The Chemist Part 34

Alex hurried back to the Humvee. She could feel Daniel close behind her and just hoped he had the sense to keep his head down and not turn around.

"Well, I don't know how that could have gone worse," Alex said disgustedly when they were back on the road. "That woman will remember us for the rest of her natural life."

"Sorry."

"You just had to go in there like some cowboy, with a gun in your pants."

"We do have Texas plates," he pointed out. "And what was I supposed to do? That kid was-"

"Was about to have a violent and prolonged episode of projectile vomiting. It would have incapacitated him totally and perhaps made enough of a mess that Beverly would have forgotten all about me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh, indeed. I can take care of myself, Daniel."

His jaw suddenly got hard again, like it had in the gas station store. "I know that, Alex, but there might actually come a time when you need help. When that happens, I'm not going to be waiting in the car again. You should probably wrap your head around that now."

"I'll tell you when I need backup."

"And I'll be there," he snapped.

She let the quarrel drop, and for a moment there was no sound but the roar of the oversize engine burning through the new gas. Then he sighed.

"I should have known you were one step ahead," he said.

She nodded her acceptance of the implied apology, though she had mixed feelings about his declarations.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" she asked after another short lull.

"What?"

"Intimidate people."

"My school isn't exactly an exclusive private prep. Anyway, most kids just want someone to take control. It makes them feel more secure."

She laughed. "Then those boys will sleep sound tonight."

THE REST OF the night was less fraught. Daniel dozed against the window, snoring lightly, until the next gas stop, about twenty miles east of Dallas. The sleepy man in the booth showed no interest in Alex's face. When they were away from the gas station's cameras, she pulled off on a dark shoulder and traded seats with Daniel. He claimed to be wide awake and ready. She napped as best she could until the next stop, south of Shreveport, where they switched seats again.

Dawn was coming. Alex searched the fancy GPS for a close-by national park or wildlife reserve and found they were not far from the huge expanse of the Kisatchie National Forest. She headed for the corner of the park that came closest to the I-49, then wandered through back roads until she found an area isolated and overgrown enough that she felt comfortable pulling over into the thick shade of some tightly grouped trees. She backed into a barely wide enough s.p.a.ce between the tree trunks and then reversed until there was just room for the rear hatch to open. When she cracked her door, the humid heat outside quickly overpowered the cooler air inside the vehicle.

Einstein was thrilled to get out of the car and relieve himself. It was harder for Lola. Alex had to redress Lola's wound when she was done. Daniel had food and water out for them before Alex was finished. Then Daniel had the easier job of relieving himself, and Alex got the more complicated version. She'd lived out of a car before, though, and while it wasn't her favorite thing, she was prepared.

She took a look at the front of the Humvee and had to admit she was impressed. To the naked eye, there was no evidence that they'd been in even a minor fender-bender.

The breakfast options were minimal. Alex found herself with the same box of Pop-Tarts that she'd started with her first morning at the ranch. Daniel took a packet, too.

"What are we going to do about food?" he asked.

Alex wiped her arm across her forehead, drying the sweat before it could drip into her eyes. "Tonight I'll stock up a little at each gas station. It will get us through a few days. Let me know if you have any requests." Alex yawned, then hissed when the motion pulled at the cut on her face.

"Do you have aspirin?"

She nodded tiredly. "That might be a good idea. We both need to get some sleep. The dogs will be fine if we just leave them outside, right? I don't want them to have to be cooped up all night and all day, too."

Alex dug up a couple of Motrin while Daniel shoved the mess in the back of the Humvee to the sides of the bed, leaving a narrow flat s.p.a.ce in the middle for them. Satisfied that she'd done everything she could, Alex spread out her sleeping bag and rolled down the top edge for a pillow.

It felt normal in an abnormal way to have Daniel lie down beside her, instinctive and comfortable for him to wrap one arm around her waist and bury his face in the hollow of her neck. The scratch of his short beard tickled her skin, but she didn't mind.

