Hush: A Thriller Part 24

"No."

"Children?"

"No."

"Girlfriend? Significant other?"

"Not at present."

"When was your last serious relationship?"

"Forget it. No comment."

"You did a background check on me. I'm guessing you know just about everything I've ever done in my life, including all about my relationships." She took his silence as an admission that she was right, and pressed on. "Last serious relationship?"

His mouth tightened. "It's been a while."

"How long?"

"I don't know. A while."

"You do too know."

"You're pretty d.a.m.ned interested in my love life."

"You're pretty d.a.m.ned defensive about it. That makes it interesting."

He made a sound of exasperation. "Her name was Jennifer. We broke up about three and a half years ago. Okay?"

"Why?"

"Jesus. She wanted to get married, start a family. I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't."

"So you've just been casually dating in the three and a half years since?"

"I'm done talking about this subject. You got something else you want to ask me about?"

Riley considered. There was still a ton of stuff she wanted to know, so she decided to move on in the interest of keeping him from clamming up.

"Parents?" she asked.

"Yes. Two."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Ha-ha. What are their names? What do they do for a living? And don't tell me you don't know that about me, because I know you do."

"Robert Bradley. An accountant. Died when I was five. Janet Bradley Oppenheimer. A schoolteacher who got remarried to a dentist when I was seven."

Looking at the hard-faced, hard-bodied, armed and dangerous man beside her, it was difficult to imagine him as the son of an accountant and a teacher.

"Is your mother still alive?"

"Yes."

"Where does she live?"

She thought he hesitated for a second. "Seattle."

"Is that where you grew up?"

"Yes."

"Do you have siblings?"

"Three younger sisters. Well, half-sisters."

Riley stared at him. He'd grown up in an upper-middle-cla.s.s household in Seattle with a teacher mother, a dentist stepfather, and three little sisters.

Okay, she was finding it increasingly difficult to be afraid of him.

"You just officially blew my mind," she said.

"And why is that?" There was a note of testiness in his voice.

"That sounds so"-great, appealing, wonderful-"wholesome."

"Yeah, so?"

"I just-" She shook her head. "I'm having trouble picturing it. Are you close with them? Do you visit?"

"I make it home for the major holidays."

"You don't live in Seattle, I take it?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"Wyoming. On a small, run-down ranch I'm trying to get up and running again. And yes, it snows a lot in the winter and no, I don't mind. Anything else you want to know?"

He was sounding testy again. Riley looked at him consideringly.

"So how did you end up becoming an FBI agent?"

A subtle tension in his face caught her attention. "I got recruited out of college."

There was more to the story, she could tell. "And?"

"And, what? I signed on, got trained, went to work. Here we are."

She gave him a long look. "That leaves out a lot."

"What do you want, a blow-by-blow?"

She recognized the same smart-a.s.s response she'd given him earlier right off the bat, thank you.

"So how long have you and Bax been partners?" Her eyes narrowed. "Where is he, by the way?"

"He's off doing his job, and, not that long," he replied, his tone making it clear that he wasn't going to elaborate. She was getting ready to probe for more anyway when he veered into the slow lane and got in line behind a lumbering car carrier. Even as Riley gave him a questioning look, he gestured at a rest stop sign and added, "I need to stretch my legs. We're pulling off here for a minute."

Which, she thought, was his way of saying, I'm done talking.

- CHAPTER -

TWENTY-FOUR.

After that, once they'd stopped and were back in the car, they came to an agreement: if Finn wouldn't interrogate her, Riley wouldn't interrogate him. Still, after a few miles pa.s.sed in seething silence, they ended up talking, on such neutral but diverse topics as the state of the economy, the current political situation, religion (he knew about her background; she discovered that he was raised Methodist), speed dating, college majors, favorites (movies, TV shows, books, foods) and the merits of living in Texas versus Wyoming, with a few observations about Philadelphia and, as they pa.s.sed the WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA sign, that state, too, thrown in for good measure.

They were just pulling into what a dusty green sign announced was Stringtown when a faint buzzing that seemed to be coming from Finn silenced them both. He frowned, Riley looked at him in surprise, and then as he reached into his pocket she realized that the sound came from a cell phone set on vibrate that was accidentally reverberating against the side of the plastic console.

In other words, making a sound that she could hear.

"Uh-oh," Riley taunted, because it was clear from Finn's sour look as he fished it out that the phone had been set on vibrate precisely so she wouldn't hear it. As he glanced down at the caller ID then pressed the b.u.t.ton to answer, she realized that the call must be important and any last trace of a desire to tease him fled. Instantly she thought, news of Emma. Tensing, she looked at him with worried eyes.

