Saturday April 3 2004
Near Cuyamaca California
"This is what I'm talking about." Eddie grinned behind his coffee cup. "Dude, you can pick the restaurant anytime."
Bobby lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth without comment. For breakfast, he'd taken them back down the highway towards the Interstate and a truck stop they'd passed on the way in. The lot, almost filled with pickups and semis, had seemed to him a guarantee of good food and portions generous enough to satisfy his roomie's appetite.
The food was just what he'd expected. What he hadn't expected was the wait staff, no doubt another reason truckers filled every seat in the place: four smiling hotties in various flavors, wearing black silk tap shorts and tight quarter-sleeved shirts with deep scoop necklines and hems that ended a couple inches above the navel, shirts just big enough to cover their pushup bras. Eddie had bumped into a table on the way to their seats as one of the girls wiping down a booth very deliberately stood on tiptoe, rested a forearm on the table's surface, and bent horizontal with her butt in the air to reach the condiments at the far end instead of sliding into the booth.
Eddie stuffed a strip of bacon in his mouth and talked around it. "What do you think it'd take to get the waitress's number?"
"A miracle. Bro, each of these girls gets hit on a hundred times before lunch every day."
"Doesn't mean a thing. Look at the competition." He leaned forward. "She's looking this way."
"She's checking to see if we need warmups."
"I need a warmup. Maybe your old man won't show, and we'll each have our own tent. Remember, what happens in… what's the name of the place?"
"Cuyamaca Rancho State Park."
"…Stays there."
Bobby drained his cup. "You do remember how we got here in the first place, right?"
"I sure do." The banter in Eddie's voice drained away. "I'm already doing the time, why not the crime?"
Bobby lifted his eyebrows. "Because if she ever found out, it would be the end of life as you know it?"
Their waitress, a dark-blonde girl with a light tan and an unnaturally white smile, approached with a coffeepot. "Need a refill?" She said to Bobby, and leaned over unnecessarily far beside him to fill his mug, brushing his shoulder with her breast. From the other side of the table, Eddie goggled at the girl's display of cleavage. She straightened, still smiling, and turned to another customer.
Bobby sipped his brew. "Bet they make a fortune in tips." He dropped several bills on the table and stood. "I'm done. Meet me outside when you're full up."
Their waitress, taking orders from four loudly flirtatious men just three steps away, glanced over her shoulder at him. "Something wrong with your meal?"
Bobby shook his head. "It was fine. But more than I can handle."
"Want me to box it up for you?" She turned from the foursome, who frowned at him. "Maybe a coffee to go?"
"Don't have a fridge. I'm camping."
"At the park?"
"Right."
"I love it there. I hike all the time."
"Ever see a mountain lion?"
She flashed a smile. "From a distance. As much distance as I can manage. How long are you staying?"
"Just the weekend." The four men were scowling now. "I'd better let you get back to work. Nice talking to you."
Outside, he wound his way among pickups and semis until he reached the van. Then he leaned against the vehicle, took a deep breath of the late-morning air, and pulled out his cell phone. He stared at it a moment, wanting to call home, but not sure who he should talk to. Not Sarah; hers was the voice he most wanted to hear, but he doubted he could talk to her for thirty seconds right now without getting in a fight over Eddie. Rox? No way. Anna? Maybe, but… He punched in Kat's number, and listened to it ring three times before it connected.
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Bobby." Her voice lowered. "How are you doing?"
"It's all good," he said, pleased that the big redhead had recognized his voice at the first word, and wondering who she was trying to keep the conversation private from. "Having fun. Really. Wish I had my guitar, though."
"Sorry. You didn't deserve this."
"If Eddie had gotten thrown out by himself, I'd have come along anyway. You guys doing okay?"
"Hate to say, but it's kind of nice having the house to ourselves, for a little while anyway. I know Roxy misses him. But…"
"But Sarah's stiffening her up. You don't need to say it." He shifted the phone to his other ear. "How is she?"
"Fine. Busy." A pause. "She's going on a date tonight. Roxy and I are hitting a club with Melanie."
His meal felt even heavier. "That's good. Mel's good company. You'll have fun."
"I'll have somebody to talk to while Roxy's out on the floor, anyway. Assuming she turns down a few dance offers. I can't believe she doesn't have a boyfriend."
He looked down at his shoes. "Maybe she's just waiting for the right one."
"Have you seen your dad yet?"
