The fact that he's so adamant tells me everything I need to know. It matters. And now I'll have to keep picking and picking at it until I figure out why it matters. One thing's for sure though, if the wife is already in a bad state, I doubt either me or Wyatt are going to be overly willing to make it worse.
The trees get replaced by houses again as we enter the next town and I wonder how far we're taking her. Wyatt wasn't exactly secretive about where we're taking her for the next couple weeks, but he didn't give me a map either. He also didn't really tell me how long we were supposed to keep her, he just kept saying either a couple weeks or a few weeks. At the time it really didn't matter, but now that I've seen the wife and had my hands on her it feels like it might end up mattering after all.
I don't mind taking jobs involving women. It's always the same thing. Grab her. Keep her for a few days. Keep her scared, keep her quiet. Drop her off. Get paid. I don't take jobs with kids, though. Not ever. I don't like taking care of them. And they cry. A lot. I can't listen to kids crying for hours on end, much less for days. Never been hired to make a woman miserable for a while and then give her back, though. That's new. There's got to be some wild ass reason for it and that mystery is going to eat at my mind until I solve it.
This town is much smaller than the city we just left and it quickly dissolves into trees and scrubby bushes with the occasional house breaking through the scenery. I know where we are. I have a cousin who lives in the town we just passed through. He owns a pretty decent sandwich shop. But knowing where we are isn't the same as knowing where we're going and now I'm getting antsy. “How much farther are we going?”
Wyatt sighs again, heavily. “I have a place set up in the next town. I wanted to put a little distance between us.”
“Why?”
He glances over, annoyance clear on his face. “Why what?”
“What's the point?” I ask. “This isn't a true kidnapping. It's all for show. The husband isn't actually going to look for her. For all it matters, we could have kept her in the fucking garage.”
He's quiet again and I swear I can hear him thinking.
“Oh, you didn't consider that, did you?”
His eyes flick to me again, his mouth drawn in a harsh, flat line. “I like distance.”
“Does the husband know where you're taking her?”
“No,” he scoffs.
“Why?”
“You're going to have to stop asking why about shit, Shaun. It doesn't matter.”
I watch his profile for a long minute.
“It might.”
The building Wyatt parks behind is ridiculous. You'd think he'd choose something a little less blue. I don't get out of the car when he does. He can't be serious.
He stretches his arms above his head and then swings them around a few times. He notices that I still haven't gotten out and comes around to my side where he opens my door.
I look up at him, incredulous. “It's awfully blue, isn't it?”
He looks back over his shoulder as if he hadn't noticed. “And?”
“You don't think that's a little conspicuous?”
“If you were looking for someone, would you think to look in the bright blue house on the corner?”
“It doesn't matter, though, does it? Because nobody is going to look for her, right?”
“Not the point,” he smiles. “Let's get her inside.”
Sighing, I get out and follow Wyatt around to the back of the car. He knocks twice on the lid of the trunk before speaking loud enough for the wife to hear him. “I'm going to open this lid and lift you out. Do not jump. Do not kick. Do not run. You will fall. We will not be taking you to the hospital if you get hurt. Be smart.”
It's pointless, though. We both know she's going to try to run. They always try to run. Doesn't matter if their hands are tied, if they're blindfolded, or if they're bare-assed naked and barefoot, they try to run and she's no different. The second he pushes the button to open the trunk and the lid pops up, her foot comes shooting out to try to kick at us and I grab her ankle before she can make contact. Naturally, she yanks against my hold but I don't lose my grip on her. Wyatt reaches in to grab her arm to get her out and she starts to fight against him the moment she feels him touch her. I can't be mad about it, I'd fight too.
We struggle with her for a few minutes. Regardless of how miserable she's supposed to be after we're finished with her, neither Wyatt or I are very inclined to hurt her. In fact, it looks and feels more like we're doing the opposite and it reminds me of all the times I tried to get spiders and other bugs out of my house without damaging their delicate legs or wings. The longer it goes on, the funnier it becomes to me and by the time Wyatt starts muttering curses, I'm laughing.
“Hold on,” I tell him. “She wants to stay in the trunk. Close the lid. We'll come back out in a little bit and see how she feels.” Just as I expected, all movement ceases and I can feel the decisions being made from behind that expensive pillow case. Slowly, her arms and legs pull closer to her body and she stays put in a still little ball. “What? You don't want to stay in the trunk for a few hours?”
A small shake of her head.
