Countdown (13 page)

“Your mom,” she answered. “You call her every week.”

He nodded. “Which is a bummer because Mom used to be a detective. She would have the best chance of leading me to someone else we could trust. But, I hardly ever call my brother, and I'm going to take care not to use any trigger words. I won't be explaining any of our situation.”

The boys grew quiet. In the rearview mirror he found they'd fallen asleep. Long car rides could always be counted for that. He took the exit for the next small town and pulled into a store parking lot. “Do you mind waiting in the car?”

She looked down at his blood-soaked sweatshirt. “Under the circumstances, that's probably a good idea.” She nodded toward her purse. “Could you hand me the gun?”

He did so, and she slipped it underneath her leg for quick access. James checked his cash. It was less than he thought. Eighty-dollars should get him a couple of burner phones, but would it cover the first-aid supplies and food he'd need to purchase, as well?

“Take the cash in my purse.”

“I will not.”

She rolled her eyes. “It's my grocery and entertainment money for the next two weeks. It's not much, but combined with yours it should get us what we need.”

“Fine, but it's a loan.”

“I know where you live,” she joked, but her eyes were closed. Pain radiated across her face.

He pointed to her shoulder. “Let me look.” She slid the bundled-up sweatshirt down. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but a giant gash ran diagonally across her shoulder. He huffed. “Ideally, you probably need stitches.”

“We'll just bandage it up as best as we can. I'm not afraid of scars.”

He pulled back. How many scars did she carry internally from her childhood? He nodded. “I'll be fast. Leave without me if there's any sign of them. Promise?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

He stepped out of the van.

“Snacks and caffeine will help the pain,” she called after him.

James ran across the mostly empty parking lot to the store. He didn't want to leave Rachel alone much longer in the van. While her affection for the boys seemed obvious, she'd grown jumpy around them, second-guessing everything she said. Was it because he'd tried to kiss her? He'd really messed up there. If there were ever an award for Most Awkward Running-For-Your-Life Road Trip, he'd take the prize.

James made short work of the shopping. He held the two grocery bags and two paper cups as he scanned the parking lot for the white van. Approaching, he quickened his step. He couldn't see Rachel. Coffee sloshed from his cup and foam ran down the other. He spotted the top of her head and exhaled.

The sun peeked over the horizon, a dazzling display of colors that highlighted her dark eyelashes and pink lips. The same lips that laughed at his weak attempts at humor, that challenged him, that spoke the words that would give him chills for the rest of his life.
You will not touch those boys.
And the same lips that had brushed against his even for half a second.

The woman was fearless...except when it came to him. Maybe she didn't fear him. Perhaps she just feared rejecting him and what that would do to their friendship. The thought struck him. Were they more than just neighbors? Were they friends?

She pointed with her right hand to his head. “Bought a hat?”

“Yeah. We can trade if you want the newer one.”

“Nah.” Her eyes drifted to his hands. “Coffee,” she said as if it was a long-lost love.

He offered it to her. “Grande, salted caramel mocha, half the syrup, extra hot. Is that right?”

She gasped, reaching with her right hand. “I love y—” Her eyes flickered to his face, and a deep blush spread across her cheeks. Her tone had been playful until she'd clearly remembered his attempt to kiss her.

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I love that drink,” she amended.

She took a long sip as he got adjusted in the seat. She cried out when he applied the antiseptic to her shoulder, and the boys stirred. Her face crumpled. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. They're probably hungry.” He handed the boys some breakfast bars, juice boxes and a cheap electronic game he'd purchased.

The adhesive skin closures he bought barely held her wound. They looked weak and about to break with the slightest movement. He grimaced.

There was something else he could do, though. “This is going to seem so weird, Rachel, but I've seen it work on remote construction sites.”

He reached into the shopping bag for the duct tape and travel sewing kit he'd picked up, just in case. He tore off two one-inch pieces of duct tape, folded down the long side of each one and placed them on either side of her wound.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She pointed at the travel sewing kit as he threaded a needle.

“I'm going through the duct tape, not your skin.” He exhaled. “But it's not going to feel good.”