"No. He might be at the campsite now. We're having late breakfast at a restaurant down the road." And Eddie will want to come here for dinner, no doubt.
"Anna says hi, and to tell you to be home in time for Sunday dinner. I think she's fixing one of your faves."
He smiled at that, and at the mental image of the little blonde pixie looking over her shoulder at Kat as she dusted something or hauled a basket of laundry up from the basement. "Great. I'm sure I'll be tired of truck stop food by then. I might even write a song about it." A feeling of homesickness welled up, surprising him. "What are you doing right now?"
"I just came in from the pool. Everybody else is still out there sunning, even Anna. She just popped into the house for a couple of lemonades and some ice. I swear she doesn't know how to sit still."
"Not your long suit either." Bobby let the conversation flow: school, Melanie, a run-in earlier in the day between some boaters and the gangsters from up the beach. He talked about the drive to the park and setting up camp. Kat was always so easy to talk to, he thought. Usually when they were on the phone, though, he found himself imagining her as he'd first known her: a little redheaded ingénue no bigger than Rox, looking owlishly at the world through her thick glasses; easy to underestimate, until you got to know her well enough to see the dynamo of energy and intellect in that little package. Bobby had a weird feeling that Gen had expanded her outside to make more room for all the stuff that went on inside. "What are you going to do till you go out?"
"Schoolwork and Web surfing, probably. Maybe work out downstairs. I could return a book to the library, I suppose. Roxy will insist on picking out my clothes and making me up an hour before we leave, I'm sure. How's Eddie?"
Bobby looked towards the restaurant door. Nobody was coming out; Eddie was dragging their waitress, no doubt. "He's trying to make the best of things."
"I bet he won't learn a thing from this. Except to be more careful about getting caught."
One can hope. "You never know."
"Sorry. He's my friend too, Bobby. Really. But sometimes guys can really test your friendship."
Eddie appeared at the doorway and strolled his way. Between his fingers was a sales check. Bobby said into the phone, "Gotta go, Kat. Something's up."
"Trouble?"
"Nothing big. I'll call later." He disconnected as Eddie came close. "Bro, I paid the check."
Eddie gave him a faint smile. "Left a serious tip, too."
He shrugged. Ever since Kat had told him about the lousy waitressing job she'd had at Rutherford, he'd been leaving big tips at restaurants. "So, what's with the check?"
Eddie held it up, and Bobby saw that it was a blank one. Then he turned it over to show him the phone number and the name 'Amilee' written on the back.
Bobby put his hand on the door handle. "Congratulations."
Eddie extended it to him. "She asked me to give it to you, big spender."
Bobby took it without a word and got behind the wheel.
"I don't get it," Eddie went on later, looking out the windshield at the road climbing the ridge to the park. "Mel. Lori. Now a waitress you traded ten words with. I thought chicks liked bad boys, not apple-pie types."
You're the least and the worst, a man's voice rumbled from far away. Your parents walked away from you. The State gave you chance after chance, and finally washed its hands of you. This is the last stop on the road to Hell. You should fall on your knees and thank God that someone is still willing to take you in and try to make something of you. Past a tight throat, he said, "Guess they see something you don't."
"Hey. Wasn't that our turn?"
Bobby stepped on the brakes. Behind them, a horn blared, and a car swung around them and jetted away.
Eddie sat up. "Follow that car."
"What?"
"Dude. It's the same piece-a-crap Camaro from the carryout yesterday."
Bobby almost turned off anyway, then he gave a mental sigh and put his foot on the accelerator. "No scenes, bro. If we learn something, we tell the girl at the gas station, let her tell the cops."
"Sure thing."
"I mean it. No heroics, no citizen's arrests."
Eddie stared through the windshield at the other car as they closed on it. "Dude, do you have any idea how much you sound like your dad right now?"
The minivan accelerated briefly before Bobby relaxed his foot on the pedal. "Eddie, do you want to put Kat and Rox and Sarah back in cages?"
"I left my cape and tights at home anyway. Just follow him."
They followed the dinged-up, faded coupe for a couple of miles before it turned off onto a gravel road. When they turned off to follow, it slowed and pulled over into the scrub. The door opened as they approached, and a woman got out. She was in her fifties, maybe, with long gray hair that surrounded her head in a frizzy cloud and fell over her shoulders. She stayed between the half-open door and the frame, and kept one hand inside the car; Bobby guessed she had a weapon close at hand. He noticed a 'For Sale' sign taped to the back glass as they came to a stop at the Camaro's rear corner. "Ask her if she wants to sell the car."
