Chapter 17
Seventeen
Texas doesn’t feel like home, but it does feel familiar. A memory of a memory. Not just my severed childhood but my training to become what I am. When we passed by Camp Titan, only a few hours east of us on our way south through the state, I couldn’t help telling Naomi that’s where I trained.
I kept it at that. Probably shouldn’t have said anything. But I was born here. And then reborn here.
And now here I am again. Searching for a dark place that shouldn’t exist with a girl who’s remaking me all over again.
I pull the truck off the dirt road and cut the engine.
Just beyond the ridge lie the coordinates Static sent us.
I've been turning over the possibilities in my mind. I’ve seen all manner of government facilities.
Defended them and infiltrated them. And at the risk of sounding arrogant, there ain’t nobody better than me.
We know where it is, but we don’t know how heavily guarded it is.
Naomi knows she’s looking for a digital key, but she doesn’t know what it looks like.
The fog of this little war we’re waging wouldn’t bother me so much.
It wouldn’t scare me— if I didn’t feel responsible for the woman sitting in the passenger seat.
"We should get ready before we head over that ridge," I say, hopping out and walking to the truck bed.
Naomi follows, her face set with determination. It’s grown harder the closer we get to these coordinates, like it was when I first laid eyes on her in Montana. It’s still pretty, of course. But it had started to relax, to open. I miss it.
I unlock the toolbox built into the bed and feel around until my fingers close around the cold metal of two weapons—my Glock and a smaller Sig Sauer P238 that I sometimes attach at the ankle.
I check both meticulously, loading them with quick, practiced movements that require no conscious thought. When I look up, Naomi's watching my hands with a strange look while biting her lip. She realizes I’ve stopped to look at her and she shakes her head.
"I'm hoping we don't have to use these," she says as I hand her the smaller pistol.
"I hope so too. But a gun is better than hope in a shoot-out." I close the toolbox. "Have you ever used it?"
"I'm a decent shot," she says, testing the weight in her palm. "I go to the range all the time. It's a great stress reliever."
I catch her eyes with mine. "I mean for real."
Naomi looks at me thoughtfully, those blue eyes clear and direct. She shakes her head. "No."
The weight of that admission hangs between us. Most people haven't.
She knows I have.
"Well, I hope to keep it that way." I open her purse, one we picked up along the way because I didn’t think to get her one when I got us supplies, and she places it inside.
"But I plan to keep you safe no matter what." That hard mask she’s been building with every mile closer to this place cracks for a moment. She lets me see that she’s scared.
She locks eyes with mine. I see her features relax a little when she finds no doubt in them.
We climb back into the truck, and I drive up and over the ridge. What awaits us on the other side isn't what either of us expected. We don’t find a beige government facility with razor wire or guard towers.
We find a small town.
A very small town.
There are houses with sun-faded paint. A diner with a decaying neon sign. A truck stop. A gas station with a couple of pumps.
Naomi and I share a look. “This is not what I was expecting,” Naomi says.
“Me neither,” I say.
“You think we’re in the wrong place?”
I shake my head. “Best place to do bad things is a place that doesn’t look like it.”
I see Naomi nod. She works for the CIA. She may not have lived in the shadows like me, but she knows they’re out there.
"How do you want to play this?" Naomi asks. "We could wait until night. Sneak in."
I narrow my eyes and scan the town again.
"Hold on," I say, backing the truck up to where we can't be seen from the town. I grab a gas can from behind the seat and a length of hose.
"What are you doing?" Naomi asks as I twist off the gas cap.
I feed the hose into my tank, creating a siphon. "Tellin’ a story."
Iwrestle the truck toward the gas station on the edge of the town, my eyes scanning every detail. There's nothing on the surface that I can find saying that this place is anything other than what it is.
“We’ve been driving for hours and running on low gas.” I turn to look at Naomi. “My fault.”
She simply nods. I don’t need to say anything more than that. I trust her to get it.
I pull up to the pump, letting the truck sputter dramatically as we coast in.
A thin man in faded jeans and a sweat-stained T-shirt emerges from the station, eyeing us but with nothing more than casual interest. His eyes aren’t cruel or sharp.
They aren’t kind either. If I didn’t know what this place might be, I probably wouldn’t notice him at all.
I step out, stretching my back dramatically.
Naomi gets out of the truck and slams the door with impressive force. Her face transforms into perfect exasperation as she rounds the truck and approaches the man.
"Thank God you guys are here. This idiot is driving all over the desert without a GPS and saying we'll find a place to stop for gas.
Like it's the 405 or something." Her voice carries the perfect pitch of a wife at the end of her patience.
She turns to the attendant, softening slightly. "Do you have a bathroom?"
The guy nods and points out back. "Thank you," Naomi says with genuine relief in her voice.
I suppress a smile as I begin filling the tank. I'm supposed to be properly chastened by my fake wife for not planning the trip properly. But I couldn't be prouder of Naomi. She really is good at this.
As she heads toward the bathroom, I take the opportunity to survey more of the town. The diner across the street has a handful of customers visible through the windows. Two workers in a parked van at the corner, staring at their phones. A woman watering plants on a porch.
