Page 21 of Ravens
He leans across me to peer out the window and then peeks down the aisle and pulls out a gun I didn’t know he had. I raise a brow as he checks the clip, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Gather your shit.”
I glance at the shoulder bag between my feet and furrow my brow. “Okay.”
He surges to his feet and walks up the aisle. I grab my bag and look around before standing slowly, but he’s already at thefront of the bus. I move out of the row and follow him, watching as he whispers something to the bus driver and taps the copy of his license displayed on the dash.
The bus begins to slow, and when it comes to a stop, the doors hiss as they open. York gets off, and I creep down the stairs behind him, confused and sore as all my muscles ache. The doors close behind me, and I watch the bus pull away, leaving us behind.
“What did you say to the driver?” I ask as I follow him off the road.
“I told him to pull over or I was going to put a bullet in his head.”
“You know he’s going to call the cops, right?”
“No, because I have his license number and therefore everything I need to track him down if he does.” He turns to me, looking past me at first and then to his left before digging into his pocket and extracting a folded scrap of paper.
“What the hell are we doing out here?” I say, exasperated.
“Looking for something.” He ventures into the field beside the road. “It’s this way.”
Trailing him at a distance, it takes ten minutes to cross the field we’re in and hit a line of trees, which he disappears into. Stopping, I take a deep breath and stare at them for a moment. Despite telling him that I’m not running from him, every other minute I question that decision. I’m not running from himnow. . . but I might change my mind later.
Selective honesty.
Letting out a long exhale, I resume walking. The trees aren’t dense, and when I reach the other side of them, I’m standing on a narrow dirt access road. I glance in the direction of the interstate, but there is nothing on it, and when I look the other way, York is in the distance but disappears off the side of the road a second later.
Groaning, I march in his direction, but a black car pulls out from a road or driveway I can’t see from where I am and turns toward me, rumbling as it pulls up and stops.
“In,” he orders through the open window.
I move around the old car and tug the door open. Despite its age, it looks to be in great shape, and the interior gleams with polished leather that smells new. I’m admiring it when he gets impatient and climbs out, coming around to my side.
“In.”
“Jesus,” I mutter and sink into the low seat as he slams the door shut. I squint at the sound. “Where did this come from?” I ask, digging my fingers into the leather as he slides back in.
“I told you I have resources.”
“Friends?” I prod, and his eyes cut to me.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” he says under his breath and shifts into gear. “The bus was too risky if they found footage of us buying the tickets or boarding.”
“Very cloak and dagger,” I say sarcastically.
If someone does track us, they’ll still track us to the right area . . . but they have been quick to catch up with us twice now, so it’s a good precaution, not that I’ll tell him that. Virginiais a ridiculous idea altogether; Washington is a stone’s throw away, and that’s where the Agency is headquartered. We’re going toward the viper’s nest instead of away from it.
Blood pressure rising in the wake of realization, I turn my head stiffly to regard him. “Why Virginia?”
“I already told you.”
And spies lie. I look back out the windshield. This can’t be a coincidence, although I don’t know why he’d want to be anywhere near the Agency proper. Whatever he wants from me . . . it better not be anything to do with them.
“Do you have a specialty?” I ask, changing the subject so I don’t overthink myself into an anxiety attack.
“In what way?”
“In the way you kill.”