Eddie leaned out and waved toward the Camaro's back window. "Hey there. I was wondering what you'd take for the car."
"What's a rich kid like you want with this piece a shit? Ain't even got a stereo."
"For parts," he explained. "I'm putting one together." He chin-pointed at the other car. "The body's not much, I got to say, but the motor sounds strong."
"It's a refurb," she said, still suspicious. "Three-fifty."
"For the car?"
She frowned. "The motor."
"You'd sell me just the motor?"
"That's the size of the motor. Three hundred fifty cubic inches. You don't know a damn thing about cars."
Bobby tensed, but Eddie kept talking unperturbed. "Not American ones. This is my first. I usually do Japanese projects." Bobby could almost hear the numbers crunching in his friend's head. "Five liter engine, really? That's huge."
"Maybe compared to the little sewin machines they put under the hoods a those rice grinders," she said, relaxing a little. "Not for Dee-troit iron."
Bobby remembered a trip to the drag strip with his last foster dad and the other kids, where he'd watched some of those 'rice grinders' turn in ten-second quarter miles, crossing the finish line doing over a hundred and sixty miles an hour. The car presently in front of him looked like it might fall apart if someone floored it for a quarter mile.
Eddie nodded seriously. "It's a big step up, all right. So, it's a daily driver?"
"The engine's only got three thousand, just broke in. I'll take two grand."
Eddie tapped a finger on the windowsill. "Dunno, that sounds like a lot."
"Yeah, well, the engine and tranny are worth that. Make up your mind quick. I had another guy lookin at it yesterday."
Eddie turned back into the car to look at him.
The woman puffed up. "You think I'm makin it up? He took it for a test drive just yesterday afternoon. Said he'd think about it, but he looked real pleased when he came back, let me tell you."
"Oh, I believe you. I do. But, see, if this is the same guy I'm thinking of, he just says that and doesn't come back for a week, trying to make you drop your price. What's he look like?"
She frowned. "Tall, sandy-haired, a little grubby-looking."
Eddie shook his head. "Not the same guy. Maybe he's legit. Guess I'll let him have it. Thanks anyway." He stuck his head back in the car. Bobby reversed and turned back towards the highway. "Well," Eddie said, "Now we know where he gets his cars."
"We know where he got this one," Bobby corrected. "Maybe he steals the others and brings them back before they're missed." He drove for another half-mile, then said, "She didn't mention him coming back with groceries."
"Which means he stashed them somewhere close by. Probably lives in the area."
"You know, that wasn't very hard. Why haven't the cops nailed this guy?"
"Dude. Look around. I'll bet the Highway Patrol doesn't swing off the Interstate more than once a day to come down this road. How much time do you think they're gonna spend trying to catch a Cheetos thief?"
They didn't speak for the rest of the drive back, each of them nursing his own thoughts. Their campsite lay east of the main road, along an unpaved fire road that ran up into the hills. They didn't pass any occupied campsites on the way to the one they'd chosen, a wooded spot that looked out over the lower hills below. When they arrived at the camp, there was another car parked on the shoulder; something about it said 'rental'. Bobby looked up the slight rise to their tents, and saw his father kneeling over the fire pit, apparently trying to get one going.
As they walked up the gentle slope, they saw that John Lynch wasn't just trying to get a fire going; he was making a weird Boy Scout project out of it. He'd made some kind of bow-like contraption that he was sawing back and forth, twirling a straight stick wound in the string so that it spun like a drill. The end of the stick was pressed into a flat piece of wood on the ground sitting on what looked like an old bird's nest. His forehead glistened with sweat; Bobby figured he'd been at it awhile.
"Mr. L," Eddie called up as they closed the last dozen feet, "We got a lighter and some paper."
"Thanks, no." The man pressed the stick harder into the wood. "I'd rather do it this way."
Eddie looked at the man like he might turn violent. "Sure thing. My dad always made a big deal out of starting his campfires with a single match. That and a single can of lighter fluid."
Bobby looked at the contraption as it twirled the stick back and forth, squeaking from the pressure his father was applying. He felt his Gen kick in, and he sensed the heat pulsing out of the point of contact as it spun, stopped, and reversed. He sensed it approaching ignition temperature, but never quite reaching it before the bow's end of travel. He judged that the stick would get very close, but never actually burn. His father was wasting his time. "I don't think-"
"It's the wrong kind of wood, I know," the man said, not looking up. "It's all there is. I just have to put a little more into it, is all. Just a little more…" His tone made it sound as if the job was a contest of wills.
