree. “There’s a rest area ahead, though. Can we stop?”
Vivian pursed her lips. “Yeah, okay. We need gas anyway.”
“And to eat.”
She laughed. “Yes, John, and to eat.”
As they drove deeper into Spain, picturesque coastal areas had morphed into the grasslands.
From there they entered mountains, a desert, and then back to mountains.
Windmills sprang like redwoods from the hills, their blades lazily turning in the wind.
Over the last hour, John’s ears had popped as they descended onto this flat highway.
“We’ve got snacks in the back if you’re desperate.” She touched his knee, which sent a jolt straight up his leg.
“If you hand me another protein bar, I’ll throw it out the window.”
She flicked her indicator and exited the A-4, following signs around a loop that delivered them to the Abades Puerta Andalucía service area.
John laughed as the building came into view. “Popeye’s and Tim Horton’s?”
“Globalization, baby.” She parked at a gas pump tucked next to the rest area.
“Look.” He pointed to a kiosk for prepaid phone cards and a bank of pay phones bordering the building. “It’s a sign we’re supposed to stop here.”
“I’ll be able to check in with MacColl.”
He was happy to see pleasure in her eyes.
“I’ll pump.” Knees, elbows, ankles—all his joints protested as he unfolded himself from the car. He stretched and twisted as the tank filled. Even the rest areas around here were beautiful. Rolling hills, bright green trees and a sky as blue as the sapphire in Vivian’s ring.
After the pump clicked off, they parked under a covered space and entered the building.
As a person who lived on the East Coast and visited friends up and down the I-95 corridor, he’d been to his fair share of rest areas. This one stopped him in his tracks.
“It’s like a White Stripes fever dream,” Vivian said.
Everything was black, white or red. Besides the quick service restaurants, it contained a self-service convenience store, a gift shop, a live cooking station, a deli, a coffee shop and a tapas restaurant.
Bingo.
“Can we please eat there?” He pointed to the tapas restaurant.
Vivian scoped out the busy scene. “No.”
“Are you denying us tapas in Spain?” John eyed her. “That’s cruel.”
“There are too many people in here. But…” She glanced at the robust list of offerings posted at the entryway. “Compromise—carryout?”
He could live with that. “Deal.”
At the front of the line, Vivian ordered in halting Spanish.
The cashier lowered her brows. “?Perdóneme?”
John stepped forward and cleared his throat. In fluid Spanish, he said, “We’re on our honeymoon and want to picnic outside. Do you do carryout?”
The hostess’s face lit up. “Sí, senor. And congratulations!”
“Muchas gracias.” He ordered a half-dozen small plates, all the things Vivian loved, then added three more because he’d hate to leave hungry. After he finished, the hostess stepped away to give the order to the kitchen.
Vivian raised her eyebrows. “When you said you speak Spanish, I thought that meant you took it in high school, not that you’re fluent.”
Looks like he wasn’t the only one who made assumptions.
“Half my crew speaks Spanish. Makes my life easier to keep up with it.” He shifted his weight. “Hey, I need to hit the bathroom.”
She docked herself outside the bathroom. “Yell if anyone tries to grab you.”
He opened the door to the bathroom. “You’re not gonna stand there, are you?”
She tilted her head. “We’ve lived together for six months. I’ve heard things.”
“I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”
She lifted a shoulder. “If it helps, you’re the least gross human I know.”
Nope, he was still mortified. Game face, though.
“Now there’s a vow. ‘I promise to pretend to never hear you use the toilet.’”
As she laughed, he disappeared inside the bathroom. Exhilarating as their last few days had been, he understood why Vivian wanted to sleep in after returning from a trip abroad. Always on guard, at risk of missing planes, trains or ferries, literally running from bad guys.
This shit was exhausting.
After washing up, he returned to the hallway to find Vivian leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. Affection thudded through him. This poor woman. Come hell or high water, no matter how much she protested, he’d make sure she slept tonight.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ll wait for the food if you want to freshen up.”
Her eyes flew open. “What? Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
A minute later, the hostess beckoned to him.
“Congratulations again.” She handed him a heavy paper sack that smelled like heaven. “You make a lovely couple.”
“Gracias,” he said.
They did make a lovely couple. And now that he knew her secrets, they could rebuild trust. He meant what he told Beverly back at the office. Love doesn’t shut off. He loved Vivian as much as he had Jane. Possibly more.
