…
Emma Matthews
by Anton M.
Chapter 11: Chrysler 200
…
Through her semi-sleep, Isabella could feel the bed dip before Edward put his arm around her on top of the blanket and snuggled against her. She opened her eyes. As with any city, the streetlights didn't allow complete darkness, creating striped shadows of their blinds on the ceiling instead. Edward's breath ghosted over her neck, and his arms felt warm and safe. She shut her eyes.
"Are you awake?" he whispered so quietly she could barely hear him.
"Yes. I—"
Edward pressed two fingers against her mouth under the blanket. "We're being watched."
His feet were cold. He'd been walking around.
She moved just enough to lower herself under the blankets and turn her head so that Edward could speak straight in her ear in case they were being listened to, too.
"How do you know?"
He wrapped his palm around her folded fists, pulled her to face him, and lowered his head on the mattress, the way she had. He covered himself with her blanket and lifted it to hide their cheeks.
"I saw a small camera on top of the lamp when I went to the bathroom, but there might be more."
"Are they listening?"
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I don't know."
But they couldn't not communicate, they just had to hope they weren't being overheard and keep their voices as low as possible.
"Did you look straight in the camera?"
"It was reflected in the mirror."
She brushed her thumb against his knuckles, heartbeat pulsing in her ears as she brainstormed.
"Your cell?" she whispered, feeling mildly nauseated. Edward's phone had been on airplane mode as she played with it, but she'd barely registered that she shouldn't have been holding his phone at all.
And Jasper had called. How tired had they been?
"It's encrypted by a third party."
So trusting the system hadn't prevented Edward from being a little paranoid. Nevertheless, a tiny error in judgement could have grave consequences for them.
"Not well enough, clearly."
It wasn't necessarily his phone that had given them away, but she couldn't check if it had been encrypted well enough to keep the location of his phone a secret. If they'd been recognized at the Mitchell Airport, their destination city and state had been known and their cover blown. That's the only way Carlisle or Jacob could've traced them to the Pacific Northwest. All Carlisle or Jacob and their employees had to do was to make sure their taxi driver was determined by them. From that point on, their destination room was easy to manipulate with.
But there was no time to be mad by his shock or her stress or the tense situation in general that had prevented her from being on top of her game. She was curious to know if it was Jacob or Carlisle whose people had found them (or if they cooperated at this point), but it didn't matter. All that mattered was hitting the road and not leaving a trace for anyone to follow.
"Where's your phone now?"
He slid her hand under his pillow, where a battery and two pieces of his Android lay.
"I would've put it in the sink but I don't know what they can or cannot see."
"This works better," she whispered. "We'll take it with us."
They could use it to distract Carlisle or Jacob by making sure it was switched on and putting it on a vehicle moving away from them. It would be a simple and silly action, but doing it might buy time as they shrugged off the presence of whoever had the connections to watch them in a random hotel in Oregon.
And every minute brought the eyes of the cameras closer to them.
"Ratchett?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Now?"
"If we act immediately or block their view, they'll know we know."
Either choice would be risky. If they got dressed at this second and left in the middle of the night, they'd have someone either drawing a gun on them or trailing them. If they waited until the morning, they'd have the advantage of having everyone awake which would make it harder for anyone to kill them (and hide the fact), but it would also offer either of their pursuers more time to catch up with them.
"I think we should leave soon," she said.
"Not without a plan."
The slightest tick, distant footsteps and passing voices behind the door suddenly felt suspicious. Both listened. Edward breathed on her cheek and she didn't let go of his hand, and they spent the next hour huddling under the blanket, whispering. They were aware of every crack and footstep as they discussed their plan.
The fact that nobody had killed them yet while knowing their location meant that either Edward or Isabella had information they wanted. It was most likely that the person who knew, be it Jacob or Carlisle or both, wanted to keep an eye on them before making a move. It was a little comforting to know that they were wanted alive.
But having discussed it with Edward, Isabella knew that the person watching them was Carlisle. It had to be. If it were Jacob, the person who had installed those cameras would've shot them the moment they opened the door.
