She was up to something. I just didn’t know what.
The truck rumbled as I navigated the mess of highways that would get us out of New Jersey. Not that crossing the state line would protect us from John Valentine, but the first rule of self-defense is to make space. The more space, the better.
I glanced at Amelia out of the corner of my eye. She was just . . . sitting there. She wasn’t looking out her window. She was staring straight ahead, as if she was the one driving.
Why isn’t she freaking out?
Why isn’t she asking questions, like where I’m taking her or what’s happening to her brother or how long we’ll be gone?
Does she know more than she’s letting on?
I squeezed the steering wheel as I tried to figure out what was going on in that brilliant head of hers.
I had read all the articles, news pieces, and interviews. I knew everything there was to know about the genius in my passenger seat and her eidetic memory. Usually, knowing more about the subject than they knew about me gave me the upper hand.
But with Amelia Hawthorne, I wasn’t so sure.
Her silence was unsettling, and I wasneverunsettled.
Did she think I hadn’t done a good job? I’d seen some sloppy kidnappings over the years. Nausea aside, Amelia had gotten a premium abduction experience.
The glow of light from passing cars, exit ramps, and buildings danced across her features. Her long lashes cast shadows across her high cheekbones.
She was simply . . . pretty. Like daisies in a meadow full of tall grass. Delicate. Graceful. Sweet.
Far too beautiful and pure for the darkness she had found herself in.
I looked back at the road, but still, she didn’t move.
She wasn’t frowning. She wasn’t smiling. She held the most neutral expression I had ever seen. I could read anyone. I knew the twitch at the corner of someone’s mouth meant contempt. The pull of someone’s temples could be surprise or irritation, depending on the context. Dilated pupils were always a dead giveaway of deception or arousal.
But not with Amelia. She was as neutral as a blank piece of paper. There was absolutely nothing to pull apart and dissect.
Her sky-blue eyes turned to stormy gray as midnight crept closer and closer to dawn. I glanced at the clock to see how much time I had before Valentine realized I wasn’t coming back.
I had only made this drive a handful of times, but I had committed it to memory for this very reason.
I glanced at the clock again. If I kept on the normal route, we’d get stuck in the bottleneck of Friday morning DC traffic. I flicked the turn signal, checked the mirrors, and made a cautious lane change to circumvent the north side of Baltimore and skirt the Maryland-Pennsylvania border.
Avoiding major cities meant avoiding traffic cameras that tracked license plates. Wearing sunglasses at night to hide my face would have been suspicious as hell, but as soon as the sun was up, they’d be on my face and both of our visors would be down.
“You drive like my grandma and she’s dead.”
Amelia’s quip nearly made me jump. She hadn’t spoken since we left the airport lot. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was expecting the first thing she said to be, but it sure as shit wasn’t her ragging on me for being a safe driver.
“Problem?”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. Shouldn’t you be driving with . . . urgency?”
I shifted my hands back to ten and two. “It’s best not to commit additional crimes when committing a crime.”
Amelia peeled her eyes away from the road and studied me. It took every ounce of resolve to not look at her. “Riiiiight,” she said with a droll disbelieving hum.
I squeezed the wheel again, keeping my eyes trained on the road as I merged. When I settled in the right lane, Amelia spoke up again.
“Why didn’t you put me in the trunk?” she asked.
“Trucks don’t have trunks.”