She was starting to drift off when she became conscious of his movement beside her. At first she thought he was beginning to snore, but the shuddering didn't pause. She grabbed his fingers at her waist, and found them trembling. She jerked up and twisted to face him. His eyes flew wide when she moved so suddenly, and he started to sit up. She pushed him down with one hand on his chest.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

She looked at his face. It was hard to tell in the shade, but he looked paler than before. She should have been watching for this. Now that they had the chance to figuratively lay their weapons down for a moment, of course the severe strain of the night before would catch up to them. Probably not authentic shock; more likely just a traditional panic attack.

"Nothing. Except maybe with you." She touched his forehead; it felt clammy. "Do you feel sick?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You were shaking."

He shook his head and took a deep breath. "Sorry, I was just thinking about... how close it was."

"Don't. It's over. You're safe."

"I know, I know."

"I won't let anything happen to you."

He laughed once, and she could hear the same sound of hysteria that had been in her own laugh last night. "I know," he repeated. "I'll be fine. But what about you? Are you safe?" He pulled her down onto his chest, cradling the damaged side of her face carefully in his long fingers, and whispered into her hair, "I could have lost you, just like that. Everything that means anything to me is gone-I've lost my home, my job, my life... I've lost myself. I'm hanging on by my fingernails, Alex, and it's you I'm hanging on to. If something happens to you... I don't know what that means for me. I don't know how I keep going. I'm dealing with the rest, Alex, but I can't lose you, too, I can't."

Another shudder ran through his body.

"It's okay," she murmured uncertainly, reaching up to rest her fingers against his lips. "I'm here."

Was that the right thing to say? She didn't have any experience comforting someone. Even when her mother had been in the last stages of the illness that had killed her, Judy didn't want sympathy and she didn't want lies. If Juliana were to say something like You look great today, Mom, Judy's response was always along the lines of Don't bother with that nonsense, I have a mirror. It never seemed to occur to Judy that Juliana might need comfort; after all, Juliana wasn't the one who was dying.

She'd learned early not to seek sympathy for herself; she'd never really known how to show it to someone else. She would be more comfortable with the clinical, explaining that what he was feeling now was just a natural response to the specter of a violent death, but she'd said things like that to him before and she knew they didn't help. So she found herself mimicking things she'd seen on television, speaking softly, stroking the side of his face.

"We're okay... it's over."

She wondered if she should put the sleeping bag over him, just in case, though it was already sweltering and he didn't feel cold. Still, she'd already come to the conclusion that he ran at a warmer temperature than she did. Both physically and metaphorically.

His breathing still sounded rough. She pulled her head free and then propped herself up so she could examine his face.

He was no longer just pale. His soft eyes were haunted, tormented, his jaw tight against the panic he was trying to control. A raised line pulsed in his forehead. He stared at her like he was pleading for a release from pain.

His expression ignited a nightmare of a memory, the memory of his interrogation, and she impulsively threw her arms around his neck, pulling his head up off the floor of the Humvee and hugging it tight to her chest to hide that face. She felt her own convulsive s.h.i.+ver, and the clinical side of her brain let her know that she was every bit as traumatized as he was. Her nonclinical side didn't care what the reason was. A wave of panic was was.h.i.+ng through her and she felt as if she couldn't hold him close enough to rea.s.sure herself that he was actually alive and safe and here. As if she might suddenly blink and be back inside her black tent with Daniel screaming in agony. Or, worse, she would open her eyes to the dark upstairs hallway only to find Daniel's bleeding body at her feet instead of the hit man's. Her pulse spiked and she couldn't breathe.

Daniel rolled their bodies so he was at her side, and his hands peeled hers free from his head. For a second she thought he was about to take the comforter's role at which she had failed so spectacularly, but then their eyes met and she was looking into a mirror of all the turmoil and fear in her own head. Fear of loss, fear of having because that made the loss possible. Rather than comfort, the depth of his fear multiplied hers. She could lose him, and she didn't know how to live with that.

CHAPTER 21.

Their lips crushed together so suddenly she wasn't sure who had moved first.

