Jason sat in the driver's seat, looking through the branches of the bushes where they were hidden. If anyone was coming, he wanted to know about it. Elena sat beside him in the passenger seat. She still wore the green Gypsy skirt and shirt; her other clothes, newly washed at the camp along with Jason's and Tasha's, were tucked in the trunk.

Jason pulled the pen knife out of his jacket pocket and pushed the button on its side. A blade shot out the front, gleaming in the late morning sunlight.

Even though it wasn't much against a gun or even a larger knife, he felt better with a weapon, any weapon, in his hand. If someone found them, Jason would tell Elena to run, and do all he could to hold them off. He wouldn't be able to get very far with his leg, anyway.

Elena looked at herself in the mirror. "I look terrible. I wish I hadn't left my lipstick in the truck." She pursed her lips ruefully.

"You don't need lipstick," he said. "You look…just as good without it."

"I doubt it." She smoothed back her hair, though the curls just popped back into their unruly place, then let out a frustrated word in Muldavian. "I'm sorry, Jason. It's not like any of this matters. What does it matter what I look like? We don't even know if we're going to get out of this alive and—here I'm worried about my hair!" She laughed.

"You look great, just the way you are."

"So do you." Her ice-blue eyes drew him in; her lips enticed him. It took nearly superhuman effort to break the spell by turning away. Before he could allow their relationship to go further, he wanted to know more about her. And if they got out Muldavia, she might come back to America with him, and then—but he was getting ahead of himself.

He ran his fingers through his hair, his mind suddenly blank. What should he ask her? He felt nervous, which had less to do with the dangerous situation they were in than the fact that he'd almost kissed her.

She spoke first. "Jason," she said, as if she'd read his mind, "We have some time on our hands. We should make the most of it."

"What do you mean?"

She tucked a curl behind her ear. "I mean, I don't know much about you. I'd like to know about the real you, not your fake communist profile."

"What would you like to know?"

"Did you really grow up in Virginia?"

"No, but I live near there now. I grew up in a small town called Odyssey. Well, we didn't move there until I was in junior high. At first, I lived in Chicago, until—" A pang of sorrow hit him.

"Until what?"

"My brother died. In Vietnam."

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Jason." Her eyes brimmed with sympathy.

"It's been almost fifteen years….but sometimes it feels like it just happened."

"I know what that's like."

"You do?"

She nodded. "My father died ten years ago."

"I'm…sorry," he said, knowing how inadequate such words were.

"He died from pneumonia. He was susceptible to it after—Von Warberg exiled him. When he came back, he was never the same. He was in the army, and he always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, but he died from a disease. He wasted away and I was there as he died—I held his hand—" Her whole body trembled. He slid over to the middle seat, and put his arm around her shoulder. Held her as she shook with sobs, her warm body fitting snugly against him. He stroked her cheek, brushed away a hot tear.

"You must hate Von Warberg for what he did to your father."

"If he was here right now, I'd kill him."

He was surprised at her vehemence—she was usually so good-natured, but he didn't blame her. To grow up under such a regime—he couldn't imagine what she'd gone through. But she had one thing he didn't. Maybe he could comfort her with that.

"At least you were there," he said.

"What?"

"At least you were there, with your father when he died. He must have been comforted, having you with him."

She turned to look at him, tears glistening across her freckles. "You're right. He…he loved me so much, and I—I stayed with him, for days, right to the end."

"It's more than I had."

"You couldn't have been with your brother."

"I know. But I could have been with Mom—" The pain hit him, piercing his heart. "I was out, travelling the world, and I barely even knew she was sick. By the time I got back….I was too late. I know she knew I loved her, but I just wish I could have told her that, before—" A tear escaped before he could stop it.

Elena reached up, wiped away the tear. "You have had so much sorrow in your life."

"No—well, yes, but all in all, I had a pretty happy childhood—and a pretty good life, all around. Wonderful parents, great brother and sister—and now I have a little niece and nephew. Not so little now…"

"Tell me about them."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. I want to know everything about you, Jason Whittaker."

He laughed. "Only if you return the favor."

She touched a finger to her chin. "I'll have to think about that. Oh, okay. You have a deal."

"Hm. Where should I start?"

"How about your father? I'd like to know about him."

"My father. Well, his name is John Whittaker, but people call him Whit. And he owns an ice cream shop in Odyssey, but that's not all he does."

"What else does he do?"