Bam, bam, game over.
Jacob wasn't a movie type of villain. He would never tie her in a chair, circling around her while discussing his vile plans to take over the world (of drug trafficking). He didn't want to explain himself or justify his actions in her eyes. He wouldn't care. He just wanted her dead.
Carlisle, however, as much as she didn't know him, might've had other intentions. Maybe he hadn't revealed to Jacob where they were—this time—because he wanted her to clear his name before offering Jacob the means to kill her. Or maybe he wanted her to clear his name as a price for keeping her location from Jacob.
Did he think he could convince her or coerce her to do it? Maybe he did.
But when Isabella explained her theory to Edward, wanting him to offer his insight—because he had known Carlisle for years—Edward answered in monosyllables. His tone and the way he sighed, nodding instead of replying to her, spoke volumes. He must've blamed himself not only for getting their cover blown, but for trusting Carlisle. He was still angry, too. But she couldn't do anything about his thoughts, so she merely squeezed his hand, pressing a kiss against his shoulder that was both tentative and bold. He didn't react and she couldn't see his face. Isabella continued to explain why she thought it was Carlisle watching them, and as she did, she started to understand that Edward didn't trust his opinion anymore. He didn't trust himself to choose what's best for both of them, and she couldn't express her need for him to help her decide.
She was the technology-loving one. If anyone was to blame, it was her, on many levels. But if he wanted her to confide in him, she needed him to do the same so that they could work as a fully functioning unit.
But now was not the time nor the place, so instead of convincing him that his few mistakes in life didn't define him (and the fact that he had, in fact, made any, was arguable), she slid her arm—again, tentative and bold—around his chest and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, asking him to hug her. She couldn't see his face but he must've stared because he paused before he complied and wrapped her in his arms. His breaths against her neck seemed loud, but he said nothing. He felt very, very warm against her and she felt important in his arms.
An hour before sunrise, they (loudly) discussed topics as mundane as the weather as they got dressed. He'd turned the TV on, and she left her new clip-on earrings on the bedside table. They had agreed that if they revealed their awareness of being watched, Carlisle (or Jacob) would be likelier to rush here—or pay someone to rush here. Playing Mr. and Mrs. Sutton might give them some advantages. Time, for one. They had paid for three nights, and they would leave stuff here to make it look like they had the intention of returning. They also hadn't been killed yet. For whatever reason, Carlisle wanted them—her or him—alive.
Was he buying time, keeping an eye on them until he had a plan or until he got here? Maybe. And if so, Edward and Isabella didn't have to fear for their life—currently—as much as they'd thought they would. But still, they were playing a dangerous game.
Edward held her hand in a death grip as they left their room. He checked either side of the corridor and looked around every corner, squeezing her hand, but when a couple of people passed them, he decided it was easier to hold her against him. The receptionist greeted them cheerily, showing the direction of breakfast, but they refused and left the hotel.
Someone was likely to follow them, but they had to figure out who, and find an escape route.
It was Saturday. The morning was cloudy and cold, and few people passed them on the street. They walked in plain sight, wearing clothes belonging to the cover that had been blown, but they kept their pace and hopped on a MAX Green Line a second before it took off. Nothing had happened, and yet, as she stood close to him, watching and feeling the train pick up speed, her heart beat loudly in her ears.
Seeing the direction of Edward's gaze, Isabella saw a single, tan Camry follow the train. He had noticed it two blocks ago. When the train's route made it impossible for the car to follow them five minutes later, they sat across a teenager surfing the net and found out that there was a 24/7 Walmart a few stops before Clackamas. They couldn't be sure that the Camry was following them, but they couldn't take any risks.
They got off at the stop that would lead them to Walmart, and rushed to the side of a building away from the big street. He took his .540 from under his khakis and gave it to her. It barely fit in her jacket pocket, but she kept close to him so it couldn't be seen by a casual by-passer.
The moment they stepped in the Walmart, Isabella slid off her wig, took off her glasses and threw both in a bin. They entered the store. Pushing their cart, they passed a sleepy-looking salesclerk, but she barely paid attention to them. Not many people were around.