Fear flickered in her eyes, but she nodded and looked away.

His fingers moved quickly, sewing through the folded-over portions of the duct tape. He pulled the strings to pull the duct tape, and therefore her skin, tight together. “There. That seems more secure. It'll at least hold until we can get you somewhere for real stitches.”

Rachel blew out a breath as he tied the knot. She turned to him and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. It broke his heart. He wanted to reach for her and pull her close.

Instead he dove back into the first-aid supplies he'd purchased and covered his sewing work with a large bandage. “I'm so sorry, Rachel.”

She sniffed. “Don't be. You didn't shoot me. You patched me up. Thank you.”

He had no words, so he turned the van back on so he could get the phones charging before they left.

Her finger traced the outside of her coffee lid. “You didn't order the same thing, did you?”

“No, plain coffee does it for me.” The plastic packaging on the phones wouldn't budge. What kind of plastic was this? They should make internal components out of it. Unbreakable.

“How'd you know to order this drink, then? It's pretty specific.”

He looked up. Oh, she was still talking about the coffee. “Most Wednesdays you have a decaf version of one of those in your hands at church.” He threw a thumb toward the white-printed label on the side.

She flashed a dazzling smile. “I suppose I do.” Her eyes drifted to the phone packaging. She set the drink in the cup holder and unzipped her purse. The sight of the gun under her leg reminded him to be on guard. They needed to get back on the road.

She pulled out a pair of scissors and slid the blades out of a protective shield. He reached for them and she shook her head. “Could you just hold out the package? These blades are ridiculously expensive.”

He frowned but held it steady. “How much?”

“You don't want to know,” she mumbled. As if performing a delicate operation, she barely nicked the packaging with only a half inch of the blades.

“Why do you have them in your purse?”

“They're an extra pair of shears I keep with me. A couple weekends a month I give haircuts outside of the salon.”

“To anyone?”

She sighed as she made tiny cuts to the plastic. “To women about to go on job interviews.”

In other words, she helped the women at the shelter the church sponsored. James didn't want to embarrass her, but it only strengthened his opinion of her.

He was able to get the phones up and running within minutes. Despite her protest, James entered his family members' phone numbers and his parents' address into the phone he'd purchased for her. “Just in case,” he added. “Wherever we stay, it's going to be north and this—” he threw a thumb over his shoulder at the content boys “—won't last much longer.”

He pulled back onto the freeway, headed to the coastal 101 highway. Once on the road, he dialed David's number. “Pick up, pick up,” James muttered.

“Hello?”

“David.” Relief coursed through his veins. “It's James. I was worried you wouldn't pick up.”

“I wasn't going to, but Aria worried it was one of the employees calling. You got a new number?”

“For a short time.” James wanted to keep the conversation as short as possible. “I'm hoping you can help me.”

“If I can, I will. Name it.”

“Please use your connections to find me a beach house in Northern California for a day or two, starting today. I know it's short notice but—”

“How about Central California coast instead?”

“Uh, yeah. That'd probably be even better.” He had assumed David's connections were closer to the conference center he ran on the Oregon Coast, but he wasn't complaining.

“I know just the place.”

“That's not all. I need to use cash.”

“Won't be a problem. People who deal with me are used to it. You know how Dad drilled into us the—”

James didn't have time for a budget lesson refresher. “Could you call me back once you've got a place?”

“No need. Can you get to Pismo Beach?”

James felt his eyes widen. That was closer than he'd imagined. It'd still take a few hours, but it'd suit his needs. “That'd be perfect. Are you sure you can get it?”

“Positive.” David rattled off the address. James repeated it, and Rachel typed it with one hand into the notepad of her charging smartphone. “The door will be open, or I'll make sure there is a key under the mat.”

“I have another huge favor to ask,” James said. “I need you to be on call in case I need you to come and take the boys somewhere for a few days. I'm hoping that won't be necessary, but I'm covering my bases.”

His huge request was met with a pause. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“You could say that, but I can't go into details right now. I hope to have it all fixed in a few days.”

“Is it the kind of trouble Aria and I had to deal with?”