"Well, he's the reason I went into the NSA. He worked for the government for a while…."

And he told her about his father, and then she told stories about hers—how her face lit up, when she remembered him. And for a while, he even forgot that they were hiding in a broken-down car in the middle of the Muldavian wilderness, waiting for Tasha to return and rescue them.

Tasha reached a row of farms near the edge of the town. Maybe one of these places would have a car battery, and then she wouldn't have to go into the town, which could turn into a deathtrap. But she had to find a battery; otherwise, they'd have to go on foot, and with Jason's injury, they probably would be captured.

We were supposed to be out of this country by now, she thought, sidling up to a barn wall, its peeling red paint rubbing off on her shirt. If only Jason hadn't been so reckless with our lives, our mission—but he wasn't even thinking about that. He wasn't thinking at all, just following his feelings. And now he's doing the same with Elena...

Standing on a brick broken off of the foundation, she peered into the barn window. With any luck, there'd be a battery sitting around and she could take it, and leave some of the money that Nikola had given them…

The barn looked deserted; a tractor sat in the center of it, and hay bales were stacked along the walls. Tasha crept inside. Some tools hung along the wall, and she walked over to them, and selected a wrench and a pliers. Then she searched for a battery, but all she could find was an old rusted tractor battery in the corner. She left a few bills on the bench underneath a hammer, and she was about to walk back out, when she stopped short. A man stood in the doorway, his features shadowed in the filtered light of the barn.

He spoke some words in Muldavian; she shook her head. "What are you doing?" he said, in English, with a strong accent. "Who are you?"

"I just needed some tools and—I left some money for them." She gestured to the bench.

"What tools did you take?"

She pulled them out of her pocket. He walked toward her cautiously, and took them from her. He set them back on the bench, and picked up the bills.

"I'm sorry. My car broke down and—"

"Ah." He narrowed his eyes. She noticed he still hadn't handed her money back. "You are a long way from home, aren't you?"

"Please, I just need to get back—I can pay you more." She reached in the pocket of her jacket. "I also need a car battery." She handed the bills to the man, who took them, flipped through them while glancing at her warily.

"How far away is your car?"

"About two miles." She gestured vaguely in the opposite direction that she'd come.

"And you want to carry a car battery all the way back there?"

"If I have to. I can put it in this backpack."

"Do you know how to install it?"

She nodded. She didn't want to mention the others; he probably already suspected she was a fugitive. She had heard it blasted all over the state-controlled radio in the car.

"Well, it looks like I will be able to help you. I have some car batteries in the shed. Come with me."

"Can I take the tools?"

"Go ahead."

She picked them back up from the bench, and followed him out into the yard. A clothesline ran from the blue house to the shed, where about five cars were parked. She would have thought that a farmer wouldn't be able to afford so many.

He gestured to the cars. "I fix cars in my spare time. That is why I have the extra batteries."

Just as they reached the shed, the door to the house squealed open. Tasha froze.

A girl, about ten or eleven, ran down the steps, reddish brown hair flying behind her. She stopped and looked at Tasha, and then asked her father something in Muldavian.

Her father answered in English. "She needs help with a car."

"Oh," said the girl. "Are you from the city?"

Tasha nodded. The fewer people who heard her American accent the better.

"Are you looking for the—what is the English word, Papa?"

"Fugitives," said her father.

Tasha nodded again. She felt trapped; the kind of claustrophobia she experienced on a plane was creeping up on her. She had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

"Mama wants you to get some things from town when you go. Can I—"

"Just a moment, Lara. I need to get this customer on her way."

"Oh. Okay."

"Just in here," said the man. He opened the shed door; Tasha hesitated. He smiled, and she followed, though it felt like something was tightening around her throat, cutting off her supply of air. She needed that battery, and hoped against hope that he was as amiable as he seemed.

She stood by the door as he walked along the wall and picked up a battery. "How does this one look?" he asked.

"Looks like the right size," she said.

"Are you sure you want to install it? I could drive out there with you. What you gave me already covers the cost."

"No, that's okay." She took the battery; its weight dragged down her arms. With effort, she lifted it up and slid it inside the backpack.

The man stepped out the door. Before she could walk out after him, he slammed it shut.

She pushed against the door; it wouldn't move. Then she shoved it with all her strength, but it still didn't open.

Panic gripped her; she closed her eyes, trying to stay calm, but all she could think was that she was locked inside, and there was no way out.