Now that Carlisle had lost sight of Edward and Isabella—hopefully—he would be stupid not to keep an eye on all stores, but he'd have to filter out quite a few. That would take time, and time was their biggest yet most dangerous asset.
"Maybe it's safer if we're not seen together," Isabella suggested.
"Nothing we do is safe. I'm staying."
Like on their first morning at the Baltimore Airport, Isabella picked clothes quickly, and so did Edward. Regretting her nerd-fantasy outfit, she decided that dressing as little like her usual self would stand out in the crowd. Jeans might've been her usual choice and, therefore, easy for Jacob to search for, but if every other girl wore jeans, she wouldn't stand out. So she bought jeans, a sports jacket, a cap and underwear. She chose a backpack. Hygiene products, water, energy bars, four prepaid cell phones, two road atlases and the like landed in their cart. Edward's current backpack already contained a first aid kit, but they bought extra drugs. They bought anything they thought they might need, even a flashlight, some rope, a pocket knife, and a lighter.
Finally, they stood in front of laptops. Isabella didn't want to pick just anything because she needed a decent storage capacity and a fast processor but as she read information next to the computers, Edward grew impatient enough to start suggesting options.
"What about this one?"
He pointed at a Toshiba Radius 11.
"Cheap," she replied. "Probably because it has camel shit for battery."
He scoffed under his breath.
"We don't have time for this."
"It's important."
"Macbook?" he tried again.
"I don't have time for dealing with ram overhead and storage capacity issues."
Edward slowly let out a breath, pointing at the next one, a Lenovo Thinkpad X250.
"Great battery life, annoying Superfish adware."
Edward let go of the cart, facing her and taking her shoulders in his hands. "Speed is the key word here, okay? You have one minute to pick out whatever the hell suits you, and we're out of here. Go."
She glanced over all price tags and stopped at the more expensive part of the table where a Dell Alienware 15 waited for her. It cost $1,999. She called for a salesclerk to bring her one in a box while Edward gaped.
"We don't have that kind of money to spend on a laptop."
Not looking at him, Isabella thanked the man and put the box in their cart.
"Anything else?" she asked, pushing the cart. "I'm ready."
He opened his mouth, and she could tell that he wanted to say her name, her real name, because they didn't have cover names anymore.
But he was well-trained and said, "Sara…"
"I have the money."
"Where?"
She lifted the little handbag she'd had since leaving Milwaukee. "Here."
"You're going to use your own credit card?"
"Don't be stupid. You cut that in half." She could tell he wanted to argue, so she took a step closer and spoke quietly. "It's safe and I'll explain."
He stared at her before giving her the slightest nod. A moment later, they piled their stuff on the conveyer belt and faced the same sleepy-looking salesclerk.
"Going on a hike?" she asked, trying to make small talk.
"Yup," Isabella replied, smiling a bit too brightly. "The thing is, though, our car just broke down a block from here. You wouldn't happen to know a rental, would you?"
"Oh, sure thing. It's like a mile away on the 82nd Avenue. Just go south past Super King and McDonald's on your right hand side and the rental will be on your left."
"Thanks, that's super helpful." Isabella slid a hand up on Edward's stomach. "See, honey munchkin? It won't be all that bad." He narrowed his eyes at her, but she glanced back at the salesclerk. "Men and asking directions, I swear."
They got changed in the bathrooms and walked south on the 82nd Ave. MAX green line rails weren't on this street, but the road had four lanes and people had started to wake up. Neither Edward nor Isabella talked, and it was a tense twenty minutes before they arrived at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car. Edward agreed to keep himself away as Isabella filled paperwork and paid upfront for a dark grey Chrysler 200. Having thrown her backpack on the backseat, Isabella picked Edward up from the side of the road.
"I know it's necessary, but we have to keep separation to a minimum," he said, tossing his own backpack on the backseat. "I don't like it."
She started testing the radio and getting a feel of the new car. "The woman who just rented this car is a 26-year-old Julia Marie Choquette, single and heading for her sister's wedding in Salt Lake City, where she will leave the car in another rental."
