The First Prophet

“You never know—maybe I’ll get a book out of it.”

 

 

And maybe you’ll get dead. But she didn’t say it, of course. Instead, she said, “Where will we go?”

 

“I have a feeling that once we get moving, you’ll know which way to go,” he said with more confidence than she thought he had any right to feel.

 

North. I think we have to go north. But I don’t know how far. Or why we have to…

 

But all she said was, “And until I know that—assuming I do?”

 

“Away from Richmond is the first priority, I think. Unless you disagree, our first stop will be a place near Arlington.”

 

“Why Arlington?” Heading north. And I didn’t even have to tell him we’re supposed to. Fate again.

 

“Because a friend owns a cabin near there. A place to rest our weary heads and plan the next stage of the trip.”

 

“Plan?”

 

“We’ll come up with something, Sarah.”

 

“You just want an adventure. A road trip. That’s it, isn’t it?”

 

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

She was silent for several minutes, then said abruptly, “I should have gone to the bank. I don’t have any money.” It had just occurred to her that this was likely to be an expensive trip.

 

Tucker responded promptly. “I stopped by my bank this afternoon and got some cash. Enough, I think. We’ll need to avoid plastic, avoid using ATMs because of the cameras, cell phones because they can be pinged—which is why I left mine at the shop and asked you not to bring yours—or anything else that might give them a way to track us as we move. Cash is the way to go.”

 

“I can’t let you—”

 

“Sarah, it’s not a problem.”

 

“Yes, it is. I can’t let you pay my way.”

 

“Look, if it really bothers you, we’ll settle up later. Until then, don’t worry about it.”

 

She was silenced, but not happy. It went against the grain for her to depend on anyone else, particularly financially. She hadn’t even allowed David to bring in an occasional bag of groceries, and he’d practically lived at her place. Something Margo had scolded her for.

 

“He eats like a goat, Sarah! Why the hell shouldn’t he kick in some for groceries? He’s got you cooking for him practically every night!”

 

Sarah frowned, a little startled to realize that the memory had roused resentment rather than pain. He had usually suggested they eat at her house. And he hadn’t been able to cook, so she always had. Sometimes he’d helped her clean up afterward, but many times he’d had to “eat and run” because of business calls he needed to make from his own apartment. Or something like that.

 

Now that she thought about it, he had bought dinner once or twice a week—when they ended up having sex.

 

Jesus, he was paying for it!

 

“Sarah?”

 

“Hmm?” Dinner out—sex. A little quid pro for his quo. Wonderful. Why didn’t I see it before?

 

“Don’t be upset about the money.”

 

She wrenched her mind back to the present and drew a breath. “Okay. But I expect you to keep track. This is my little adventure more than yours, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you pay for it.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“As long as we understand that.”

 

“We do.”

 

They fell silent again. Sarah shifted a bit. Mercedes or not, the backseat wasn’t a terribly comfortable bed. Then again, she was probably too edgy to sleep. Like last night. If this kept up, she’d really be a bundle of raw nerve endings. “What time is it?”

 

“After one.”

 

It felt like dawn at least, to Sarah. She was so tired.

 

“Why don’t you try to sleep?” he suggested.

 

“If you watch all night, you’ll be exhausted.”

 

“I can lose a night or two without it bothering me too much. Probably comes from a habit of all-night writing marathons. Try to sleep, Sarah.”

 

She didn’t think there was a chance in hell of her actually sleeping, but she once again closed eyes that kept drifting open, and this time she did her best to stop thinking. Following directions from a relaxation tape she’d listened to, she concentrated on letting all her muscles go limp and imagined lying peacefully on a beach listening to soothing ocean waves.

 

That was the last thing she remembered.

 

“Sarah.”

 

She came awake instantly, her scratchy eyes and heavy head telling her she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two, if that. “Hmm?”

 

“Look.”

 

She sat up carefully, fighting her hands free of the covers so she could rub her eyes. It took her a moment to focus, and to look where Tucker was looking, but as soon as she did, she saw them.

 

“Oh God,” she whispered.

 

The two cars, lights extinguished, were coming down the street toward the shop from the opposite direction. In an eerie quiet that didn’t even seem to contain the faint sounds of engines, the cars pulled into parking places at the shop. Doors opened—no interior lights betrayed them either—and men got out of the cars.

 

Sarah numbly counted eight men, four from each car. “So many,” she whispered.

 

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