TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES LATER, JACK PULLED OVER at a run-down motel in Pennsylvania and got them a room. The rumpled man behind the desk looked annoyed at having to tear himself away from his phone, which Jack could see was playing a video not meant for anyone under eighteen. In response to his request for a credit card, Jack slapped two hundred-dollar bills on the counter. They disappeared into the man’s pocket and a room key appeared in their place. No one else was around, so it was easy to sneak Beau from the back seat of the Mustang into the room.
The stink of stale cigarettes wafted over Jack when he opened the door. He flipped a switch, and a dingy bulb in a cracked lamp illuminated a modest room. He threw his bag on one of the two orange Naugahyde chairs next to the small, round wooden table.
Taylor looked around the room, her eyes resting a moment on the double bed, then back at Jack.
“One bed. You should have gotten two rooms.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll take one of the chairs.”
She pulled the comforter off the bed, folded it, and placed it on the floor. Jack didn’t even want to think what kinds of stains would show up on it under a black light. Sitting on the bed, she called Beau over and patted the mattress until he jumped up next to her.
Jack handed Taylor a protein bar, but she shook her head.
“You have to eat. Think of the baby.”
She took the bar, opened it, pulled off a small piece, and put it in her mouth. “I don’t even have any clothes with me,” Taylor said, as she watched Jack put his duffel bag on the table.
“We’ll pick some things up tomorrow.” Rifling through the bag, he brought out a pair of faded blue sweatpants and a Boston University sweatshirt. “In the meantime . . .” He held his breath as he handed them to her, watching her expression carefully.
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you still have these.” She held the shirt at arm’s length, looking it over, then shook her head. “You kept them all these years?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t force myself to get rid of them.”
She got a faraway look for a minute, pressed her lips together, then stood up and walked into the bathroom without another word.
He turned on the TV and flipped channels until he found CNN.
She returned, having changed, and sat down at the table. “Tell me again about what Malcolm said when he came to your apartment.”
“He was clearly agitated and wasn’t making much sense. He mentioned someone named Jeremy that we need to find, said now that he’d voted against the bill, they would kill him. He said Brody Hamilton is involved somehow, too. He gave me an envelope for you. Then he left.”
“Senator Hamilton? The majority whip?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see the letter.”
Jack went to his briefcase, pulled out the letter and gave it to her, then sat back down.
She looked at Jack with suspicion. “Why is it open?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t have read it, did you?”
She opened it and read it, her face paling. She brushed a tear from her cheek, then handed it back to Jack who scanned it again.
My dearest Taylor,
Let me begin by saying how I am sorry and how painful it is to know that nothing I can do will fix the mess I’ve made. No matter how it started, in the end, I did love you. If you believe nothing else, believe that. You will find things out—things that will make you hate me. I need you to understand that what we’ve gone through in the last four years to create this life you carry, it changed me. Brought us closer and gave me a glimpse into real love—something I’d never known before you. It was your love and the love I already feel for our child that gave me the strength to stand up to them. To finally do the right thing.
There’s so much more at stake than meets the eye. For reasons too complicated to explain in this letter, I have changed my vote. Look into the rider. It opens the door for untold evil. And look into Brody Hamilton’s record. Once my vote is cast, they will know that I have deserted, and they will kill me. I can’t tell you how it will happen, or when, but you must know that, when you hear of my death, it was not of my own doing. They are excellent at making things appear as they want. They fabricated my entire background and made up a new identity for me to serve their purposes.
Trust no one. Not the press, not the enforcement agencies. They have people everywhere. Disappear. Go deep. I have already arranged your first stop. Jack knows where to go. Once you arrive, you will find instructions for your next one. Don’t waste time.
You must find a man named Jeremy. He is the key to all this. He has been in hiding for the past year and has, over that time, built up a network of allies and advocates. I’ve enlisted the aid of Jack because I know he will do everything in his power to keep you safe.
I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I pray that one day you will find it in your heart to grant it.
All my love,
Malcolm
Jack was watching her, wondering how she was handling all this. “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“Of course not! What does he mean, his identity was fabricated?”
“I don’t know. But he told me that he was in the pocket of a powerful man. Hamilton, too.”
Taylor looked shocked. “No. That’s impossible. You must be wrong.”
“Look, Taylor, I know this is hard to take in, but you need to think. Who else could be involved? What about other politicians in DC?”
Jack could see the wheels turning in her mind. Grabbing the cheap, plastic motel pen from the table, she rooted in her bag and brought out a small pad of paper.
“Number one: the rider. Two, Brody Hamilton, and three, a man named Jeremy. You said he told you to go to some cabin—where is it?”
“In New Hampshire. It belongs to a friend of mine.”
She looked confused. “Why would Malcolm know anything about your friends, and why would he be keeping tabs on you?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can his identity be fake? How did he get through the background checks?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whoever he works for is powerful enough to build him a bulletproof identity.”
The voice on the television got their attention.
“US Senator Malcolm Phillips was found dead in his room while vacationing in Truk Lagoon, a small island in Micronesia. The senator apparently died of anaphylactic shock from a seafood allergy. In a bizarre twist, his wife, Taylor Parks Phillips, is missing. Funeral services are on hold until Mrs. Phillips is located.”
Jack changed the channel again. Fox News was discussing the implications of Phillips’s death.
“On a more personal note, Bill, what do you make of the wife’s disappearance? Seems a little strange, don’t you think?” A picture of Taylor flashed across the screen.
