Colby Agency: Decoded Part 4

His contact was compromised, but St. Louis was a big city. He would figure out a new route to his destination.

He wasn't bested yet.

Chapter Five.

St. Louis, 10:00 a.m.

Maggie roused from a fretful sleep. Where was she? Memories flooded her lethargic brain. Cognizance rocketed into full focus as the details from the pa.s.sing landscape a.s.similated in her brain. Streets. Buildings. The beastly sound of the big truck. They'd reached the city. She blinked a couple times and tried to spot something familiar. This had to be St. Louis. Where were they going from here? In reality, she was terrified of what came next. Worry for her baby twisted painfully in her stomach. She ordered herself to try to stay calm. All these crazy emotions couldn't be good for the tiny life just beginning inside her.

She'd finally drifted off before daylight this morning. Her body ached. Her neck was stiff. Tension rippled through her. She'd leaned her head against Slade's shoulder and his arm was around her. As if this recognition had signaled all her senses, she became aware of his scent, the feel of his strong arm, the heat of his body. Every part of her that made her woman wanted to stay right there. To feel safe and protected.

But she was not safe. Maggie straightened, drew away from him as much as she dared without alerting the driver to the tension. "Are we-" she cleared her throat "-in St. Louis?"

"You got it, Red," the driver announced.

His comment helped to ease the renewed apprehension ramping up. Maggie couldn't begin to count the times she'd been called Red. She'd hated it in school, but, as an adult, she'd finally gotten over it and embraced the overture for what it was-more often friendliness than rudeness.

The driver's name was Pete. Once he'd gotten started talking this morning, he'd poured out his life story. Maggie had fallen asleep at the part where he and his fourth wife had divorced. The man had kids in three states.

As wild as that all sounded, it carried a refreshing normalcy about it.

"I need to fuel up," Pete said as he changed lanes and slowed for the next exit.

Not a hundred yards from the exit ramp, Pete made a right into the parking lot of a ma.s.sive fuel station. In addition to selling fuel, the truck stop offered a restaurant and showers.

Who knew?

Pete parked the truck in the sprawling lot alongside dozens of other similar rigs. He shut down the engine, heralding a stark quiet that rang in her ears. "I think I might just fuel up myself first. You folks interested in breakfast?"

Slade thrust his hand at the man. "We appreciate the ride, Pete, but we'll keep moving. You understand, I'm sure, our need to cover more ground."

Pete nodded. "Got it. Keep your heads down." He flashed a smile for Maggie. "Take care of your wife. She must love you a lot to go through all this and stick by your side."

"She's one of a kind," Slade agreed before climbing out of the big cab.

"Thanks, Pete." Maggie returned his smile. She wanted to say more, but the right words escaped her. Instead, she climbed out of the ma.s.sive truck and turned to the man who had flipped her world upside down.

Slade placed his hand at her elbow and urged her forward. Maggie hated to say anything, but she really needed to use the ladies' room, and her stomach was out of sorts. Several gas stations and no shortage of restaurants, mostly fast food, lined the street. Surely they could make a quick dash into one of them. The smell of food wafting in the air should have been appealing, but the thick odors were anything but this morning.

"Can we get coffee?" She and Slade had been sleeping together for nearly two years. It was foolish of her to be embarra.s.sed about mentioning her personal needs to him, but she was, nonetheless.

"As soon as we're out of eyesight from our friend Pete we'll have breakfast and a break."

Maggie wanted to ask him what came next, but she decided to wait until she had relieved herself and gotten some food into her stomach-if she could manage the latter. She didn't feel well. Prompting additional stress wouldn't be smart right now, she reminded herself. Her hand went instinctively to her belly.

Guilt that she wasn't adequately protecting her child roiled inside her. She wasn't sure how far along she was. This month's skipped cycle would indicate about six or seven weeks. But last month's had been off, almost nonexistent. If she had actually missed two cycles, she would be ten or eleven weeks along. If she survived this scene right out of an action flick, she had only about seven months to go.

The same old questions logjammed in her brain. How had this happened? Did she need to be concerned that she'd taken her pills for some amount of time after conception? She needed to set up a doctor's appointment as soon as possible. There were so many steps that needed to be taken. a.s.suming she survived this.

She stole a glance at the man beside her. What in the world was she going to do?

He chose a familiar chain restaurant for breakfast. As they entered, the smells of pancakes, eggs and bacon made her stomach rumble, this time in antic.i.p.ation. Maybe food was all she needed to settle that unpleasant feeling plaguing her. The hostess seated them and promised that a waitress would be with them soon. Maggie excused herself and hurried to the ladies' room.

