“It should have been updated with a more current model. Did you only recently go to that safe house?”
This question feels like a trick. He knows how long I have been writing the letters.
“I grew up there. I was gone for a couple years to community college. I came back to care for my aunt.”
His face gets even more sullen. He thinks I’m lying, but I don’t get why. How can he assume that I know anything? I suddenly understand how innocent people are convicted of crimes. It doesn’t matter that you have nothing to do with it. You’re guilty just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I’m not sure why you feel it necessary to lie to me,” he says. “I’m a high-ranking Vigilante. I know everything about that house.”
“I don’t think you do,” I protest. “You say someone named Georgiana Powers lived there, but that can’t possibly be true. My Aunt Bea has owned it for decades. I lived there for most of my childhood. You’re wrong.” I shake my head. “You’re just too stubborn to say you’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” he says. “That’s how I’ve gotten where I am.”
I snort out the most unladylike sound. “Ridley Prison? Am I supposed to believe that is some sort of exalted position?” I turn awayfrom him to stare at the majestic pine trees stacked deep along the highway. We must be driving alongside some sort of national park, because the road narrows and there are no longer any houses or businesses.
He stews in silence, but I don’t care. I’m only stating the obvious. I have nothing to lose here. I’ve accepted all the things that could happen. Abduction. Rape. Torture. Okay, not the torture. I can’t accept that. If they kill me, I can only hope it will be quick.
I just can’t imagine why I could possibly be worth this much trouble.
“Is it the letters?” I ask, turning back to him. I hope I sound as contrite as I feel.
He concentrates on the road. “What do you mean?”
“The reason you kidnapped me. Is it because I pretended to be Klaus?” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I’m truly sorry. I just thought your letters were…intriguing and that it wouldn’t hurt anything to answer them. I thought you enjoyed them.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. I’m somehow making him more angry with my bumbling apology.
“Just stop it now,” he says. “There is no way you are not involved. Even if your poorly executed letters are just ramblings, you were still at a Vigilante safe house that was the last known location of my friend and comrade.”
I give up. He won’t listen to me. He thinks everything I say is a lie. We’re driving to some place I can’t even fathom, but if it’s like this car, like the gadgets in his trunk or the training he seems to have, then it’s bound to be dangerous.
My belly flips a little. I realize we haven’t eaten and he hasn’t even thought of it. Maybe this Vigilante runs on anger and the misery of others. I probably couldn’t swallow anything anyway.
As if he’s read my mind, he says, “It’s too risky to stop for breakfast along this route. They’ll provide for you at the syndicate.”
“No room service at the Ritz?” I tease.
“I got poisoned twice at hotels,” he says grimly. “Security is far too lax.”
This shuts me up. What sort of life gets you poisoned at a fancy hotel? And what sort of man survives it — twice?
We turn off the highway onto a gravel road. The trees tower on either side of our car and soon we’re surrounded by woods.
I have to stuff down my rising fear. This looks like a very good place to leave a body. I wonder if Jax could do that, if he could kill me. Everything about him tells me it’s possible.
Except, last night. That almost-kiss. He feels something, same as me. I press my hand against my quivering belly. The sweater dress is soft and smooth. Cashmere, Emma said last night. Only the best for me, she said. I was lucky.
Lucky. Ha.
The road gets more bumpy, and even in this expensive car, we start lurching in our seats. Jax keeps both hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead.
The hexagon lights up with red dots, bright and pulsing brightly. They are concentrated on a space we seem to be approaching.
With a jerk of the wheel, Jax steers us into the woods. Underbrush crunches beneath the tires, and small trees are mowed down. After a few yards, we come to a stop beneath a canopy of trees.
“Why did you drive off the road?” I ask.
“We can’t just cruise right up to the door,” he says. “If things don’t go well, I want to have a vehicle.”
