Naomi looks at me thoughtfully, those blue eyes clear and direct. She shakes her head. "No."
The weight of that admission hangs between us. Most people haven't.
She knows I have.
"Well, I hope to keep it that way." I open her purse, one we picked up along the way because I didn’t think to get her one when I got us supplies, and she places it inside. "But I plan to keep you safe no matter what." That hard mask she’s been building with every mile closer to this place cracks for amoment. She lets me see that she’s scared. She locks eyes with mine. I see her features relax a little when she finds no doubt in them.
We climb back into the truck, and I drive up and over the ridge. What awaits us on the other side isn't what either of us expected. We don’t find a beige government facility with razor wire or guard towers.
We find a small town.
A very small town.
There are houses with sun-faded paint. A diner with a decaying neon sign. A truck stop. A gas station with a couple of pumps.
Naomi and I share a look. “This is not what I was expecting,” Naomi says.
“Me neither,” I say.
“You think we’re in the wrong place?”
I shake my head. “Best place to do bad things is a place that doesn’t look like it.”
I see Naomi nod. She works for the CIA. She may not have lived in the shadows like me, but she knows they’re out there.
"How do you want to play this?" Naomi asks. "We could wait until night. Sneak in."
I narrow my eyes and scan the town again.
"Hold on," I say, backing the truck up to where we can't be seen from the town. I grab a gas can from behind the seat and a length of hose.
"What are you doing?" Naomi asks as I twist off the gas cap.
I feed the hose into my tank, creating a siphon. "Tellin’a story."
Iwrestle the truck toward the gas station on the edge of the town, my eyes scanning every detail. There's nothing on the surface that I can find saying that this place is anything other than what it is.
“We’ve been driving for hours and running on low gas.” I turn to look at Naomi. “My fault.”
She simply nods. I don’t need to say anything more than that. I trust her to get it.
I pull up to the pump, letting the truck sputter dramatically as we coast in. A thin man in faded jeans and a sweat-stained T-shirt emerges from the station, eyeing us but with nothing more than casual interest. His eyes aren’t cruel or sharp. They aren’t kind either. If I didn’t know what this place might be, I probably wouldn’t notice him at all.
I step out, stretching my back dramatically.
Naomi gets out of the truck and slams the door with impressive force. Her face transforms into perfect exasperation as she rounds the truck and approaches the man.
"Thank God you guys are here. This idiot is driving all over the desert without a GPS and saying we'll find a place to stop for gas. Like it's the 405 or something." Her voice carries the perfect pitch of a wife at the end of her patience. She turns to the attendant, softening slightly. "Do you have a bathroom?"
The guy nods and points out back. "Thank you," Naomi says with genuine relief in her voice.
I suppress a smile as I begin filling the tank. I'm supposed to be properly chastened by my fake wife for not planning the trip properly. But I couldn't be prouder of Naomi. She really is good at this.
As she heads toward the bathroom, I take the opportunity to survey more of the town. The diner across the street has a handful of customers visible through the windows. Twoworkers in a parked van at the corner, staring at their phones. A woman watering plants on a porch.
I mark a security camera. But it’s dirty and simple. Nothing you wouldn’t see at any other Podunk gas station that might not even work and just be for show.
I keep looking for a smoking gun that’ll make it clear what this town is.