One look in the mirror and she gasped. Slade had insisted on leaving her purse in her car, so she had nothing to work with. For now, she relieved herself, washed her hands and face, and tried to do something with her hair. Those Irish locks she'd inherited from her great-grandmother were as stubborn as all get-out. She did the best she could, then tidied her clothes.

She was ready. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was even paler than usual. She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

"What're you doing?" Why didn't she just walk out of here? There were too many people around for him to draw his weapon. He wouldn't want that kind of attention.

Antic.i.p.ation stirred in her chest. Once she'd explained what happened to the police, she could go home. Take care of the coffee shop. See the doctor. Get on with her life.

The police can't protect us, Maggie. What if he was right? What if this crazy woman tried to use Maggie to lure Slade into some sort of trap? Or killed her?

Maggie's hand went to her belly. She had to protect her child.

Pete, the truck driver, had been wrong. She wasn't going through all this just because she was so madly in love with Slade-which foolishly she was. Maggie's top priority was the baby and until she knew more, she had to a.s.sume that Slade was telling her the truth.

Not that he'd ever told her the truth before.

Coffee and water had been delivered to the table by the time she returned. Maggie lowered herself into a chair, placed a napkin in her lap and devoured the water. She hadn't noticed until she took that first sip how immensely parched she was. The cool liquid felt good going down. Chasing it with the warm coffee was equally enjoyable. Relief slowly unfurled, from her rigid shoulders all the way to the aching muscles in her calves. The events of those hours in the dark seemed a little further away.

When she lowered her cup, Slade was watching her. As if a switch had been flipped inside her, she instantly got lost in his eyes. How had she ever allowed herself to get this addicted to a man she had come to realize kept so very many secrets?

"I ordered toast, bacon and eggs, scrambled the way you like," he informed her.

Scrambled eggs. Her mind latched on to those two words. It was the strangest thing. Here she sat in a public restaurant on the run with a man she clearly didn't know, in a city she'd pa.s.sed through only on the way to somewhere else, and she got mentally hung up on a point about eggs. She had known Slade Keaton for two years. In all that time, whenever they had shared a meal, he'd eaten whatever she ate. Scrambled eggs, steaks well done, grilled chicken. Whatever. She could not recall him ever ordering anything different from what she ordered. Or ever offering to choose an activity besides what he already knew from experience she liked to do.

"How do you like your eggs?"

He looked puzzled by her question.

"You ordered scrambled because that's what I always order or prepare." She fidgeted with the napkin in her lap to busy her hands.

"I like scrambled eggs."

His face blanked the same way it had last night whenever she'd demanded answers. What kind of man couldn't tell the truth about eggs? Hysteria jarred her. She battled it back. "What about steak?" she asked sharply. Again she fought for that calm that seemed to be slipping rapidly from her grasp.

He sipped his coffee, took his time placing the cup back on the table. "The cut?"

Anger entered the emotional mix playing havoc with her control. "Medium? Well done? Rare?"

"Well done."

"How about wine? White or red?" she snapped.

"White." The tiniest lines formed on his brow, suggesting confusion or maybe frustration.

"Whole milk or skim?"

He manufactured a half smile. "You must be starved. All your questions are about food."

Maggie wadded the napkin in her fist. She leaned forward. "You always pick what I pick. Do what I want to do. Even music." Good grief, she'd forgotten that until now. "You like all the music I like." If they went to a museum or gallery, would he gravitate to her same interests? Of course he would. It was all an act. A well-planned and perfectly executed strategy.

The waitress arrived with their breakfast. The smells that had moments ago revved her appet.i.te now had her stomach recoiling. She had to eat. If not for her, for the baby.

Rather than wait for his answer, she took a forkful of food and forced herself to eat. The bacon was crispy, which made it more palatable. Totally ignoring him, she waved down the waitress and ordered orange juice. The server had no sooner placed it in front of Maggie than she drank it down. That really hit the spot. The sweet, tangy liquid awakened her taste buds as nothing else had. When she paused to catch her breath she realized she'd overlooked her toast, but she was stuffed.

Slade stared at her, his food scarcely touched. "I guess you were hungry."

She wanted to argue and say she hadn't been hungry at all, but the baby growing inside her needed nourishment. But she couldn't do that. Fear and worry and excitement had rolled into a ball and started to expand in her chest. An urge hit with such swiftness and such intensity that Maggie barely scrambled from the table and made it to the ladies' room in time to prevent humiliating herself. The lovely eggs and crunchy bacon she had devoured with such fervor exited with equal vehemence.