Bobby shook his head. "It's not happening."
John Lynch never looked up at him. "Turn your pockets inside-out."
Bobby tightened up. This wasn't the first time he'd heard a demand to turn out his pockets; like the demands to inspect his knuckles, they'd never been the start of something good. "Why?"
His father glanced up and studied him. "I'm not shaking you down, Bobby. I was just hoping for some lint."
"Oh." He reached in and pulled the linings out: clean. "I think Anna turns them out when she washes them."
"She's nothing if not thorough." He bent to his work again.
Bobby thought about using a little hocus-pocus. It would be easy to nudge the end of the stick up to ignition temperature. But he took a good look at his father's determined face and realized the man had other reasons to be straining at his task, trying to build a fire in the middle of the day with the temp in the sixties.
His father looked angry about something.
He's pissed about being here, he decided. No doubt he's got better things to do than babysit. His irritation found its way out his mouth. "Look, you don't have to stay here. We already spent a night by ourselves. I'm sure we can find our way home."
His father stopped drilling and looked at him. "This was kind of my idea. I was hoping we could talk." He looked at the bow in his hands and set it down. "If you'd rather not, I understand. But I thought it was something you wanted too."
Bobby looked around for Eddie, but his friend had disappeared, probably into their tent, where he could listen to every word unseen. "I don't want to fight with you."
"That's the last thing I want, either."
"I think I remember saying we should do this in private. Bro," he said without raising his voice, "I'm taking a walk with my dad. Try not to get eaten by a mountain lion while we're gone." He headed downslope, towards the road.
They tramped up the fire road for awhile, side by side and a step apart. The road rose higher, headed for the top of the ridge. When the cars were dots behind them, Bobby said, "I never thanked you."
"Eh?"
"For getting us all out. Better late than never?" He replayed that in his head and realized his father might take it more than one way. He hadn't intended it like that – at least, he didn't think he had – but he thought trying to explain or backpedal would just make it worse.
The man's lips thinned. "Bobby, you don't have to thank me for that."
"I feel like I should. I feel like I should take back half the things I said to you in that cell, too."
"Oh?" The man's voice was sharp. "Which half?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"It… must have been quite a shock."
"Yeah." He trudged on a few more steps. The cars disappeared around a wide bend in the road, and they were alone. "While we were still on the detention level, Rox told me to remember you were there when I needed you most, and I guess that's true." Though, when I was eleven, I wouldn't have believed that I'd ever need a rescuer more. "What was she like?"
"She?" The man's brow wrinkled for half a second before he got it. "Smart. Great sense of humor, when I met her anyway. She was younger by twelve years. I don't know what she saw in me. She was office staff at MacLean, an analyst of some kind. We didn't talk about work much; our classifications were exclusive." He paused. "That was part of the problem, I see that now. Too many secrets between us, too many gaps in the conversation."
"Is that why she left?"
"No." Another pause. "Manifesting wasn't the same for us earlier versions. There was nobody to guide us through it – in fact, the Shop claimed not to know what it had done to us, that the treatments they'd given us were an experimental inoculation series that had developed unexpected side effects."
"Like not sleeping for days and being able to think a man dead."
"Yeah." He took a breath. "We called it 'mojo'. It's different than yours. Yours comes when you call. We sort of have to go in and get it. And the place where it's at… people were never meant to be there. You spend too much time there, you can go crazy. It happened to quite a few of us before we realized. It was hard on her, watching me go strange and not be able to explain. She was afraid of me, I think. Who could blame her? And when you were born, I think she decided she couldn't stay with me anymore. For your sake."
"You didn't go after her?" It came out sharper than he'd intended.
"Not right away." The older man shrugged. "I… well, I thought she might be right. I figured she'd go to her parents' house in Tennessee. But she didn't, and when I didn't hear from her after a week, I thought she'd decided to make a fresh start. I was… I didn't know if I should interfere. I finally decided to locate her, at least, without getting in touch, just in case she needed help. But I couldn't find her."
"Couldn't find her. You work for an outfit like that, and you couldn't locate a single mom with a newborn?" Easy. You promised yourself you'd be cool about this.
