The Overseer (17 page)
Trista resisted the urge to hit the gas, trying to make it out the gate, or to smash through it with the front end of the car— something that only worked in movies and destroyed vehicles when they tried in the real world. She jolted forward, stopping, rolling down her window.
The guy in the gatehouse was watching a television, hardly noticing customers. He checked the total. “Six dollars,” he said, eyes transfixed on his screen. Trista reached out with the money, eyes darting to the stairwell exit—
Angelo came bursting through the door, staring right at her. He made a dash in their direction.
The gatehouse guard took the money and hit the switch— raising the gate.
Angelo bolted toward them as Trista moved the car into the street as fast as it would go.
Angelo threw himself at an oncoming car that was pulling into the garage—sliding nimbly across the hood.
Trista pulled hard right and slammed the gas. In a matter of moments Angelo had turned into a dot behind them.
She took a deep breath. “That was too close.”
Devin navigated the highway with his left hand, opening his mobile phone with his right. Hannah watched him from the passenger’s seat, a look of what might have been disapproval on her face. Perhaps she didn’t like the idea of him driving and talking on his phone at the same time. He didn’t have time to debate the point.
The other end rang only once before there was an answer. “This is Trista.”
“It’s Bathurst,” he said, signaling fluidly and changing lanes. “John Temple is no longer Overseer. Did you know about this?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Where do you stand on the assassination issue?” Devin listened carefully for the tone in her voice—regardless of her words, he had a greater need to understand her intentions.
“I’m with you,” she said, again without hesitation. “Vince knows that you aren’t going to drop this issue, and he intends to have you stopped.”
Devin nodded, maneuvering around a large freight truck, pressing the gas. “Extent of countermeasures?”
“It sounds like he’s willing to use extreme prejudice in stopping you.”
He should have known. Something about Angelo had scared Vince very badly, and when people who saw only the moment get scared, they get desperate—and dangerous. “Understood,” he replied. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the city with John Temple. I was about to offer you and Hannah my help when Angelo—”
“Angelo! Did he get to you?”
“No. He tried to stop me from leaving when John showed up and helped. We just escaped him.” Her words were crisp, fast, and precise—exactly what Devin was looking for. “Where are you?”
“We’re on the highway—headed for Ohio. The kidnappers are going to be there in a few hours, and Ms. Rice and I hope to find their trail.”
“And the assassination in Nevada?” she asked efficiently.
“It’s more than forty-eight hours away. My first priority is the kidnapping. If I can’t take care of that in time, I’ll direct my attention to the senator. Until then I’m pursuing this.”
“Understood,” Trista affirmed. “How can I best support?”
Devin was silent for a moment, considering possibilities— waiting to see if his foresight would take over and tell him to hold back or move forward. He glanced at Hannah, assessing her usefulness to him. Young, motivated, energetic, strongly familiar with the subject at hand. She was all the more help he could ask for with this matter. In fact, it was she who was the real help here, now that he considered it. “I need feet on the ground in Nevada,” he said with resolve.
“Reconnaissance?” she asked, instantly understanding his allusions.
“I need to understand the layout—where the senator will be and what is going to happen. Are you equipped to handle this?”
Her reply was quick and unmitigated. “I am.”
“Good.”
“What do you want me to do with Temple?”
Devin adjusted the phone, navigating through the speeding traffic, the sun starting to make its way out from behind the clouds. “Leave him,” he said, shifting gears. “You’ll work faster without him.”
She didn’t reply. Her response was slow, with more consideration than Devin had come to expect from her over the years.
“Ms. Brightling?” he asked, checking to see if they had been cut off.
“He could be useful,” she said with her usual exactness. “If something is already happening in Las Vegas, he might be able to see it.”
Devin found himself caught by the same hesitation that had held Trista back. “Fine,” he said after a moment, “but he’s your responsibility. Don’t let him slow you down in any way. I need this to go flawlessly, and I don’t want any of the unnecessary delays that usually surround him.”
“Understood,” she replied, quickly again. “I’ll take responsibility for the situation.”
“Good. How soon can you be in Nevada?”
“Tonight.”
Devin nodded. “Good. Keep me informed. You have my cell number.”
“Understood.”
Devin snapped his phone shut, dropping it in the breast pocket of his jacket.
He couldn’t see how this was going to end—but he knew that when it did, things might never be the same again.
“What’s the plan?” John asked, watching Trista put her phone away.
“I’m going to Las Vegas to prepare a plan to prevent the assassination.”
John nodded, removing the sport coat he was wearing. “And Devin thinks I’m a liability?”
“Yes,” Trista replied, devoid of any attempt to soften the news.
A pinprick of hurt plucked at John’s chest. “What do you think?”
Trista kept her eyes on the road. “I think you can be reckless.” She turned her focus to him, expression unforgiving. “Are you going to be reckless?”
He laughed, trying not to let his voice crack with the feelings of disappointment and hurt he felt. “Reckless is what I do.”
“I’m serious, John,” she said with a nasty edge.
He laughed again, trying to maintain some dignity in the face of Trista’s flagrant doubts. “I haven’t taken anything seriously in years,” he grunted sarcastically.
