Page 113 of Morally Gray Daddies

I closed my eyes briefly. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I need you to accept it. Embrace it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know,” he said firmly, “but it not being easy doesn’t make it not true.”

The sun reappeared in a gap between the jagged peaks for a moment, flooding the cab in light once again. I felt the heat on my cheek, the warmth of it against my skin. Then, as quickly as it had come it was gone, cut off as quickly as if a light switch had been flicked. I gave a tiny shiver, not certain if it was for the sudden disappearance of light and warmth, or because I was headed for an unknown place with a man I knew nothing about. Not only that, I was doing it so placidly, so docilely, I began to wonder if maybe he hadn’t drugged me, and I simply didn’t recognize it. Or maybe I was in shock. Or both.

Way to hold it together and not spiral, Aubrey…

We traveled in silence for another hour, passing through two more towns. The sun had completely set when he pulled off the highway onto a small, two-lane road that stretched ahead of us into the darkness. We went on through the night, little gremlins of sagebrush flitting past in the beams of the headlights. Lost in my thoughts, I stopped paying attention until the SUV slowed, before turning off onto a dirt road. I scanned for any sign of habitation and what I found was a single light glowing in the distance, with the only other indication a pulsating blip-blip-blip of a red beacon on top of a tower somewhere on a mountain I couldn’t even make out in the darkness. By daylight, the desolation had been unnerving; by night it was equal parts intimidating and frightening.

The SUV shuddered down the washboard dirt road as the single light I’d notice earlier drew closer. When it resolved itself into a streetlight set atop a pole, I saw it illuminated a steel gate drawn across the road, barring our way.

“Well, let’s find out how good his information is.”

He got out of the truck. I assumed ‘he’ was his handler, the man he’d mentioned earlier who’d arranged this safe house for him. I watched as he worked at a lock on the gate then as he swung it open. He returned to the vehicle and drove us through to the other side, then stopped again and closed it behind us. And then we were rattling down the road once more, and the world disappeared back into darkness.

It was a shock when the first of the buildings appeared out of the black in the twin arcs of the lights sweeping ahead of the truck. The first was clearly a barn of some sort, then another metal shed came into view as the road curved, and then a house. It was a long, low structure, with stone facings and a porch that ran the length of it from what I could see. He pulled the SUV up in front then killed the motor.

“Stay here,” he commanded, as if I needed the order to stop me from jumping out and wandering off into the night. He’d left the headlights on, and I followed his movements as he went to the door, again fiddling with a lock. He opened then closed it, returning to the SUV once he was done.

After he reached inside to shut off the vehicle, he came to my side and ushered me out.

“Come on,” he said quietly, taking my arm gently and helping me down. Then, placing his hand in the small of my back, he guided me to the front door and inside.

The house’s interior was eerily dark in a slasher-movie sort of way. Where normally there was ambient light coming through windows to help cast shadows, here there was nothing. Even the moon was hiding, and except for the faintest bluish glow coming from a room deeper in the house, it was pitch black.

I could hear him fumbling against the wall, and then?—

Light suddenly flooded the space, and I squinted against the brightness. We were in a living room, well-furnished and maintained, light coming from a scattering of lamps that dotted the area. Pausing for a moment, we each took stock of our surroundings. The place gave every appearance of being recently used; this wasn’t a summer home that had been locked up for the year. The overall appearance suggested that whoever was living here was predominately of the male persuasion, but there were subtle hints that suggested at least something of a female touch, too.

“Colbie keeps interesting company, I’ll give him that,” he said quietly.

“Who?”

He glanced over. “My handler.” Nudging me forward, we crossed the room, moving past a small dining room then into a kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, flipping on the lights.

“A little.” And I was, even though my anxiety after the events of the past eight hours had tamped down any serious hunger pangs.

“Hopefully, our hosts left us something,” he murmured, moving to the refrigerator and opening it. He bent to look inside, then came up a moment later, turning to look my way.

“If I warm something up, will you eat it?”

I nodded, and he turned to reach back inside, taking out a covered container. He moved behind the kitchen island to a microwave and popped in the dish. Once back at the fridge, he brought out two bottles of water and handed one to me.

“It won’t be much”—he tilted his head toward the humming microwave—“but it should hold you over until tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I replied quietly, opening my drink.

A few minutes later he had drawn up a pair of stools to the island, and we were both seated, taking bites out of the steaming tray of food he’d heated.

“Enchiladas,” I murmured.

“Is it okay?”

---