His father stopped. So did he, and they faced each other, almost like two men squaring off for a fight. But John Lynch folded his arms behind his back before he spoke again. "IO can do a lot of things, Bobby. It can listen at an unused telephone and follow people from orbit. It can track your cellphone, your car, and all your plastic, even your library card. It can access any computer record, no matter how private, if it's part of a network that communicates by phone line or satellite. But there are ways to live off the grid, even without money, and the only way they'll find you is by putting lots of manpower on it. And IO has never been big enough people-wise to do everything it wants to."
"Only, she wasn't living off the grid, was she? She was dead." He realized his hands had tightened into fists at his sides, and relaxed them. His father was still standing with his hands behind his back, almost inviting Bobby to take a poke. The idea had no appeal: he was sure no punch he threw would land unless the Man in Black let it. He knew his father was trying to help, but it was crappy psychology. "Wouldn't that make her easier to find?"
"It should have, but it didn't." His father brought his hands from behind his back and folded them. He glanced at a small stand of trees just off the road, and made for them. Bobby followed. They settled on the ground with their backs against trunks, looking out over the rolling hills below them, which were thinly carpeted with wildflowers: a variety of yellows with an occasional blue or purple blossom drawing the eye. It was beautiful and peaceful, and almost made Bobby forget why they were here. His father went on, "She was murdered a month after she left. She was living with you in Chicago, a big city where she had no relatives or previous connections. Still paying cash for everything, living off the money she'd taken with her. She was found in a Dumpster with her… she was beaten too badly for dental records to do any good, and she had no ID. No evidence of rape, just a vicious mugging. She'd never been fingerprinted, except by IO, so she wasn't on the police database. Eighty unidentified women about her age and description are found dead each day, coast to coast. After we'd checked everyplace else we could, and began to suspect the worst, IO exhumed and examined dozens of Jane Does to find her. That was nine weeks after she left, and you were gone without a trace." He stared at his shoes. "I should never have let her go. Of all the bad decisions I've made, that was the worst."
Bobby was inclined to agree. But he thought this strange man full of contradictions had beaten himself up plenty over what he'd done or not done. Bobby decided that John Lynch was never going to hear about his life in foster care from his lips. "Well, it's all in the past."
"But it's still shaping our future, isn't it?"
Bobby didn't have an answer for that, so he asked a question instead. "What did she look like?"
His father stared out over the yellow-dotted hills. "You got your eyes from her. Her hair was brown, but she frosted it blonde and feathered it back. It was a style back then. She had this little mole above her eyebrow. And she-" he stopped. "She was beautiful. Not everyone thought so, but she was." He looked out over the hills dotted with wildflowers, mostly gold with occasional blue or purple blossoms. "The yellow ones are yarrow and goldfield. The purple ones are columbine. This isn't quite the peak season for color. In another month, this hillside will be an artist's palette."
"You come here a lot?"
"Used to. Not here in the park, but the area."
"Where did you learn about flowers?"
The man gave a little head shrug. "I took a lot of biology electives in high school. I thought I'd major in plant biology or physiology at college."
"How did you end up… doing what you do?"
"I encountered a detour in my career track, you might say. Something called Selective Service." He was silent a moment. "Vietnam was a baptism of sorts. It changed my outlook on life, not entirely for the better. I saw so many things that desperately needed fixing, and the solutions seemed so simple if you only wanted change bad enough. It made me think the world needed a greater contribution from me than giving it another botanist. Instead of going home when my enlistment was up, I applied for Special Forces." He picked up a stone and tossed it onto the road. "I learned a dark kind of morality there, the kind that makes people say things like 'the greater good' and 'acceptable losses.' I still won't say the things I did were all wrong, but I often wished for a better way to do them."
"I'm sure your old friends from work feel that way too. The ones who'll put us back in cages if they find us." Bobby stood. "Ready to walk some more?"
They walked together towards the ridgetop. After a dozen yards or so, Bobby said, "Anna said you decided to bail on IO as soon as you found me. Just dropped your life and ran to the rescue."
"It seems I have advocates." He looked down at the road. "Among the girls, anyway."
"Anna thinks you're the greatest thing since… well, since anything. And Rox tends to go by first impressions, and you made a really good first impression." Kat's attachment to his father, Bobby thought, was weird but understandable, something like hero worship mixed in with the affection a sick person feels for their doctor or therapist. Kat didn't have any practice handling guys, so her feelings were out there for anybody to see. He was glad his old man didn't seem the sort to take advantage. "But I'm having trouble believing you set this all up on the fly."
