"I think we need to get married.”
Twelve
Isteal a glance at Naomi, gauging her reaction to my suggestion. Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly in shock. Shit. I suddenly realize how that sounded.
"I mean, we should pretend to be married," I clarify. "I realized when the deputies came that we don’t have a cover story for why we’re traveling together.”
"Oh," she says, her expression dimming to something unreadable.
I focus on the road ahead, mentally kicking myself. Of course, she's taken aback. Why would someone as beautiful and capable, as good and normal as her, want a broken-down wreck like me? "I know it's kind of a stretch that someone like you would be with someone like me, but it's an easier sell," I say, trying to sound casual while my knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
When I risk another glance, she's finally looking at me. Something in her expression makes my chest tighten.
"I don't think it's a stretch," she says quietly. I swear I see her fair face turn a little pink. What's that about? "It's a good idea," she adds, looking away again.
Before I can process what just happened between us, a sharp electronic chirp cuts through the cab.
"What was that?" Naomi asks, sitting up straighter.
"The phone," I say, recognizing the sound immediately. "Can you check it?"
I wrestle it out of my pocket and hand it to her. Her brow furrows as she reads the screen.
"It just says, 'prtrdgcam.'"
I roll that around in my head, trying to decipher Static's cryptic letters. What the hell does it mean?
"You never explained who this is. Or why we can use this phone without it being traced," Naomi says, turning the device over in her hands like it might reveal its secrets.
"That phone was given to me by one of my former teammates. His code name was Static," I explain, trying to keep buried memories from flooding back. Of course, with Static, a lot of them ain’t half bad. Static was altered and trained like us. He could be lethal with his hands and a gun. And while the rest of us were no slouches technically, he could see patterns in code and electrical systems that even the engineers who designed them couldn't comprehend.
"He could do absolutely magical things with computers. He explained that it piggybacks on other signals to satellites, bits at a time. It's why it's so limited. But he assured me it's untraceable. And if he says it can't be traced, it can't be."
"Why did he give this to you?" Naomi asks.
"Just in case."
"In case a girl on the run kidnaps you and then convinces you to help her,” she teases.
I nod, the bud of a smile on my lips. "Yep, just that scenario exactly."
That pink returns to her cheeks. A man can get drunk on a look like that.
I return my focus to the message. prtrdgcam. Could be aplace, a password... I pull the truck over to the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires.
"What is it?" she asks, concern etching her features.
I reach across her to the glove compartment, acutely aware of how close we are in the cab. I pull out several folded maps and spread them across the dash.
"I think I might know what Static means," I say, scanning the maps with practiced efficiency. Naomi watches me intently. I find it easily. But I wait. Like chopping the ax, I don’t need her to know just how fast and easily I found it and have her question again what I am. "Here," I say, tapping my finger on a spot on the map. "Prtrdg. Partridge Tree Mall."
"A mall?" Naomi looks skeptical. "What’s the cam part?"
"I don't know yet. But we’ll figure it out when we get there."
Half an hour later, we're walking through the sprawling shopping center. I don’t love how sparse it is because it’s harder to blend in. It's midmorning on a weekday, so it wouldn’t be crowded anyway. But with malls dying all across the country, it’s practically empty. A bunch of storefronts are boarded up, and there are just a few elderly mall walkers and young mothers with strollers.
Naomi slips her arm through mine; her body suddenly pressed against my side. The contact sends electricity through me, and I tense involuntarily.