Trista angled the car to the right, slamming the brakes hard— the car coming to a screeching stop at the curb. “Get out,” she commanded, eyes still on the road, expression stony.
“Trista, I—”
She didn’t look at him. “I’m serious, John. Whatever is happening, it has a lot of people scared.” Trista turned her attention to him—expression anything but friendly. “I’m scared, John,” she said without emotion, “and I’m not going to bring you along if you insist on being a child about this.”
“I—”
“Do you understand, John Temple?” she interrupted, as if he were a four-year-old.
John said nothing for a moment, then nodded silently.
“I need to know I can count on you,” she said sternly. “I need you to promise me that you’ll pull through for me.” She glanced past John, toward the street beyond. “Or I need you to get out of this car and out of my way. Do you understand?”
John sat in silence for a moment, examining her face—every beautiful line—then looked out the window at the street.
Trista said nothing, her face serious.
Then John nodded and reached into the backseat, grabbing his sport coat. He opened the car door and stepped onto the street, walking away from Trista and the car. He flung his jacket over his shoulder like a fashion model and moved down the street.
Behind him he heard the car rev and take off. It shot past him—and disappeared around the corner.
She left him. She actually left him.
John looked around. Neither the best nor the worst neighborhood. He didn’t know if there was a subway station nearby. He would need to call someone to come and get him. But who could he call? Vince had had him ejected from office—yet another job he’d been fired from. Devin was leaving the state.
He looked at his shoes. He couldn’t believe how poorly he’d handled that. Trista was scared and worried, and he’d treated it like a joke. And now…
A car stopped next to him. He looked—Trista. She must have gone around the block and come back for him.
The mechanical window lowered, and she looked at him. “Get in,” she said with an indecipherable tone.
John looked around, then got in the car.
Trista put the car into gear, rolling away from the curb. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” he said with a nod, looking forward.
They drove the rest of the way to the airport in silence.
H
ANNAH STARED OUT
the windshield, watching the sun sink farther behind the horizon as they drove down the highway. What state were they in now—Ohio? Had they really been on the road that long? They’d left the house in New Jersey around lunchtime, and now the sun was setting. She hadn’t looked at the signs or bothered to keep track of the miles. It had apparently been longer than she had realized.
Devin sat silently in the driver’s seat. They hadn’t said anything in hours. Perhaps there were things to talk about, but Hannah kept her focus tightly clenched on the road—feeling the world pass through them, the past swirling around her. She could feel something like a warm current as they stayed on the right path, cooling only when they deviated. But she had to stay aware of it—with a quiet mind. Whatever small talk they might have would only have been a distraction.
Devin didn’t seem to mind the quiet. He kept still and silent, navigating the road as if he were gliding across ice. Whatever he had seen was leading him forward as well—making him equally consumed by his own calling.
Hannah felt the path start to cool. Chills ran up her arms. She hugged her arms and felt it—
Exiting the highway. Into the gas station.
“There.” Hannah pointed toward the exit.
Devin nodded, switched on the turn signal, and aimed the car at the exit.
Hannah sat up in her seat, excited. This was it. This was where the girls had been brought. This was where…
She could feel herself losing touch with the past.
No—she couldn’t give in to the overflow of thought and chatter. She had to clear her mind—let it all wash over her with clarity of thought.
“The gas station,” Devin said with a nod. “This is it.”
Hannah nearly wrung her hands, squirming in her seat. Stop it, she thought, settling in. The car came down the off-ramp, nosing into the turn—into the parking lot.
“This is wrong,” Devin said, shaking his head. “It’s too dark. They were here when there was more light.”
“We’re late?” Hannah asked, fighting her worry and concern.
Devin looked around as if he were trying to confirm his hunch—then nodded. “We’re late.”
“How late? Do you think they might still be here?”
He pulled the car to a stop just outside of the gas station, rolling into a parking space. “Maybe twenty minutes.” He parked the car and turned off the engine. “I’m going inside. I’m going to ask some questions. You stay here. Understood?”
She bit her lip with nervous energy. “Yeah.”
Devin stepped out and moved toward the glass doors. He stood in line, waiting to talk to the man at the counter.
Hannah pulled in a lungful of air and held it. This was ridiculous. The girls—the kidnappers—they had been here. They had been
here
. If they had gone into the store for any reason they would have used those very same doors. The only thing that was missing was time. They were late.
The idea seemed incomprehensible. Everything seemed so interconnected—so closely tied. How could a few minutes be enough to lose them?
No, she thought. It was all connected. Every piece. Every fragment of the universe. All one complete whole.
She closed her eyes.
Her mind wanted to talk to God—to beseech Him for help. But not with words. Nothing so limited and invented as words. She reached out with…herself.
Her mind cleared. Her thoughts went blank.
Her brain told her to open her eyes and search…but something compelled her to stay in the silence a moment longer. To let it…
The dragon—in the gas station.
From the door to the truck—opening the rolling freight door.
The girls—ripped from the truck, thrown into a van.
Doors slamming. Girls screaming silently through bindings and duct tape.