“Sure. It’s important, I know. And an integral building block of democracy is that my favorite book isTheir Eyes Were Watching God.” By this point she’s caught on to my teasing and, by the firm set of her jaw, not finding it very funny. I saunter around to her and clap my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll try to be a good role model for you, Tay.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Tay?”
“What, you have a code name but not a nickname?”
I’m treated to some serious side-eye. “Hardly anyone knows my real name, Miss Piccolo.”
Taylor huffs and looks to Mason for support. “I call her Lil’ T sometimes,” he offers, and she glares at him for his betrayal. “Or just T.”
“Helpful.” Taylor sighs, exasperated. “Let’s get going.”
“Sure thing, kid.” I toss my arm around her shoulder. She grunts and shoves me away, skulking toward the door and yanking it open. Mason and I follow behind with wide grins on our faces.
Taylor spends the rest of the day in and out of meetings, while I take lunch in the kitchen with Claire, nap, and nibble on leftover grub inside the cabin, stifling the urge to inspect Taylor’s room. The temptation proves irresistible, but her door is locked. Bummer.
Once Taylor returns, she collects Mason and instructs us to pack, a directive which primarily involves me staying out of the way. They pack heavy; it would take less than a day to get to Detroit by car, I think, but Taylor’s packing like it’s going to be several weeks by covered wagon.
“Will we be gone a long time?”
Taylor nods. “We are going straight from Target Three, to Four, to Five.”
“Theodore Reed. Patricia Wolfshield.” She stuffs something else into the container. Mason enters the room behind her, scouring for a task. “What about me?”
Taylor looks up. “Whataboutyou? You come along and try not to do anything stupid or reckless.” Mason hefts the container from the ground, lifting it as if it doesn’t have several dozen pounds of ammunition in it. “You are a soldier now, Miss Piccolo. You need only concern yourself with following my orders.”
She tosses a rather heavy duffel bag in my direction, which knocks the wind out of me as I catch it. “Sure thing,Blondie.”
“Bring that to the car, Miss Piccolo,” she says. “And stay there with Mason.”
I exaggeratedly tiptoe around her as she’s crouched, packing boxes of ammunition. “Okay, boss. I’ll get out of your way. Kiss Mommy goodbye for me.” Outside, Mason waits at the base of the stairs with the trunk, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. I grin. “What?”
“Man, at least this trip ain’t gonna be boring.”
8
Waiting at the shore is a sleek, charcoal-colored speedboat shaped like an arrowhead. It looks stealthy and quiet and possesses the qualities you’d wish for in a watercraft about to slice through disputed territory. Our gear stashed inside, Taylor and I buckle into the enclosed back seat and the boat takes off at a breathtaking speed. Eventually, my body adjusts to being hurtled across dark water, and I relax and gaze out the port side window. Bouncing along the placid surface, the wind whips past and howls at our intrusion.
Taylor is remarkably calm considering we are on our way to not one, but three assassinations. Maybe this is part of her internal preparation for what lies ahead. Which prompts me to lean to my right and ask, “So, when we get there, what happens? We go in full stealth mode: climbing walls, taking people out with tranquilizer darts?”
She shakes her head and pulls her hood back to unleash her blond mane. “First, we check in with our MidCountry Headquarters. Once our gear is unloaded, Mason and I will go over the blueprints and plan of action.”
“And I, what? Stay in and bake a pie? Hell no, I’m coming with you.” I turn in my seat and face forward, as if this shuts the issue down. It used to, back when I mattered.
Taylor is not perturbed. “Can you bake a pie?”
“Why, would that impress you?”
“Yes.” Stretching her legs, she calmly denies my request. “Theia said nothing about your participation. Only your presence.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What did you expect to do? You have zero experience and an aversion to violence.”
Petulantly I pout and cross my arms, turning away to watch the lights from land fade into the distance. Suspiciously, no boats patrol the waters. This area is a murky line between Papa’s region and Cornelius Thorne’s, but you’d think one of us would have a boat or two out.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I return my attention to Taylor. “Are you expecting any trouble in the water?”
“Probably.”
