“I had a real psychiatrist until my insurance changed.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He kept saying the same thing over and over. He didn’t fix me.”
“I don’t think it’s his job.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s mine. Thus, my pillow became my shrink. I’m trying to figure all this shit out on my own but it’s hard. Maybe, it’s too late. I wanted kids and a family but it’s never going to happen unless I win lotto so I can freeze my eggs.”
I sigh. “You know, for a bossy bodyguard, you’re a pretty good listener.”
When he laughs like the first time we met, I wish I could go back in time. With a second chance, I wouldn’t kiss him at the rink, and sure as hell, wouldn’t let Catrina anywhere near Sam’s computer.
At the next rest stop, he gets coffee, I buy hot chocolate, and we change drivers. As I fall asleep, I recall reading this book in high school. It was about a Puritan who had a baby out of wedlock. The town made her sew a bright ‘A’ for adultery on her sweater, and she was shunned her whole life.
Am I essentially, doing the same thing? Do I define myself by my worst mistake?
Chapter 17
Wheels
I’ve never been much of a conversationalist so when Rose says I’m a good listener, my ears perk up. Somehow, she’s enchanted me. Even now, as she sleeps in the passenger seat, it’s hard to keep my eyes on the road and as the endless miles stretch before me, I struggle to understand why I find her so damn alluring. She’s beautiful, but I’ve known scores of gorgeous women and they never got under my skin.
Maybe I like how she’s fought to change. Sure, she cheated, but her ex was a real bastard, maybe more than she lets on. She shouldn’t have to give up her dreams of having a family. Odd how we have that in common but for different reasons. She seems to have had a decent childhood while mine was total crap. The only reason I’m not in jail is the judge gave me a choice of entering the military and saved my life.
As she stirs and moans, my willy crams against my jeans. Would she agree to sex with no messy relationship attached? She admitted to missing the boat with the kids and husband. Why not hop aboard the Wheels ferry and enjoy the ride?
It’s a ridiculous thought but not surprising because, according to the LED’s on the dash, it’s 2:00AM. I should stop and rest, but I won’t. Suds worried me. Designer fentanyl and the dark web are a nasty combination, and we need to put some distance between us and Brooklyn.
The reason I survived missions where others did not, was by listening to the same inner voice warning me now. The shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. I wish I knew where and when.
As attention shifts back to the highway, I approach an eighteen-wheeler with an Evergreen logo on the mud flaps. As I read the numbers and letters on the top right corner, a light bulb goes off. Holy shit. That’s it! She heard a container code.
“Wake up, Rose. I figured it out.” I reach over the center console and shake her knee until her eyes pop open.
Heart racing, I connect to my cell phone’s blue tooth and shout into the car’s microphone. “Jasonelle. How many Evergreen BIC codes start with NY, contain a U and are currently in the United States?”
“Business Identifier Code? Built in cupboard? Best in Class? Please clarify your request.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. The numbers and letters on a shipping container.” What else would I be referring to?
“Do you mean theBureau International des Containers et du Transport Intermodalorganization?”
“I guess. Sure. Sounds right.” If she was a person, I’d swear she was trying to outsmart me.
“There are three hundred and fifty-five.” Wearing pink polka-dot pajamas, she puts on her glasses, and blinks out of the screen at me.
“Shit. We need to narrow it down.” I turn to the real sleepy woman, rubbing her eyes.
“I’ve tried. Do you think I’m holding out on you?” The hurt in her eyes makes me want to kick myself.
I don’t want to argue but we’re so close. Slowing to stay behind the vehicle, I point out the code. “See up there? That’s what you probably overheard.”
“Oh fuck. Don’t they track containers using those numbers?” Eyes wide, she pales as the implications dawn on her. She holds the key to taking down a pipeline of drugs.
“If you don’t get those opiates off the market, people are going to die.”
“You think I don’t know? Yelling won’t help me remember any faster.”