He cringed. He hadn't witnessed a murder by the Russian mafia with an impending tsunami on his heels, so, no. “You can't really compare the two.”

“Or Luke and Gabriella?”

He didn't want to say the word “mafia” over the phone lest it trigger any kind of NSA tracking, but he couldn't really compare his situation with theirs, either. “Completely different.”

“Good. Because Mom was starting to worry she'd raised four danger-seeking vigilantes.”

James considered the absurd possibility. “Maybe danger comes to us and not the other way around.”

David laughed. “That's what I said!”

“David, do me a favor and don't tell anyone about this conversation.” He hung up before his brother could respond. He'd just add it to the list of apologies he'd owe everyone if they ever got out of this situation.

THIRTEEN

R
achel studied every car that crossed their path. Every dark sedan made her flinch.

James twisted the radio dial. He stopped at a Celine Dion song. “Hey. You like this one.”

She gaped at him. She adored listening to Celine Dion songs while she swept or mopped. It was something Meredith used to do, and they would both dramatically sing and dance around the house while they cleaned. “Do...do you like Celine Dion?”

“Uh, not really. But I know you like her.”

“How?” Her mouth hung open. Had he been spying on her?

“If you don't want the neighborhood to know you like Celine Dion, you should probably close your windows when you're cleaning.” His eyes darted her way and his lips curved upward to one side as if fighting a laugh.

“Oh.” She sank back into her seat. The whole neighborhood? She did have a habit of belting it out...

“You like this song, huh, Rachel?” a little voice piped up from the back.

James didn't fight the laugh any longer.

“Okay,” Rachel said. “I guess you know that about me, but I also know you guys have a wrestling event every night before bed.”

He froze. “Oh?”

“Yes, the boys are always Caleb and Ethan but with fun adjectives added to their name, but yours are always so creative. I believe you've been...” She racked her brain to remember the names he'd call out in a deep voice. “The Gorilla. The Clown. The BoomBoom. The Hammer...”

His entire face flushed. “Point taken.”

She grinned in triumph. “If you don't want the neighborhood to know...”

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledged. “I often close the blinds, but with the nice weather...”

“Me, too.” She closed her blinds when she cleaned, too, but left the windows open. It was easy to forget that the whole world could still hear you when they couldn't see you. “I suppose we know more about each other than I thought just by being neighbors.”

He nodded then raised an eyebrow. “Why? What else do you know?”

“Nothing bad. I know that you grill almost all the time, even in the winter.”

“Hmm.” He pushed the hair falling over his eyes back. “What else?”

“And you keep a freakishly perfect yard.”

“Well, that's just being a good neighbor.”

She sighed as she watched his handsome profile. If falling for him didn't mean being a mom... But even if she ever did get over that, what would it be like to be with someone who'd already been married to the love of his life? Could a crippled heart love fully?

“Let's see. I know you go on lots of dates,” James said. “I see the guys pick you up, but you never invite them in, not even for a few minutes. So, either you don't want them to see your house because you're not a tidy person—which after seeing the inside yesterday doesn't seem likely—or you fiercely guard your heart.”

She felt her face fall. The humor disappeared as fast as it appeared. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to ask why I said—” She darted a look to see the boys occupied with their cheap electronic game before diving into the topic of why she couldn't be with him.

He shrugged. “No. Just an observation.”

She held up a hand. “I think that was more than an observation.” It felt like more of an attack, except, if she looked at the facts alone, it was one hundred percent true. His tone, though, said more. “You know, if you had asked me why I can't be in a relationship with you, I would've told you,” she said softly.

“I don't need to ask why. I'm sure you had your reasons.” His shoulders dropped. “I want to respect your decision.”

She said nothing but something inside softened. Of all the men she'd dated—and there were a lot—no one had said they respected her decision. “Is it because you have your own reasons?” she blurted. “Is that why you didn't ask?”

“Does it matter?” He kept his eyes plastered on the road, not paying her a single glance. “If it's not right, it's not right. Why torture ourselves?”

She nodded. It made sense. She looked out the side window. He had a point. Leave it alone. It was a wise, logical decision... She turned back to him. “Because it's going to drive me crazy if I don't know.”