"I assume Miss Choquette didn't show her face to a security camera."
"Didn't even glance at them."
She could feel his eyes on her as he frowned. They had yet to discuss an enormous list of potential issues, plans and ideas, but they had to take care of a few things first.
She called a contact who would have a plate and driver's licenses waiting for them in Ellensburg, Washington.
Edward left the car to drive a single stop on the blue line heading away from Gresham to "forget" his phone (now switched on) between a seat and the train wall. Isabella nervously followed the train, and only breathed a sigh of relief as Edward sat back on the passenger seat next to her. She didn't want to appear weak or needy but she didn't like being separated, either. Was it because of the danger surrounding them? Was it because it was Edward, and she didn't want anything to happen to him?
Edward squeezed her forearm before she had time to take off. "Let me drive," he said, pressing his lips together.
She saw his need to be useful, to act and do anything but stare off into space. So they switched places and he picked I-205 to head to Seattle, Washington, a four-hour drive away from Portland.
"If you were Jacob, what would you do?" Edward asked.
"I would steal a car and buy fake plates. I would keep away from cities, and I would have a fake ID. I would change my appearance but avoid cameras anyway."
His jaw tightened, and he glanced at her.
"They expect us to avoid big cities. They expect us to do everything we've done so far."
"Yes."
"They're going to figure out we were in that Walmart, buying what we were buying, and they will figure out that we rented a grey Chrysler and they will know that you only mentioned Salt Lake City as a distraction."
"Eventually, yes."
"They will think we left in the opposite direction toward Seattle, or, at least, Sacramento or Idaho."
The edge of her mouth rose. "Yes."
It was just too bad that Salt Lake City was exactly where they were heading. They'd both been there. Isabella had repeatedly mentioned Utah to the woman working at the car rental so that, when the time came, the woman would recall her as a girl whose description matched Isabella's heading for Salt Lake City. Having the career Carlisle had, he would assume it to be a distraction. Having the past that Jacob had, he would assume they were heading in the opposite direction: Seattle. So Seattle was where they would leave their rental car, to confirm their suspicions, and buy an old car with changed plates before heading to Salt Lake City through Montana.
It wasn't the city itself that was important. There was nothing waiting for them in the capital of Utah. It was the appearance of wanting to distract, of confirming that distraction only to head to the exact city she mentioned to the woman at the rentals, that's what was important.
"From here onwards, it's a game of cat and mouse," Edward said. "We can come up with the most unlikely personalities, we can fake accents and play our parts outrageously well… there's nothing we can do to shrug them off infinitely. We need to be alert, and we can't avoid it… our actions will somewhat overlap with what Jacob expects us to do because that's the only way to keep us anonymous for long enough to keep on going."
They started crossing the Glenn-Jackson bridge. Isabella kicked off her shoes and lifted her legs to wrap her arms around them. She didn't give Edward enough credit—he had a quick, creative mind and the experience to come up with skillful strategies. She could think like Jacob to understand how he would be looking for them, but Edward? He could think like his boss.
"If you were Carlisle, what would you do?"
Edward pressed his lips together. Waiting, Isabella took a tattoo from her pocket, removing its plastic before sticking it on her wrist and licking it. Once it was wet enough, she removed the paper to reveal a snake. It was black and red and yellow. Satisfied with herself, she rested her cheek against her knees and eyed Edward. He still hadn't replied, and she wished she could ease his pain. But how? There were so many words left unsaid.
"It wasn't your fault."
Startled out of his thoughts, his eyes stopped at her tattoo, but he didn't ask, and she didn't share.
"I should've suspected something," he replied. "But what did I do? I was his most loyal employee."
"You suspected enough not to have a work phone."
"That wasn't because I suspected Carlisle of anything." He sighed. "I have a personal phone because I wanted to be able to contact my family if something happened. Whitlock knew."
"Tell me he's not the third party who encrypted it."
"No. He has a friend who did it."
"I'm not saying his friend did it badly, but… I should've asked you. I should've checked. I should've remembered."
"If I'm not to blame for this, you can't have that right, either."