"Your skepticism is justified. I'd been preparing an exit strategy for some time, but only as a contingency. The safe house, the computer firewall blocking information on my movements, the money – that was all in place and waiting before I found you. And I found you at Darwin a couple months before I got you out. I decided to leave you there while I prepared your escape. When you manifested and IO locked you up and started playing with your mind, the time for careful planning was over."
They reached the top and stood shoulder to shoulder, looking around and making bland comments about the view. Then John Lynch lifted his head and frowned. "You hear something?"
Bobby listened. He heard the wind soughing through the trees at the top of the ridge, an occasional birdsong… and a low whirring noise coming up to them from below. Now that he was paying attention, he thought he might have been hearing it for awhile without it registering. "Engine noise, maybe? Kind of like a bike. Somewhere on the highway."
"Or this road." His father turned and jogged back down the road toward their camp. Bobby followed, puzzled and a little spooked by the man's sudden concern. Halfway back, the engine noise abruptly cut off, and the man picked up the pace until he was almost running down the hill. When they got to the bend, his father stopped and brought up a fist next to his head, which Bobby took as a signal to halt. Then the man made a beckoning gesture and pointed with his eyes down the road. "Expecting someone?"
Bobby looked. The campsite was still invisible among the trees, but he could see that their two vehicles had been joined by a third, a blue crotch rocket. A matching helmet hung from the handlebar. He shook his head.
They moved forward cautiously, keeping to the side of the road so that they were hidden by the trees. Bobby smelled wood smoke. They heard Eddie talking indistinctly, followed by a girl's laugh, and Bobby relaxed. But his father seemed as tense as ever.
The camp came into view. Eddie, on the other side of the fire ring, was just getting off his knees, and flames were climbing the teepee of sticks he'd laid. On the near side, her back to Bobby and his dad, a girl in designer jeans and a tight black leather jacket stood with her back to them. Bobby took note of the girl's dark-blonde ponytail and said, "I think it's a girl we met at the restaurant this morning, a waitress. Her name's Amilee."
"Hmph." His dad started up the slope to the tents. "Eddie must have made an impression."
Eddie chin-pointed towards them, and the girl half-turned and gave them a gleaming over-the-shoulder smile and a little wave. "Hi," she called. "I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by."
"In the neighborhood." Bobby and his dad stopped on opposite sides of the fire, each of them between Eddie and the girl. "Amilee, this is my dad."
"Hi," she said, then turned to Bobby. "I really was in the neighborhood. I just got off shift, and I go through the park on the way home. I remembered you saying you were camping here, and I had a hunch you'd be in primitive."
Bobby cracked a smile. "So, I look like the primitive type?"
"You look like the kind of guy who enjoys simple pleasures. Listen, I can't stay. I was telling Eddie, maybe I could swing by later, if that's okay."
Eddie looked at him with a desperate expression. Without looking at his father, Bobby nodded. "Sure."
"Great. Nice meeting you, Bobby's dad." She headed downslope towards her bike, her long strides making her rear end sway in a figure eight.
Bobby turned to his friend. "You gave her my name."
"Hayull yes, I gave her your name." Eddie watched her swing a leg over her bike and reach for her helmet. "She offered me a ride when she comes back. And she mentioned she'd probably be with a girlfriend from the restaurant. Yowza."
"Hm."
John Lynch squatted to add a few sticks to the fire. "Are you boys going to need a chaperone?"
"Yes," Bobby said, at the same time Eddie said, "No."
The bike fired up, its motor purring like a big cat. Amilee gave them a little wave and lay across the gas tank to take both handlebars, then tucked her knees up to put both feet on the pegs – and stretching the material of her already-tight jeans to a spray-paint fit - as the machine rolled away. "Gulp," Eddie said. He took Bobby behind their tent. "Dude," he said, his voice low, "I've still got those two in my wallet, if you want one."
Bobby stared at his friend. "You didn't just give her my name. This whole thing's a setup, isn't it? You told her where to find us."
Eddie crossed his heart and raised a hand. "Not that I wouldn't have, mind. But no. That one's got you in her sights."
"Well, my head's not going to end up mounted on her wall. If she comes back, stay close." He walked back around the tent. His father was still staring into the flames, deep in thought. Bobby thought that, whatever had been bothering the man when he'd arrived was still with him, and it wasn't his strange relationship with his estranged son. Bobby just hoped it wasn't some danger to the girls.
He said secrets ruined his life with her. But keeping secrets is a damned hard habit to break. Who knows better than me?