He sighed. “Okay. Well, there is the obvious...we're neighbors.”

“Yeah. That was my thinking, too.” She tried to relax in her seat. That was all. A tingling in the back of her neck wouldn't let it go. “But...the way you said that implies there's more.”

He pursed his mouth. Did he keep making those expressions—the ones that drew her eyes to his lips—to show her what she'd missed? To remind her she could've kissed him?

She focused on her hands as she waited for his reply. Bloodstains remained underneath her nails on her right hand. It served as a reminder that they may not even get through the weekend alive.

“My heart broke when I lost Nikki,” James said. “I don't know if it'll ever be whole again so I don't want to risk further damage by someone who has any doubts. And I imagine—no one could blame you—that the fact I come with two kids as a package deal and find social situations excruciating makes me not the best fit for someone like you.” He cringed, as if replaying his own words and not approving. “Have I put your mind to rest?”

“Almost.”

“This is more talking than I do in a typical day.”

She ignored that. “What did you mean ‘someone like me'?”

“I don't know, like
you
.” He emphasized the last word as if it made it all clear. “Beautiful, kind, funny, smart, an extrovert...”

He thought she was smart? She blinked and faced forward. “Oh.”

The awkwardness of the conversation combined with Celine Dion's love ballads playing in the background made her squirm in her seat. Rachel raised her cup to her lips only to realize there wasn't any latte left.

“Wh-what about you?” James asked softly.

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

He bobbed his head side to side. “You said you agreed with the neighbors part, but the way
you
said it also sounded like there was more to it.”

“Oh.” Rachel stared at the van ceiling hoping a Pull to Eject switch would suddenly appear. She
had
said she would tell him if he asked. She inhaled. “Well, I told you I had a bad childhood...”

He nodded.

“I never had a good example in parenting. And I watched my friends, who grew up in the same sort of environment, have kids and raise them in the exact same horrible ways, and that's when I knew. I could never be a mom. I wouldn't want to treat kids the way I was treated, and I think, judging by what I've seen, that it would be unavoidable.” She waited for his response, sure he would understand.

He frowned, as if processing. “That's ridiculous.”

Her jaw dropped. Not the reaction she'd expected at all. “Excuse me?”

“That's like saying a kid who grows up with horrible teeth, riddled with tons of cavities, shouldn't be a dentist.”

“I think it's a little more complicated than that, James.” She flinched at how harsh she'd said his name.

“Okay, well... What about Eleanor Roosevelt?” He gestured with one hand. “She had a pretty bad childhood from what I can gather and was known for being a good mother to her six children and a champion of those who were oppressed.”

Was that true? Something warm flared in her chest. “I've never heard that, but you're a guy who loves math and statistics. Surely you can see the statistics for being a good mother aren't in my favor.”

“What I see is a woman who cares enough that it wouldn't be an issue. Even people with great childhoods, like me for example, still struggle to be a good parent. It's just hard no matter what. And for the record, the way you were willing to sacrifice yourself for Caleb and Ethan—” His voice shook. “I think a woman willing to do that could be a good mom if she wanted.”

He adjusted his ball cap up and down as if he couldn't find a comfortable position for it over that full head of hair. “Um, I'm not implying that... I mean, I'm not arguing for you...” He cleared his throat. “To be clear, I'm not trying to convince you to mother my children. Not at all.”

He didn't make eye contact. He stared straight ahead and gestured forward with one hand, as if helping him to stay on track. “I get that I'm not the guy, Rachel. That's not my point. If I had my wish, we'd go back twenty minutes ago and avoid this conversation.”

“I know.” Her voice barely came out as a squeak.

He sighed. “I've handled this so badly I can't even begin to apologize, Rachel. First, I—I tried to kiss you,” he said. “And I didn't even ask your permission or ask you on a date...and then I practically belittled you for what is probably a very wise decision. It wasn't my intent, but I know it probably came out that way.”

“You saw the failed logic.” It was her turn to speak in monotone.