She gave him a bittersweet smile. "But I'm good at this. Encryption and programming is what I do, it's who I am. But stress makes me sloppy. Not sleeping enough even more so. Those things have always affected my performance, and being aware of them doesn't change the fact. If I don't sleep, I start walking on a rope over negligence and bad decisions."
"That's quite poetic," he replied.
"Programming always is."
A tan Camry drove past them, and Isabella followed the car with her eyes before it made a sharp right turn and disappeared. She'd never felt more paranoid. She couldn't help it.
"I'm going to call my mother and sister on one of the burners," Edward said.
"Are you asking permission?"
"No. Just keeping you updated."
She read the signs they passed and contemplated telling him about Rosalie. Soon, she would continue writing code and he would find out anyway, but still she didn't want to contribute to his feelings of betrayal. He'd had enough without knowing that she'd been keeping this from him the whole time.
But she had to tell him.
"I've been in touch my roommate," she said, keeping her eyes on his face. He said nothing and only glanced at her before a red light. He didn't appear surprised.
"Rosalie," he said.
She blinked. "You don't sound surprised."
"It's clear that Carlisle is not the person you trust your life with. It had to be the person you kept in touch with in the bathrooms, and there aren't that many choices."
"How much do you know?"
"About her? She's 35. She has a PhD in Computer Science from the University of Maine and she was doing her post-doc at the UB. She was diagnosed with Asperger's at the age of 26. Her mother is an urban planner and father a meteorologist. She had multiple traffic violations up to the point where her boyfriend crashed himself in a motorcycle accident, but not a single violation since his death. She programs software for biotech companies."
Taken aback, she sat quietly for a few seconds.
"Homework, thy name is Edward."
"Frailty, thy name is woman."
She let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Shakespeare, really? If you were any more of an English teacher's son, you'd have a youtube account under the name Grammar Nazi. Did your mother refuse you dinner unless you quoted Hamlet?"
"No." He scoffed in amusement. "But she thinks intelligence is correlated with reading comprehension. I guess that's how she raised us."
"Did all that emphasis on reading comprehension help you study criminal justice?"
Edward tilted his head on the side, thinking. They'd exited Vancouver, Washington, and the road merged with I-5.
"You know what? I think it did."
"What a pair we make. My mother won the mathematician's equivalent of a Nobel prize and your mother made sure you knew Shakespeare by heart." Isabella paused. "She did, didn't she? Or is that the only line you know?"
"I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so / To punish me with this, and this with me / That I must be their scourge and minister. / I will bestow him, and will answer well / The death I gave him. So again good night. /I must be cruel only to be kind. / Thus bad begins and worse remains behind." *
With a growing smile (and a good rolling of her eyes), Isabella started waving her hand in front of her face as if to keep from fainting.
"If you used Shakespeare to pick up chicks, I would totally understand."
Clearly amused, he smiled. "Oh, really?"
"I would throw my panties in your face."
He laughed, and she grinned at his joy. It felt a little surreal to discuss such light-hearted topics with him as they escaped Oregon with no way of knowing how many people, when and who exactly would notice their disappearance and follow them, but it also felt good to laugh. It felt good to forget the reality of the situation and pretend that they were just two friends on a road-trip.
"I didn't get along with Rosalie at first," Isabella said. "She seemed snooty and cold. She thought I was a rich kid who argued with her father on the phone a lot and bought herself a place in college to study something that sounded cool. I was looking for a new place to live by the time we found ourselves in the same bar surrounded by the same crowd, and… I think it was the first time we'd had a full conversation. I didn't expect her to be so—normal, and I guess I surprised her, too. We've been friends ever since."
He gave her a tight-lipped smile, expressing without words that he was glad she shared this with him. "How much does she know?"
"She knows who you are. She knew we were in Wisconsin. She might've, or might not have, helped me with what I might or might not have done, regarding the news yesterday."
"Does she know we were in Portland?"
"No."
"Do you think she's worried?"