And then their bodies were tangling together with a kind of desperate fury, lips and fingers, tongues and teeth. Breathing was secondary and she managed it only in broken pants that left her still dizzy. She wanted nothing but to be closer, and then closer, to be inside his skin somehow so that he could never be ripped away from her. She felt the scald as the wound along her jaw reopened, and all the bruises, old and new, flared to life, but the pain did nothing to distract from that acute need. They grappled almost like adversaries, turning and twisting together in the limits of the small s.p.a.ce, slamming against the duffel bags and then back to the floor. She was amazed at how electrifying his brute strength was-strength in a man had always been something to fear, but now she thrilled to it. Fabric tore, and she couldn't guess who it belonged to. She remembered the texture of his skin, the shape of his muscles under her hands, but she had not imagined they could feel like this against her own.

Closer, her blood pulsed. Closer.

And then he suddenly jerked away, his mouth sliding from hers with a choked gasp. An anxious whine sounded at her feet. She leaned over and saw Einstein with his jaws locked on Daniel's ankle. Einstein whimpered again.

"Einstein, at ease," he growled, kicking to free his foot. "Get off."

Einstein let him go, looking to her nervously.

"At ease!" Her voice was husky. "It's okay."

With a hesitant huff, Einstein dropped out of the open hatch.

Daniel rolled up and slammed the door shut. He turned toward her on his knees, his pupils dilated and his eyes wild. He gritted his teeth as if he were fighting for some kind of control.

She reached up for him, her fingers stretching to hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he collapsed into her with a low groan.

"Alex, Alex," he breathed against her neck. "Stay with me. Don't leave."

Even in the frenzy of the moment, she was aware what he was asking. And she meant what she said when she answered, knowing it could be the worst kind of mistake.

"I will," she promised roughly. "I won't."

Their mouths locked together again, and she could feel his heart drumming a syncopated rhythm against her own, aligned beneath their skin because his mirrored hers.

The shrill peal of the phone pierced through the lower register sounds-the double heartbeat, the gasping breaths-and had her pus.h.i.+ng away from him in a different kind of panic.

He shook his head quickly once, eyes closed, as if trying to remember where he was.

She sat up, looking for the source of the sound.

"I've got it," Daniel said, gasping. He shoved his hand in his jeans pocket as the phone pealed again.

He looked at the number, then hit Answer with his thumb. With his left hand, he pulled her back against his chest.

"Kev?" Daniel answered between pants.

"Danny-hey, are you guys safe?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Sounds like you're running a marathon."

"The phone scared me. Nerves a little frayed, you know." He lied so smoothly that she almost smiled in spite of the tumult inside her.

"Oh, right, sorry. Let me talk to Oleander."

"You mean Alex?"

"Whatever. Give her the phone."

She tried to slow her breathing, to sound normal. "Yes?"

"What? Don't tell me the phone scared you, too."

"I am not a black ops agent. And it's been a very long night."

"I'll keep it quick. I found my guy. Does the name Deavers mean anything to you?"

She thought for a second, working to pull her mind back to the things that mattered. "Yes, I know the name. It was on some of the files when information was being extracted for the CIA. He never came in to monitor an interrogation, though. Is he a supervisor over there?"

"He's more than a supervisor. He's second in command these days, with an eye to moving up. He was one of several potentials I was monitoring. Early this morning, Deavers gets a call, punches a few walls, then makes his own call. I know this guy-he loves to make the peons scurry. He doesn't leave his office; he sends an aide to bring the person he wants to him. Always the power play. But after that second call, he goes running out to see your man Carston like a gofer. They met up at a random little residential park miles away from both their offices and then went for a leisurely and sweaty walk, looking like they wanted to murder each other the whole time. It's Deavers, for sure."

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm. I think I still want the e-mail. I need to see who else knows about this. Taking out Deavers won't be too hard, but it just tips the other guys off if he's not alone. Have you got a pen?"

"Gimme a sec."

She crawled to the front seat and located her backpack. She dug for a pen, then scribbled the e-mail address he gave her onto the back of a gas receipt.

"When?" she asked.

"Tonight," he decided. "After you've gotten some sleep and have your nerve back."

"I'll send it from Baton Rouge. Do you have a script or do you want me to wing it?"

"You know the gist. Don't make it sound too cerebral."