She sagged against the stall wall. It took a moment or two to steady herself. She unrolled a gob of toilet paper and cleaned up her mess. With monumental effort, she moved to the sink, washed her hands and face, and rinsed her mouth.

After pulling herself together, she made her way back to Slade. He had already placed the cash on the table for their meal.

He stood. "You ready?"

For what? She wanted to ask that but didn't. She knew there was no point. Instead, she nodded and followed him out to the parking lot. The breeze remained chilly, but the sun was shining and Maggie appreciated that very much. She hugged herself and followed him to the gas station next door.

He scanned the parking lot. Mostly pa.s.senger automobiles were parked there. The big trucks were piled into the three truck stops that dotted this stretch of street.

"So." She couldn't bear not knowing a moment longer. "What's next on the agenda?"

"A major purchase."

Confused, Maggie asked, "What kind of purchase?"

Slade gestured to the newspaper vending machines near the entrance to the station. "Wait right there."

There were other questions she could have asked. Truth was, she didn't possess the energy to put up a fuss. She took the position and waited.

As long as nothing blew up or no one started shooting, she would go along for a little while longer.

What else was she going to do?

Private Airfield, 12:48 p.m.

SLADE PAID THE GUY THE THREE hundred bucks he'd promised for a ride to the airfield. He watched the van drive away until it disappeared in the distance. Maggie waited silently next to him. She hadn't asked any questions as he'd ushered her into the van back at the gas station. She'd said nothing during the long ride here.

The airfield was in the middle of nowhere well outside St. Louis proper. There was a small box of an office and an adequate strip. A call to the pilot had verified that the private flight reserved for Slade remained on his schedule. The plane sat in front of the only hangar. The pilot was nowhere in sight.

The only question now was whether or not it was a trap. Slade hadn't been able to contact McCain, which confirmed his suspicions that his contact had been eliminated. How much of Slade's transportation plans had been gleaned was anybody's guess. The location of the motel, obviously. But the flight plan? Who knew?

Only one way to find out.

Slade huddled with Maggie. "I don't know what will be waiting in that hangar, so it's best if you wait here until I give the all clear."

"And if it's not clear?"

He placed his secure cell phone in her hand. "Head for the office and call 911."

She held his gaze for a long moment, and he saw the fear in her eyes.

He turned away. No point giving the enemy more time to prep for an ambush.

"Slade."

He shouldn't turn back, but for reasons he would never fully grasp, he did.

"Be careful."

He gave her a nod and resumed his trek toward whatever waited inside.

The hangar doors were open. His hand resting on the b.u.t.t of the weapon in his waistband, he walked inside. The dead silence and the shadows that lurked around the equipment and tool bins amped up the tension humming inside him. The pilot's name was Hendrix. That he was nowhere to be seen was not a good sign. Slade's instincts rushed to the next level. His fingers tightened on the grip of his weapon.

When a side door opened, Slade froze, his feet wide apart. A man matching Hendrix's description stepped through the doorway, tucking his shirttail into his waistband.

"You Christian?" Hendrix asked.

"That's right." Slade relaxed a fraction. McCain had used an alias for the arrangements. "We ready for take-off?"

"Yes, sir." Hendrix hitched a thumb toward the door he'd exited. "I usually take a relief break before boarding."

Slade nodded. "Understandable." This was a three-hour flight. Maybe more if Slade's plan worked out. He kept an eye on the shadowy area in the far corners of the building. So far he hadn't spotted anything suspicious.

"I'm ready when you are." Hendrix gestured to the aircraft standing by just outside the hangar doors. "I have dinner plans with my fiancee tonight. If I'm not back on time she'll make my life miserable for weeks."

"I'll get my wife and we'll be on our way."

Hendrix frowned. "I thought you were the only pa.s.senger."

Slade smiled. They hadn't gotten to this guy. Otherwise he wouldn't have been surprised about a second pa.s.senger. Slade shrugged. "My wife decided at the last minute that she wanted to go. You know how it is."

Hendrix laughed. "I do and I'm not even married yet."

With a quick check of the area around the hangar, Slade retraced his steps to where he'd left Maggie. He stopped short and glanced around again.

She was gone.

h.e.l.l. He turned all the way around. She appeared around the corner of the office.

He let go the breath he'd been holding.