"Yes and no. Rosalie and emotions… it's complicated. She's the closest friend I've had, but I think she would say emotions are different for her. We spoke about it once in length. She said she had to consciously study people's behavior to understand how to feel and react in situations, and until she got her diagnosis, she thought everyone else did the same—lived a life in which you learn how to empathize or sympathize. She said she'd like to learn to express herself more, and I agreed that she could practice on me, so now she makes it a point to end every conversation with expressions of worry or love. Not always, though. She's kind of an ideal friend to have in this situation because she trusts my skills so endlessly she doesn't think we could get caught—though she expresses it—but she also isn't offended if I need to make a two-minute call without expressing how much I miss my friends and normal life. I think she knows that I do."
"Do you think she'd betray you?"
"No."
"Why didn't you reveal your location in Portland, then?"
Isabella grimaced. "I have an inexcusable reason… but at least Rosalie knows about it."
"Which is?"
She pressed her lips together, scratching her nails and observing her fingers. "If she's tortured, she can't reveal my location if she doesn't know it."
Edward didn't take his eyes off the road.
"Do you think that's cruel?"
"I think it's smart, given the situation, but it doesn't sound like you."
"It was her idea. I told her that would never happen, but now I feel like every move we make is dangerous and I don't want to take any chances. It's not because I think it's likely, it's just... she knows that once I stop letting her know, she should be extra careful. I'm not proud that she's on this journey with me, but I can't deny that I couldn't have done it without a person to trust."
"Does she have a cell phone that can be tracked?"
"She has eleven burner phones. I know all their numbers by heart."
"That's how you've been communicating?"
"Yes."
"Never through my phone?"
"Not once. I thought it was your work phone. I would never put Rosalie in that kind of danger."
"It sounds like you have an understanding. Is she safe?"
"Yes," Isabella replied. "She doesn't even live in our apartment any more. I made her take precautionary measures. She rolled her eyes, but I think I convinced her. I'm still going to let her know we're alive and well."
"Good."
"My friends, too. Three of them."
"Good."
He still wouldn't take his eyes off the road, and she rested her cheek on her knees.
"I'm sorry, Edward."
"For what?"
"For dragging you into this. For not telling Carlisle to assign me a random guy who wasn't as good as you are. For letting him pick his most loyal employee even though I knew that you would turn against me or, in case you were clean, take his betrayal to heart."
"He picked me because I'm loyal, Isabella. He knew I wouldn't let you out of my sight. He played on it."
"I know."
"Why do you think Carlisle's illegal activities are worse than your father's, anyway? Isn't it hypocritical of you to defend your father but throw Carlisle under the bus?"
"There are factors in the game you're unaware of."
"There's that sentence again! Enlighten me, then. Why is your father superior to Carlisle?"
"I never said he was. But the fact that my father didn't want me dead might contribute, of course."
"And yet, you stand by your father but do everything within your power to reveal what Carlisle did. And in spite of defending your father, you made sure to collaborate with the DEA against him. I don't see your logic in any of that."
Getting seriously annoyed, she scoffed.
"Why do you feel the need to remind me that I betrayed my father? Does it make you feel good to see me in pain? To make sure I knew I probably caused his death? Well, I'm aware, thank you."
"Isabella… your father was a criminal, he murdered people, he made money from—"
She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the Wikipedia summary, Edward. I wasn't aware."
Surprisingly even to himself, he took a breath and said, "You made the right decision. Joining the Witness Protection, I mean."
"Did I? Really? Because he was so evil? Because the government, the people you work for, they're all just innocent little lambs sucking their thumbs in a sunshine-filled meadow? Not a drop of blood on their hands?"
"You agreed to be protected by their agency."
"Yeah, because protection was what I would receive, knowing the kind of protection Carlisle had in mind for me."
"I don't understand you."
"Why would you? Everything is so black and white in your world. Criminals, bad; government, good. I wish I was that color-blind."
His jaw tightened. "I never said that."
"But up until yesterday, you thought as much."
"Okay. Fine. Let's say that I did. And yet every time I ask you to share whatever it is that you got yourself into, you tell me there are other factors in the game, and then you refuse to answer me. You don't trust me."
"I trust you."
