Stacey Kade - The Hunt

Stopping for a few hours to get some rest and our stories straight seemed like a pretty good idea. Assuming we could find somewhere.

“You, uh, have any particular place in mind?” I asked. We appeared to be on what passed for the main drag in this town, tiny even by Wingate standards. Most everything was closed. And I had no idea what Ariane was thinking. An empty parking lot? A motel?

My mind shied away from the latter option. It had implications that I didn’t want to put out there. She might think I was angling for more than the chance to sleep with my legs stretched out.

Never mind the fact that the idea of hooking up while GTX was kicking down doors and burning up the highway hunting for us was kind of ridiculous.

The mental image of just that—the two of us together—flashed into my head with crystal clarity, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Okay, it was ridiculous and maybe a little hot. We were alive, we’d made it this far. And all that life-and-death adrenaline was apparently still flowing through my system.

Remembering the few times we’d made out in my truck, my heart stuttered with anticipation. Of course, that was before I’d known the truth about her, about where she came from.

Would it be different now? I didn’t think so. She’d stood in front of me, protecting me at her own expense. Nobody had ever done that for me.

My fingers itched suddenly to feel the smoothness of her skin again, a chance to see for myself that she was actually unharmed.

A quiet sniffle came from the other side of van. “I was thinking more about a hot shower.”

I looked over to see Ariane trying to smile at me even as she wiped under her eyes. She was crying.

“Ariane, what’s wrong?” I asked, bewildered. Was she reading the letter again? No, it was still folded in her hand. “What happened—”

I clamped my mouth shut, the realization clicking in a second too late. She’d “heard” me. The motel, me wanting to touch her, the memories of us kissing.

My face burned. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I was just thinking about it. I would never have—”

She gave a choked laugh. “Stop apologizing. It was nice.”

“Nice enough to make you cry,” I said.

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Kind of a long day.” But her gaze didn’t quite meet mine, and I felt like an asshole. Ariane was dealing with her whole life falling apart, and I was the jerk fixated on being in a motel.

I wanted to apologize again, but her focus had shifted to the street. She leaned forward in her seat, watching.

“There,” she said, after a minute. She pointed to a neon blue VACANCY sign flashing in front of a stubby two-story building on the left side of the street. Definitely not a five-star establishment but, judging from the sheer number of minivans in the parking lot with pool floaties strapped to the roofs, safe.

I pulled in and found a space near the glass door marked OFFICE with another neon sign.

“No,” Ariane said quickly. “Somewhere closer to the back of the lot, in the shadows. I don’t want the desk manager to see us.”

I hesitated, then drove farther to a spot that matched her description. “Uh, you’re not planning on breaking in, are you?” I asked, putting the van in park. Kind of a stupid question, I guess, but I had to ask. I knew she could do it. I’d seen her unlock an elevator in a secure facility; I was pretty sure a motel door wouldn’t even be a challenge. But there were other issues, ones I was betting she’d never think of.

She looked at me, surprised. “The fewer people who witness—”

I sighed. “Some of these places, they have a system that alerts them if the door on an unoccupied room is opened without a key.”

She raised her eyebrows in question.

“Homecoming after-party last year at the Fairfield. The lock on the door to the adjoining room was broken, and Jonas decided to expand the party.” I shrugged. “Which was fine, until someone went out through the main room door. The key card system notified the manager, and she called the cops.” Which had included my father. I grimaced at the memory.

Ariane nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked. What Ariane had said about getting cleaned up and making this look more like a normal visit made sense, but I still felt like I was missing something.

“As much as I’m sure about anything,” she murmured with a strained smile that somehow spoke of sadness and set off an alarm in the back of my brain, though I didn’t know why.

Before I could ask her, she was digging into the duffel bag at her feet, pulling out the baby wipes she’d added from the secret compartment and the package of contact lenses.

With an economy of motion, she wiped off her face and hands, using the mirror on the sun visor as a guide. Even in the dim light, I could see dozens of scrapes and cuts on her face, neck, and hands. And I noticed, for the first time, how careful she was with her left arm. The light was dim in here, but I could see blood, a lot of it, crusted on the edge of her sleeve, turning the small portion sticking out from the cuff of her black jacket from white to a dark brownish red.

“Ariane…your arm,” I said, horrified.

“It stopped bleeding a while ago,” she said, tucking her sleeve under her jacket with a wince. “It’s fine.”

I wasn’t so sure about that—and I didn’t know how she could be either, since I hadn’t seen her so much as look at the wound—but her tone brooked no argument.

She pulled the top off a set of contacts and slid the lenses in, her eyes watering as she blinked.

“Be right back,” she said, zipping her jacket up and brushing off the front of it.

I stared at her like she was crazy, belatedly realizing her intentions. “You can’t go in there.”

“I’m the only one with a name that won’t attract attention,” she said, waving her new U.S. passport at me.

“Yeah, but he’s not going to rent a room to you.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

I paused, trying to figure out how to say this without hurting her feelings. Oh hell. “You look about twelve, particularly in that.” I nodded toward the oversize jacket that covered her from shoulders to knees, hiding her lab-issued clothing.

She frowned. “If my identification says I’m eighteen, he can’t deny—”

“He’s not going to care about anything but covering his ass, and you scream teenage runaway or worse.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Let me do it.” People always thought I was older than I was just because of my height. And this, at least, was a way I could help.

She shook her head. “Your dad may have already reported you missing. We can’t risk it.”

I made a face. “Doubt it. That would mean admitting something was wrong at our house.” I held my hand out. “Just give me the cash, and I’ll take care of it.” I had an emergency credit card, but absolutely nothing would bring my dad down on us faster than using that.

She wavered, and then dug into the bag and pulled out a roll of money. “Stay calm, be confident, and ask for more than you want,” she said. “Basic rules of negotiation.”

“Got it.” I pulled a few bills off and stuffed them in my pocket—pulling out a wad of hundreds would only raise more questions and possibly the amount of whatever bribe I might have to give to get us a room—and reached for the door handle.

“Wait, come here.” Ariane gestured at me to come closer, producing another baby wipe from the package.

She leaned in, dabbing carefully at my face, her forehead pinched with concern. “You’re so scratched up.” She sounded as though she felt responsible.

“Had to make the other side match,” I joked, making a vague gesture to the stitched cut on my left cheek, courtesy of a flying beer bottle the other night. At least, I hoped it was still stitched. Honestly, until now, I hadn’t really stopped to think about what hurt, and now that I did, everything ached and burned. “I’ll survive.”