I guess Jen’s not a bad alternative if shit really hits the fan. I do still have her card. If Rosalie and I end up in serious danger, she’ll be the one I’ll call.
Then there’s Ivan. His message was sent right after Loralee had her press conference. That woman. Always fucking shit up.
Ethan, I thought you were smarter than this. I’m going to give you some time to come to your senses. A grace period. If I haven’t heard from you by tomorrow, you’re going to regret it.
I can practically hear his cold, accented voice delivering the ultimatum. Ivan always follows through with his threats, and I think about his previous detective. Killed execution style. Left in the dirt to get eaten by birds and other wild animals.
“We can’t stay,” I announce to the room, causing the feminine chatter between Rosalie and Casey to die down. “In fact, we need to go right now.”
I sip at the Gatorade Preston’s been forcing down my throat. He says staying hydrated is important while I’m detoxing. I actually don’t feel all that bad yet, but he wants me to stay ahead of it.
I think he’s just focusing on me so he doesn’t have to talk about what’s really bothering him.
Despite the distance we’ve put between us and Jay’s house, he hasn’t gotten less tense. His jaw is clenched, and his knuckles are white from strangling the steering wheel of our newest ride—a dark blue minivan.
Whatever he saw on his laptop, it scared him.
When I’ve tried asking him about it, he just gives one-word answers or says something about how it’s smart to keep moving.
We’ve been on the road for hours. I fell asleep for part of our trip, and that’s a good thing. Because apparently, we went over the Mississippi River when we crossed into Missouri. If I’d been awake, I’m not sure how that would’ve gone.
Still sleepy, I rub my eyes as I look out at the rocky walls on either side of the highway. It’s like we’ve traveled to an entirely different world of hills and trees. I’ve never seen such scenery up close.
The radio station we’ve been on for the past thirty minutes starts to lose reception, and the music goes fuzzy.
I turn the dial until I find something with some upbeat 90’s tunes, but I can’t drown out the ominous silence with music. I need conversation.
Fed up with the lack of communication between us, I turn the radio down to a soft hum and swivel so I’m facing Preston. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”
His eyes dart to me for a second. “I haven’t.”
“But you’re not telling me the truth either. You’re saying nothing, which is worse.”
He sends me the side-eye again. “How is saying nothing worse than lying?”
“Because you’re basically giving me the silent treatment. You’re obviously upset, but you won’t say why, and it makes me feel like you’re mad at me, or like I’ve done something wrong. That was a mind game my mother liked to play. Whenever she’d get quiet, I didn’t know if her mood was directed at me or if it was just a mood she couldn’t control. And she seemed to enjoy riling me up that way, because I’d get desperate to please her, to make things right.”
Preston’s face softens and he reaches over to take my hand. “I’m not mad at you. Not even a little. I’m just worried, okay? And I haven’t told you why because I don’t want you to worry, too.”
“Well, you might as well just spill it, because if you don’t, my imagination is going to make whatever it is way worse than reality.”
He sighs. “Back when I had my business, I had an informant-type relationship with an FBI agent. Jen and I did each other favors, all off the books. Sometimes I’d help her with cases if I could find information she needed. In exchange, she’d do the same for me.” Preston gives me a look full of concern. “She recognized me from the news. She knows who I really am—my real name, my past.”
“Babe, I’m not worried about being recognized, and you shouldn’t be either,” I say, sounding optimistic. “Our disguises are awesome.”
Because seriously, we look totally different from our pictures on the television.
Preston’s back to wearing his beanie, his lip ring, and sunglasses. That snake tattoo is still on his neck. My brown hair is in my updo from the wedding, and I’ve got the pregnancy suit filling me out under a purple tunic Casey let me borrow.
“Plus, we have new IDs,” I point out. “You’re using a burner phone and a vehicle registered under a name this Jen person doesn’t know. As long as we stay away from people, we’ll be fine, right?”
Tilting his head from side to side, Preston does a noncommittal nod. “In theory.”
“Then stop being so freaked out.” I playfully poke his shoulder, making him smile a little.
“At least we’re almost to our next location.” He sounds a little more relaxed. “I’ve got a great place for us to hide out in seclusion.”
“Really?” I look at the camping gear he’s got piled in the back seat. “Does it include sleeping in a tent?”
“Nope. I have a safe house.”
“A safe house?” This is news to me.
“Well, it’s not actually mine. It’s an old hunting cabin that belongs to the Marshalls. Let’s just hope they’re not there right now.” Looking out the windshield at the gray sky, he seems satisfied with the fact that a storm might be headed this way. “Forecast says we’ll get snow, and it’s a little late in the year for them to be roughing it.”
“What would they do if they see you on the news? Would they think you’d go to this cabin? What if they tell someone about it? Would Jen question them?” My rapid-fire questions come out one after the other.
Maybe Preston’s anxiety is contagious because I’m starting to understand where his head is at. If I were thinking with a true-crime-documentary state of mind, there are always breadcrumbs if someone looks hard enough.
There’s a heavy pause, then Preston says, “No. Since the adoption was never finalized, there’s no familial connection on paper. Even if Josiah and Cordelia suspect where I am, they wouldn’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t betray me like that.”
It’s the first time Preston’s talked about the Marshalls using their first names, and there’s a hint of affection in his voice.
“Why didn’t the adoption happen?” I ask bluntly, glad for a different topic to talk about.
“After Krystal, I just couldn’t…” He trails off, and he doesn’t have to finish the explanation. The guilt he still carries says it all.
“Do you see them often?”
He nods. “At Christmas, if I’m in the area. Five summers ago, they had a family reunion at the cabin, and I made an appearance.”
“Do they love you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. After I enlisted in the Marines, I didn’t see them much. All my calls and letters went to them, but I guess I haven’t given them much of a chance to get close. I’m not easy to love, Rosie.”
“Is that a warning?”
“Just a fact. A psychiatrist would probably say I push people away because I’m afraid of being rejected. And they’d probably be right.”