"It feels like you don't."
"I trust you!"
"Yeah? Let's hear the reason behind you going against your father with the DEA and the full extent of what you might or might not have done."
"It's not the same."
"Why not? You either trust me with this information or you don't."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"Information!"
"Why?"
Isabella took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She lowered her voice. "Because you can use it to testify against me."
"I wouldn't," he replied quietly, glancing at her.
Both were starting to calm down and realize that arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere. If they wanted to survive, and they did, they needed to work together.
"Yes, you would," she argued. "You're a law-abiding citizen, and I don't mean that as an insult. You have principles. Asking you to commit perjury for me? I can't ask that of you. The less you know, the better."
"I'm helping you. I think I deserve to know what I got myself into."
"From the perspective of the law, you haven't done anything yet that can't be forgiven, and I think you know that. You haven't broken the law, and starting from the point where Carlisle's connection to Jacob became clear, your decisions could be interpreted as, I don't know… made under exceptional circumstances or something like that. They'd excuse you, and they will. You're unaware of what I might or might not have done at this point in time. You could walk away at this second and nobody would accuse you of anything. Other than leaving me to Jacob and your boss, maybe. But that's only because people see yesterday's news as separate from what happened three weeks ago. They see me as a victim."
"You are the victim."
"I am, but not one you're obliged to help."
He hated to admit it, but she was right. If he was forced to testify against her, he might think right now that he would commit perjury for her, but once the time came and he actually had to do it… it would be difficult. He believed in the system, he couldn't deny it. It had its flaws, but he didn't want to be a part of potential miscarriage of justice. At the same time, seeing what she (might or might not have) revealed yesterday through the news, her intentions if not her means were admirable. He wanted to be a part of making the system work again, making sure that the right people with the right intentions were the ones closer to power. He wanted to help her. He wanted to keep her alive, but he also wanted to help her make sure the right people had the right power.
It would be a bit too sudden to suggest it now, but they could get married. It would protect her from the information she had difficulty sharing, and it would protect him against perjury. They would be protected under the spousal privilege.
So he didn't press her for more information, yet.
"It's not your fault that our cover was blown."
Surprised by the change in topic, he eyed her before sighing.
"Really," she repeated. "It's not your fault."
"It was my phone that got us tracked down."
"You thought it was encrypted well enough."
"I should've thrown it away the moment you said what was going on."
"You didn't trust me."
"That's not an excuse."
Not knowing how to convince him, Isabella turned up the volume of the radio.
"Carlisle called me at the mall in Milwaukee."
"What?"
She muted the radio.
"He called me, asked me about things. Where you were, if you were acting suspicious, that kind of thing. I said we were still in Fort Atkinson, but… I think that call gave us away. It never came up, but he might've known I had a personal phone, and he could've dealt with the level of encryption even before I left Washington D.C. Before I met you."
For a minute, Isabella traced the snake on her wrist and followed her finger with her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Edward muttered.
"What's done is done." Isabella raised her eyes. "I don't blame you for anything you feel you did or any decisions you feel you should've made. I'm not perfect, and I don't expect it of you, either."
"I could've gotten us killed."
"But you didn't, and that's what's important. So our cover was blown and we were found in Portland. Shit happens. I have the means to cause more potential damage, and you have the skills to make up more strategies to evade detection. I have the connections to provide us with driving licenses and you can kick ass. What I might or might not be set out to do will be hard enough, I need you to make decisions confidently and comfortably. I don't expect perfection, but… if you could tell me what to do to help you not blame yourself and be just as confident in your skills as you were before this morning, I will do it, no questions asked. I don't blame you, and neither should you. We'll stumble upon some mistakes one way or the other, the important part is how we react once we're in trouble. Because in trouble we will be in one way or another."
Edward observed her in silence, and she gave him a self-deprecating smile.
"I know you think I'm this little girl with a strange passion for programming and no skill at life, but I would like to help you, if you'll let me."
Edward reached out to squeeze her hand. She raised her eyebrows but let go of her knee to intertwine her fingers with his.
* Hamlet, act 3, scene 4