Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Delgado took the freeway going north. Rowan sank into the leather bucket seat and watched the miles slip by. He drove carefully, obeying the speed limit, and a sudden sense of absurdity swam over her.
Here I am, in a car with a man I don’t even know, who has five thousand dollars in cash and a bunch of guns, being pursued by a government conspiracy. Because I’m a freak—only he calls it psionic. And Dad… and Hilary. How did I get here?
She’d never used the touch on a normal person before. But then, he wasn’t exactly… well, normal, was he? His mind was ordered, clean, not like the scattered wash of sensation and impression regular people gave off into the air or the screaming chaos of her patients’ minds.
She blinked in the late-morning sunlight. Two lattes stood steaming gently between them, in the cup holders. The car was new, a dark-blue Ford Taurus, without even an air-freshener. It was as bare and utilitarian as everything else these people seemed to have.
He glanced at her, checking. “You all right?”
The lunacy of the question taunted her. “No. I’m not. My family’s dead and gone and all this… I’m not all right. I’m not.”
“I’m sorry. If I could have done this quietly—made contact with you, told you about the Society—I would have. I didn’t want this.”
That made a sharp acrid bite of guilt chew at her breastbone. She believed him. “I know.”
“We need to get you some clothes. We’ll probably stay in a hotel tonight, if that’s all right with you. Just keep focusing on the next thing for right now, Rowan.”
There it was again. He kept saying her name, lingering over it.
“Why do you keep saying my name? Are you trying to calm me down?”
“It’s a pretty name,” he said, and she stole another glance at him. He watched the road. She picked up her latte—nonfat, double hazelnut—and took a sip. It had cooled down considerably.
“My mother named me.” Her eyes filled with tears. She put the latte back in the cup holder and stared out the windshield.
His cell phone rang. Rowan almost flinched.
He fished in his jacket pocket and brought the phone out, flipped it open, glancing at the Caller ID. “Delgado.”
Silence. Two tears tracked down Rowan’s cheeks.
“Fuck.” He glanced at her. “You’re kidding. That’s going to make it difficult.”
Another long pause. He sounds so calm. She wiped away more tears. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry again.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t yet. What do you suggest?”
Rowan could hear the faint sound of a male voice from the phone.
Delgado laughed, but it was a short, bitter sound.
“I’ll get her there, General. Go ahead, don’t worry about me.
I think I can handle one extraction, even with—what?
” There was a note of worry in his voice now, and that alarmed Rowan more than she would have thought possible. “Good Christ,” he finally said. “Okay.”
Then he shrugged, even though the person on the other end couldn’t see him. “Okay. Be careful. Of course I’ll get her there. I’ve been outwitting Sigs for years; I won’t let them have her.” Another bitter little laugh. “Ten-four. Be safe, old man.”
Then he hung up. “Henderson and the crew were surprised by a squad of Sigs at the house.”
Rowan gasped.
“Don’t worry.” He reached into the back seat, snagging a box of tissues.
“Here. Anyway, everything was already packed, they dealt with it and got out of there. They’ll meet us at Headquarters, but it might take awhile for us to get there.
We’ll have to go a lot further and faster than I thought, because the Sigs have put out an APB on both of us through civilian channels.
Someone must have identified me in the Shop’N’Save parking lot. ”
Rowan took the box and pulled out two tissues with numb fingers. She mopped at her cheeks and blew her nose. “What does that mean?” she whispered, stuffing the wadded tissue in the litter bag.
“It means they’re really serious about acquiring you.
It also means they’ll use anything—up to and including deadly force—to do so.
And it means they’re kicking themselves for killing your father and friend, getting rid of valuable leverage.
Last of all, it means we can’t take a plane, so we’ll have to drive. That’ll take some time.”
“Leverage?”
“Applied pressure,” he said, grimly. “Works a lot of the time. We’ll drive for a few hours to get out of immediate danger and get you some lunch, and then we’ll shop for some clothes.”
Rowan felt her stomach somersault. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“I need you to try, Rowan. I need you strong. You’re going to have to watch my back.” He still gazed at the road ahead of them, but she had the strange idea that he was paying attention to her instead of his driving.