“I saw the holes in the logic,” he said, much softer. “In an otherwise fearless woman, it seemed incongruent. It didn't take in account any feelings, convictions or, most importantly, prayer. I've been operating on steam and acting insensitive. Please forgive me.”

It wasn't a question. It was a petition. Add that to the long list of things no one had asked her before, for forgiveness. And while her thoughts still swam with everything he said, it was a no-brainer. “I will.”

The air around them felt electric, as though a spotlight had been shining on them for the past hour inside a counselor's office with no exit. He thought she was fearless? She huffed at the thought. It couldn't be further from the truth at the moment. She sighed, slightly worried where any more thinking or talking might take them.

* * *

Except for a quick stop at a gas station, he drove as fast as the speed limit allowed. On little sleep, the hours driving in silence seemed like they'd never end. James tried to block out the conversation with Rachel, but it played on a loop in his mind. The rolling hills, the stretches of fog and the gorgeous silver-blue ocean water in the distance all fought for his attention, but it didn't work. He'd never intended to talk about the kiss that barely happened, but in the event he did, he'd never imagined it having gone so poorly. How did a guy recover from something like that?

“Why do you think the risk will be over once we get past Sunday?” Rachel asked. “You said the launch is scheduled for then, right? Won't they still need you?”

“No. Scheduling a launch is incredibly complicated. They can't just change the date without doing significant figures and program modifications. The processes I wrote will only stall the launch on Sunday. After that they can reschedule a launch with no problem.”

“Why? Won't your virus still be hindering them?”

He shook his head. “I wrote the process with the orbital values in mind. If they change the launch, they have to change the orbit, which will render my work void. But they will want to do everything possible to not reschedule. It'll shine more attention on what they're doing, and the permits will need to be updated. They'll have to request recertification.”

“So we're just going to wait it out, and then?”

“I haven't thought that far,” he admitted. “I'm still praying Derrick pulls through and can help us out. If not, I pray God makes it obvious what I'm supposed to do.” He exhaled a giant breath of air. “I'm sorry. It's all I've got.”

“It's better than nothing.”

The sign for Pismo Beach prompted him to slow down and turn on his left-turn signal. “We're almost there.” And now he would be spending time, alone, in a big beach house with the boys and Rachel. Yeah, it wasn't going to be awkward at all.

Rachel told him to take yet another left. She'd pulled up the address on her burner phone. Without a map, he would have driven in circles around the tourist area. It was still early in spring so the Spring Break craze had yet to begin. So far the side streets were empty of both people and vehicles.

“Take the next left.”

James studied the layout of the neighborhood. “David got us a place on the southern end.”

“That's good?”

He nodded. “Away from the restaurants and closer to the secluded dunes.”

She pointed at the single-story California Craftsman surrounded by palm trees. “This must be it. It looks huge.”

He parked on the side of the street next to three pickup trucks. Seemed a bit odd in this area to have so many oversize pickups, the type his brothers and dad were so fond of in the construction and housing business. Usually he saw more fuel-efficient vehicles. “Okay, time to gather our things.”

She popped open the console between them. He stared at the gun resting inside. Would he still need it?

“Take it,” she urged. “You might want to go ahead of us and check it out. Just in case.”

He slipped the gun underneath his shirt as he looked over his shoulder to make sure the boys were occupied with the Silly Putty he'd purchased in a gas station. He groaned as he saw strings of it stuck in their hair. “Add that to my list of great ideas,” he muttered.

She followed his gaze and cracked a smile. “It's fine. I can get that right out with a little conditioner or baby oil.”

What would I do without you?
The words were on the tip of his tongue. He almost said it but, thankfully, he'd finally regained control of his tongue.

Rachel opened the van door, and the breeze made her shiver. She pulled on his sweatshirt. Bloodstains decorated the front and back. She cringed. “I hope no one sees me like this.”

They formed a line as they walked on the sidewalk leading to the back of the house...or in this case, the front of the house, which faced the beach.

He pointed to a palm tree and told Rachel and the boys to wait for him to check it out. He rounded the corner and placed a hand on his stomach, ready to grab the weapon if needed. The crash of ocean tides made it hard to listen for warning signs as he stepped closer to peek into the windows.