The news anchor’s eyes widened, and he turned to his coanchor.
“It seems there is a new development in the disappearance of Taylor Phillips. She may have been abducted. Look at this. A man was captured on video by the security camera. He’s been identified as Jack Logan, an investigative journalist well known in DC circles. Police are asking anyone who’s seen either of them to report it immediately.”
The footage showed Jack holding a gun as Taylor was rushed into the front seat of his car.
Jack cursed and turned the television off. “How did they get that?”
“We’ve got cameras everywhere.”
“Everyone will be looking for us. There’s probably already an APB out. We’ve got to get moving, and we’ve got to dump my car. We have to change our appearances. I’ll run out in the morning and get what we need.”
“What about my shots? We need to go back.”
She didn’t get it. “We can’t. I’ll figure something out. Trust me.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. Her expression said it all—trust was the last thing she would bestow on him. He would earn it back. Somehow. He would figure out a way to make things right.
* * *
The next morning, the sliver of light through the motel curtains woke Jack, and he stretched, trying to work out the kink in his neck from sleeping in the stiff chair. He glanced over at the bed and saw that Taylor was still asleep. He watched her and smiled when he noticed that she still favored lying on her side with a pillow clutched tightly to her chest. It was hard to believe he hadn’t seen her in almost fifteen years. If it was possible, she was more beautiful now than she was back then. He knew he should wake her, that she’d be furious to know he was sitting here, staring at her, but he wanted a few minutes more to really take her in without being met by her accusing gaze.
Beau sprang off the bed, nudged Jack with his nose, and barked, indicating he wanted to go out.
“Beau.” Taylor sat up, a look of confusion flickering across her face, as if she was trying to remember where she was. She slid from the bed in a single motion and put her feet into the loafers waiting on the floor.
“He needs to go out. I’ll take him,” she said.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Honestly, Jack, I don’t need a bodyguard. If you don’t give me some breathing room, this is never going to work.”
He put his hands up and backed away. “Okay, okay. Just let me do some quick surveillance to make sure no one found us.”
“By then we’ll have a puddle to clean up. Excuse me.” She pushed past him, grabbed Beau’s leash, and opened the door. “I won’t be long.”
Jack followed immediately behind her. He didn’t care if she got annoyed.
After Beau was finished, they returned to the room. Jack was mentally assessing what he needed to accomplish before they hit the road again. He pulled out his laptop, wanting to see how many outlets had picked up his story. He typed Manchester v. Omega Entertainment into Google and his name. This was interesting. Not many papers had run the story. He typed in Teenage Wasted to see what other journalists had said about the ruling on the show. The page was full of links—mostly to YouTube. He scrolled down, clicked the first link, and was taken to a video.
It had an adult content warning and he clicked play, then watched in horror as a young man demonstrated the most efficient way to build an autoerotic asphyxiation room. He gave a tour of his room, a list of supplies, suggestions on where to hide them, where to set them up, and promises of a live demonstration to come.
“What are you watching?”
He paused it.
“I did a story on Manchester v. Omega Entertainment. You know the case I mean? The class action suit about the kids’ reality show that went to the Supreme Court.”
“Of course. It’s been all over the news. Disgusting. I can’t believe Omega won.”
“Take a look at this. There are hundreds of them.”
He hit play again, and they continued watching the video until it ended with the noose around the boy’s neck and him winking. Then the screen went black.
Taylor shook her head. “Unbelievable. I wish Omega had lost.”
He arched an eyebrow. “A surprising stance coming from a journalist.”
She looked at him. “It’s not so black and white, Jack. There was an analogous case out of California a few years back, Brown v. EMA. The state banned certain violent video games from being sold, and the gaming company fought back claiming protection under free speech. The gaming company won, but only because there wasn’t enough proof that the games incited violence.” She raised her eyebrows and gave Jack a long look. “I think we can safely say that’s not the case with this show.”
“Listen, Taylor. It wasn’t an easy call. I gotta say, it worries me when we start fooling around with constitutional liberties. This case came dangerously close to censorship. On a personal level, I agree with you, and would like nothing more than to shut that show down. I’ve talked to those parents; they’re heartbroken.”
Jack thought about the mother from his last interview. He’d seen a lot of grief covering war zones and natural disasters, but the abject agony in her eyes haunted him. What could he say to this woman who had saved her daughter from the grips of death years earlier, only to have her succumb to it in a misguided attempt to get high? Her words echoed in his mind.
She spent years working with therapists. She was throwing up every day to look like those airbrushed models in the magazines. Finally had gotten the bulimia under control. Was happy. And then . . . gone. Copying those foolish kids. Gone in seconds.
How do you comfort someone like that? Did he want Omega to pay? Absolutely—but there had to be a way to do it without screwing with the First Amendment.
“I read your articles.” She pursed her lips. “Your follow-up did a good job giving the parents a voice. It’s just that Omega’s behavior gives all the media a bad name. I mean, exploiting vulnerable teenagers for ratings with no regard to the consequences. It’s unconscionable.”
“Agreed.” He stood. “I’m going to run out and get the hair dye, et cetera, before we hit the road later. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She opened his laptop. “What’s your password? I’ll start digging and see what I can find out about the bill and the rider while you’re gone.”
He took a deep breath, looking at the floor as he answered. “Koukla.”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Really?” She looked back at the screen and stabbed the keys with the password.
He didn’t bother trying to defend himself. He had no answer as to why his old nickname for her was his password when he’d left her behind for another woman a lifetime ago.