All the breath left her. She actually gasped. “You don’t need me.” She sounded shocked even to herself.
“I do,” he said. “Do you know what Henderson just told me? You’re over thirteen on the Matheson scale. That means your talent’s so huge we don’t have the means to quantify it. I need you to look out for me. I’ll teach you a couple of things while we’re running, so—”
“I don’t want to,” she said immediately. “I don’t want to. I’m a… a freak. You’re telling me I’m too freakish even for your Society. And I did it—I brought those awful people—it was because of me.”
He hit the turn signal, and before Rowan could protest, he had cut across two lanes and onto the shoulder. Gravel crunched and spun under the tires. A plume of dust went up, and he brought the car to a sudden halt.
Rowan’s fingers curled around the handle on the door, hanging on. “What are you—”
“Who did it?” He looked straight out the windshield. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Huh? Who did that to you?”
“What?” She could barely find breath for the word.
“Who told you that you were a freak?” He stared straight ahead, his dark eyes fixed on some far-off point. “Who?”
“Nobody. I just know. Nobody else… nobody else knew what I knew. Saw what I saw.”
“So you decided to keep it a secret,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to keep it from me. You’re a normal person with some rare talents, that’s all. Don’t call yourself a freak. If you’re a freak, I am too. You get it?”
“But—”
“No buts. You’re a person, and you’re not responsible for Sigma. They’ve been around since before you were born, Rowan. You’re not responsible. Okay?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “If I wasn’t a freak my father would still be alive.”
“That’s my fault. I should have figured Sigma would try to acquire you without witnesses. Blame me, Rowan. Not yourself.”
If he squeezes the steering wheel any harder, he’s going to break something. She reached out before she could stop herself. She touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. The prickling electricity slammed into her, submerging her in what he was feeling.
Rage. Red rage. Agony—a wounded animal, crouched low, blood on its muzzle, panting as it prepared to defend itself again.
She peeled her fingertips away, her stomach turning. Protective fury. And something else, something she couldn’t decipher. It hurt him to think of her pain—hurt him viscerally. Why?
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I can take it.” His dark eyes were hot with something Rowan didn’t want to name. “You shouldn’t have to. Okay? You’re a psion. It’s normal. Not freakish. End of story.”
Rowan shrugged helplessly. He was her only way out of this situation, so she probably shouldn’t make him angry.
But how do I know this Society isn’t just using me? If they think I’m so valuable?
“I don’t want to go to the Society,” she said. “I want to go away. Far away where nobody can find me.”
He stared at her, his mouth thinning. “You’re sure? It’ll mean that I have to get more hard cash to start us out, and some fake IDs. And—”
“No,” she interrupted. “No, that’s okay. It’s fine, I might as well. I have no choice, do I?”
“You do. I’m trained for it. I could help you disappear, Rowan. Just… I don’t want you hurt. Or scooped up by Sigma.”
“What if I told you to fuck off?” Her voice broke instead of sounding bold like Hilary’s.
Oh, God. Hilary.
He shrugged. “I suppose I’d try to change your mind. I’m going to protect you, Rowan. It’ll be easier with the Society behind us.”
“Why?” Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. “Why? Why are you doing this?” Her hands twisted, scrubbing at each other. Just like one of the patients, she realized. Now she knew why they did that.
“Because.” Then did something strange.
His fingers closed around her left wrist. Her hands stopped scrubbing each other, and the prickles raced up her arm again, jolted her stomach.
She hadn’t touched very many people in her life, hating the overwhelming welter of sensations; none of them had felt like him.
“Trust me, okay? Just a very little. I’ll keep you alive, Rowan, and I won’t let anyone force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I promise.”
He’s serious. She heard Hilary’s deep laughing voice. Trust you to find a hero in a parking lot.
Oh but it hurt to think of Hilary.
“All right,” she whispered. “All right.”
“Now I’ve got to get us out of here,” he said quietly, his fingers shackling her wrist. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I promise.” He let go of her, checked over his shoulder, and eased the car forward again.
Rowan wiped at her cheeks with a fresh tissue. “Why?” she asked again as he cut the car to the left a little and pulled onto the freeway. Traffic was light, so he had no trouble.
He didn’t answer.