Which felt like cheating…but not?
“Is that our picnic?” Vivian said from behind him.
He shook the food in the bag.
“Sorry.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I always startle you.”
“It’s fine. There’s no reason sudden movements or voices behind me should scare me.” He lifted the bag. “Let’s go eat.”
Most people remained inside because it was easily a hundred degrees today. But it was better for them to stay away from the crowd. On a lonely table in the picnic area next to the building, they spread out their takeaway containers.
This was the best moment of this trip, hands down.
Without much conversation, they gorged themselves on chorizo, Iberian ham, Manchego, deep-fried chipirones with a fresh squeeze of lemon, and piquillo peppers stuffed with goat cheese. Vivian’s appreciative moans were music to his ears.
The picnic table provided excellent cover for her effect on him.
“You win.” She stuffed a wedge of napkins into her mysterious, potentially lethal Mary Poppins bag. “That was better than a protein bar.”
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask—can you walk me through your gadget stash? I don’t want to accidentally poison you with an arsenic toothpick.”
“I don’t carry poison in my bag,” she said.
“What about the EpiPens?”
“They aren’t poison.” She sipped her lemonade. “I’ll show you, but you can’t mess with any of it. Some of this costs more than your house.”
“My parents’ house, but point taken.”
Carefully, she withdrew items from the bag and laid them in a row.
“In no particular order…” From a velvet envelope, she withdrew a necklace with a quarter-sized pendant.
“This is a camera. I get better pictures with this than my camera glasses because frequently, men stare at breasts.” She held up a pair of tortoiseshell frames. “And look past a woman wearing these.”
“That’s sexist.”
“I unfortunately have data to back it up. The glasses are also infrared, so they’re handy in the dark.” She returned the necklace and glasses to the bag, then held up a red piece of metal. “This is a portable door lock for extra hotel security.”
His spine stiffened. This woman was all of five-seven and a buck-fifty. She was out there in the world with nothing but this bag of toys and her wits.
Terrifying.
She continued identifying things as she shoved them back in the bag. “Perfume atomizer filled with chloroform. Privacy pen that detects bugs—that’s the one I took from you on the ferry. Lipstick from Coco. Vape pen.”
He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “You said you quit smoking.”
“I did.” She plucked the device from his grip and tossed it in the bag. “But people say crazy shit on their smoke breaks, so I like to have the option.”
“What about this?” He lifted a handkerchief. “Is it a secret gun?”
“Nope. Just a handkerchief.” She returned it to the bag.
“I can handle a gun if I need to carry, but the restrictions in most countries make them a pain in the ass. And I prefer up-close-and-personal defense. Better chance I’m actually taking out the intended target.
James Bond, Ethan Hunt, and Sydney Bristow would’ve been suspended for excessive gunplay. ”
John popped the last fried baby squid into his mouth. “What else do you have in there?”
“This.” She held up a red plastic box with a white cross on the front of it. “First-aid kit. Band-Aids, pain pills, Neosporin, butterfly stitches, et cetera. Those are all the real deal, but the EpiPens are my, uh, special vintage.”
“Is that everything?” he asked. He was grateful for the walkthrough. If he avoided chloroforming or propofoling himself, he’d be fine.
“I think…oh, wait.” Vivian winced. “I lied about the poison thing.”
He coughed on the squid. “Oh?”
She lifted the pendant of the necklace she always wore when she traveled. In that first month they dated, she said it had belonged to her dead mother and was her good luck charm. Her story had prompted him to talk about his Zippo.
“This is my L-Pill. It’s a cyanide capsule in case I get captured by very bad people.”
The blood in his veins chilled. “Jesus, Vivian.”
She draped her hand over his. “Don’t worry. I’d never actually use it. It’s just protocol to keep it handy while I’m in the field.”
He wanted to yank it from her neck and throw it in the dumpster.
* * *
Based on John’s bulging jaw muscles, he wasn’t happy about the L-Pill. Fuck, she wasn’t happy about it and tried not to let her potential capture and demise get to her.
Vivian stood up and collected their trash. “I’ll pitch this and make the pay phone call we talked about. Could you keep an eye on the car?”
“Sure you don’t want me to come with?”
“I don’t know what’ll come up in the call, so it’s best if you stay here.”
He nodded.