I mark a security camera. But it’s dirty and simple. Nothing you wouldn’t see at any other Podunk gas station that might not even work and just be for show.
I keep looking for a smoking gun that’ll make it clear what this town is.
But it ain’t offering it up yet.
Naomi returns from the bathroom just as the tank is nearing full. She gets close to me and puts her arms around my neck.
“I really did need that bathroom,” she says, her mouth close to mine.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting close enough that I can whisper. And forgiving you for getting us lost.”
She looks up at me, lovingly. I’m supposed to be the hardened veteran here. My heart rate hasn’t spiked once from the possible threats around us. But I bet she can feel my heart thumping against her chest, which she has pressed against me.
“Do you have a read on that guy?” Naomi asks.
“I don’t. You?”
She shakes her head, but dreamily, like I said something apologetic and romantic. “What do we do now?”
Her lips are so close. Kiss is all that comes to mind. But that wouldn’t be enough. I want to devour her.
“You hungry?” I say instead.
“Starving,” she says. But it comes out breathy and like it has nothing to do with food. But I’m being stupid. She doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just trying to make sure she’s not overheard.
The bell above the door jingles as it swings shut behind us when we enter the diner. The two truckers at the counter and a middle-aged couple by the window don’t look up when we enter. But they also don’t look like they’re trying to ignore us.
A stout woman with graying hair in short, tight curls looks up from the register. Her name tag reads "Maude" in faded letters against a backdrop of coffee stains.
"Welcome, you two," she calls out, grabbing menus and a coffee pot in one practiced motion. "I’m guessing you two didn’t long haul your way here."
Naomi slides into a booth, looking exactly like a frustrated wife who's been in a vehicle too long. I marvel at how naturally she slips into character.
"No. Trying to go on an adventure without GPS," she says, rolling her eyes dramatically in my direction.
I slide in across from her, playing my part. "Not working out too great."
Maude laughs, the sound like rusty wind chimes. "Well, I wouldn't say that. We got the greasiest eggs and the best BLTs in Texas." She winks at us. "Best pie to boot."
I don’t smile at Maude ’cause I don’t want to scare her since Naomi taught me that’s not my forte. But I do adopt a relaxed tone when I ask, "Say, where exactly is 'here'? Been driving so long I ain't even sure what town we're in. Can't seem to find it on the map."
I watch her face carefully, searching for a flicker of wariness or calculation. Nothing there but sun-weathered wrinkles and what looks like genuine amusement at our predicament.
"You're in Devil's Gulch, hon," she says, pouring coffee into our mugs without asking if we want any. "Don't feel bad about not finding us. The rest of the world forgot we exist after they rerouted the interstate back in '98."
Naomi wraps her hands around her mug, looking every bit the relieved traveler. "That explains a lot. We've been driving in circles forever."
Maude nods sympathetically. "Used to be a proper town with hundreds of folks. Now we're down to a fraction of that. You see all those empty houses coming in? More buildings than people these days."
I take a sip of the coffee, which is surprisingly good, and keep my expression neutral. "Must be tough, being so isolated."
"Got its perks too," Maude says with a conspiratorial wink. "Whole lotta tax benefits being off the map." She taps her pen against her order pad. "Now, what can I get you two lovebirds?"
Naomi reaches across the table and pats my hand with affection. I don’t need to act like a husband pleased with the touch. I just am. We lock eyes, and we share an unspoken thought. It’s not about the mission. It’s not about the town or how strange it is.
It’s that we both don’t like tomatoes. So it doesn’t matter how good the BLTs are.
And I love that I know that about her, and that she knows that about me.
“Breakfast for dinner?” I ask with a raised brow.
Naomi smiles and nods. “Over easy with toast, please,” Naomi tells Maude as she hands her back the menu.
“Breakfast sandwich for me, please, ma’am.” Maude nods pleasantly and shuffles away toward the kitchen. I watch her go, then turn my attention back to Naomi, dropping my voice to just above a whisper.
"Devil's Gulch," I murmur. Not El Centinela.
Naomi leans forward, keeping her voice low. "I didn’t know what we’d find, but I didn’t think it’d be this."
"Me neither," I admit, taking another sip of coffee. I glance around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly unsettles me. This perfect little border outpost shouldn't exist. But no one is acting like they’re keeping a secret. They’re not watching us too closely or trying to look at us at all. It don’t feel right.
But I can’t tell if it’s because it wasn’t what I was expecting or because there is something underneath that I’m just not seeing.
Of course, there’s also the girl in front of me and what she does to me.
She’s been unsettling me since I met her.
When she wrapped her arms around me and brought her mouth close to mine so we could whisper, I could barely think straight.
When she touched my hand to help with our cover story, I never wanted her to take it off.
Maybe I’m missing what this town is trying to tell me because Naomi has captured my mind and heart. I can’t trust my instincts because they’re telling me that what I feel for her is right.
I’m pretending that this is just for cover. That the touch and closeness and intimacy are for show.
And that couldn't be further from the truth.
Maybe I can’t find the lie in this town because the biggest one is sitting across from the most beautiful girl in the world, sipping coffee like he’s not totally and utterly enthralled with her.