"Riley's right beside me," was the first thing Finn said into the phone, which of course told her that he wanted the caller to be careful of what he said in case she should overhear. Then he mouthed "Bax" at her. From Finn's side of the conversation-mostly monosyllables-Riley couldn't make heads or tails out of it, and the few words she could hear of Bax's end-today, hospital-only alarmed her. When Finn disconnected without so much as a good-bye, the first thing he said, before she could even ask, was, "Nothing to do with Emma, so you can quit looking at me like that."

Once again, her face was clearly way too easy for him to read. Riley slumped a little in her seat as some of her tension ebbed. Her fear for Emma was a hard, cold knot in her chest that wouldn't go away. She'd hoped the phone call might be good news, but from what she'd overheard and the look on Finn's face, no such luck.

"Remember, n.o.body's going to hurt her as long as they think they can use her to get the money," Finn reminded her, and Riley nodded dispiritedly.

"So what was that about?" she asked.

"George was attacked today. Stabbed. He's in the prison hospital. You won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow."

Riley's mouth dropped open.

"Dear G.o.d," she said. "How bad is it?"

"Bax said he's going to survive." Finn's voice was grim. "This time."

"This time?" Riley felt cold all over. "It was because of the money, wasn't it?"

"At a guess, I'd say yes, but n.o.body's talking. Not George, and not the guy who did it."

"They caught him?"

"Yep."

"Can't somebody make him talk?" The question came out in a frustrated rush before Riley had a chance to think about it-there really was no way in American society to make someone talk if they didn't want to-but the expression on Finn's face in response startled her. It said, as clearly as words might have done, I could. Then it was gone, quick as that.

His face was unreadable again, but Riley knew what she had seen.

She thought of his picture on Jeff's phone. She thought of how he'd known how long it took to drown someone. She thought of the impression she'd gotten that he was dangerous, and what felt like an icy hand gripped her heart.

"Ten a.m. suit you?" he asked.

It took her a second, but then she understood: that's when she would talk to George. As she nodded, Finn pulled off into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn and Suites.

"You're staying with me, so I got us one room," he said as he pulled the suitcases from the trunk. That slight smile of his appeared. "Two beds, though."

She didn't protest. The attack on George had underlined how much danger she and Emma and Margaret were in. In response to Finn's instructions, she walked into the hotel a few steps ahead of him, apparently to keep him between her and any attack that might come from the direction of the parking lot. As she did, she thought, Without him, I'd be a sitting duck.

The shiver that slid down her spine was a stark reminder of how very vulnerable she was. And how very dependent on him she was.

Whatever he is, whatever he's done, right now I need him. Dangerous or not.

They got settled in the room-two queen beds, a credenza holding a TV against the wall opposite, plus a small sitting area with a couch, chair, and desk, all decorated in tasteful earth tones-and freshened up. Then Finn took her to dinner.

She wasn't hungry-shades of Emma!-but she kept that to herself and went. He clearly was, and once again she knew she needed to eat.

There wasn't a lot of choice. A cafe in the downtown area, the ubiquitous McDonald's, and a Waffle House. They settled on the cafe. The town was tiny, less than a thousand people. It was a collection of rundown red-brick buildings and a few outlying stores, all mostly there for the purpose of supporting the staff and visitors of the sprawling Mack H. Alford Correctional Center, which was visible as a shimmering mirage of chain-link fences and squat buildings just a few miles down the road. The surrounding landscape was hilly and mostly brown with heat, although a few blades of gra.s.s and some valiant trees showed green.

"So how are you going to put this to George tomorrow?" Finn asked. They were ensconced in a booth in the cafe, and he was seated across from her. The booth was in a corner, Finn having refused the waitress's offer of a prime seat in front of the big front picture window (he didn't say why, but his refusal gave Riley an instant, hair-raising vision of snipers with rifles). From where they sat, she could still see out. She watched as the orange blaze of the setting sun was extinguished by a ma.s.s of purple clouds, and tongues of lightning began to flicker in the distance.

The cafe was surprisingly busy. It was noisy and full of good smells, the air-conditioning worked, and the red vinyl bench seats were cracked but comfortable. The waitress having taken their order, Riley was already sipping gratefully at a tall gla.s.s of sweet tea, while Finn drank root beer.

Riley frowned at him reprovingly. "Did anybody ever tell you that you have a one-track mind?"

"With George being injured, you're probably not going to have all day to beat around the bush. It'd be a good idea to be prepared with exactly what you're going to say."

"Tell me what you did with the money, you mean old goat, or I'll stab you again myself?"

The tightening of his mouth told her what he thought of her flippancy. "Riley-"

The waitress appeared carrying a tray, and started putting their food on the table. Finn quit talking until the woman asked, "Anything else I can get for you?" and, when they shook their heads, left them alone again.

"You need to go in with a plan. A few key points you want to make." The fact that he was dumping ketchup on meatloaf-his plate was loaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans-didn't detract from the determination in the look he directed at her.

"I have a plan." Riley dipped a fork into the tuna part of her tuna salad plate and smiled at him across the table. "Wing it."