Zara was in deep doo-doo. She sat on a curb outside a Greyhound bus station in Oklahoma City and forced her stubborn brain to come up with places she could go—any place but Boston.
New Orleans. Seattle. Boise. Surely she should be able to decide on an alternate destination for herself before Benjamin returned to the bus station with something to eat for breakfast.
The sun beat on the asphalt around her, sending a harsh petroleum odor upward. Behind her stood the bus to St. Louis, the one for which Benjamin had bought them both tickets, intending to transfer in Missouri for Boston.
"Say, li'l cookie." An old man and his elderly female companion had brought folding chairs. They sat across an empty bus parking space from Zara, though whether they were waiting for a bus or had merely come to spectate was unclear. The old man gestured at Zara. "Ain't you the li'l gal I loaned five dollars to las' week?"
Zara shook her head. She wished she could leave right that minute. She wanted to get away from the old man, who scowled at her ferociously. She wanted to get out of the bus station. Most of all, she wanted to escape from the whole situation. It had mushroomed into something much bigger than she'd imagined.
Oh, she wasn't concerned that Benjamin was now wanted for murder. That was a detail. What worried Zara was that she was starting to like the guy.
Liking someone was bad. When you liked someone you ran the danger of waiting too long to leave.
"Where's his five dollars?" the old lady spoke up, scolding.
"Now, now." The old man's ferocious expression eased. "Mebbe she hasn't got it today. Y'all bring it tomorra, hear?" he told Zara.
Nashville, Zara thought, flicking a sighing glance at the couple. Denver. She needed to leave Benjamin now, before the liking got too big and she was too stupid to leave at all.
She was stuck for the moment, however. Twenty minutes ago Benjamin had left her to guard his suitcase and her plastic bag of clothes while he went to find some food. They'd arrived here starving after spending the night on a bus from New Mexico across the Texas panhandle.
Now Zara couldn't abandon Benjamin's things. He'd been nice to her. Nobody had ever told Zara anything as nice as what Benjamin had told her yesterday at the UNM library. He'd claimed she was smart! How outrageous was that?
"I think she should give you the five dollars now," the old woman decided.
"No, no." The old man waved his hands. "She ain't that gal after all. She's—she's from the Hurricane Katrina task force. Knew I seed her someplace afore."
"Hurricane Katrina!" the old lady exclaimed, and peered at Zara suspiciously, as if Zara, personally, had messed up that aid effort.
"I'm not from any task force," Zara assured them, although she thought that looked perfectly obvious. She squinted down the street for a sight of Benjamin. As soon as he came back, she'd break the news. She was splitting.
It was dangerous to like people too much. When they stopped liking you back, the pain was overwhelming. Zara wanted out before it got to the point where she started counting on having Benjamin around. That would certainly be the exact moment he decided he'd had enough of a dumb cluck like her.
"Not on the task force," the old man mumbled. He snapped his fingers. "You went to school with me."
Zara closed and opened her eyes slowly. She glanced toward the man's elderly companion, but it was a mistake to think the old lady might find this amusing. Instead she gazed at Zara with deep suspicion.
A movement past the old couple caught Zara's attention. Benjamin was galumphing up the street, his hands full with a cardboard box of food and cups. His pants were barely hanging onto his hips and the hems were ratted up because he'd left them too long. Half of his white shirt was hanging out. Oblivious to all of that, he wore a big, fat grin on his face.
What a goofball. Yet Zara's mouth moved into a grin of her own. Her heart got really big in her chest.
Benjamin was still smiling by the time he carefully lowered to a seat beside Zara. "Found a great donut place, just two blocks down. Look, they had apple fritters." With a happy smile, he held up a white paper bag.
Zara blinked quickly and accepted the pastry. He'd figured out which kind was her favorite. God, could he stop being so damn nice?
Benjamin pulled a paper cup out of the box. "I had them put extra lemon slices in. Hope the ice isn't all melted."
"I'm sure it's fine," Zara said, her voice thick. He'd noticed how she liked her iced tea, too.
"How stupid," the old man spoke up. "You're my optician!"
"What?" Benjamin looked at Zara.
She rolled her eyes. "Local color."
"Oh." Accepting this without question, Benjamin bit into his own old fashioned. Leaning closer to Zara, he lowered his voice. "It's going to take us forever to get to Boston, but you were right about ditching the car. Especially after we saw that news on the Internet..." Benjamin leaned back again and shuddered. "I still can't believe it."
"They used your disappearance to frame you."
Benjamin set down his donut. "Poor Boris and Heather. I feel so responsible..."
Zara frowned. "How could you be responsible?"
"I destroyed the Cloak and then ran off. That must have set my two techs off. They couldn't understand it. Probably started poking around and asking questions until Goddard felt he had to shut them up."
Zara's frown deepened. Benjamin shouldn't be taking this on. "Aren't you assuming a lot? I mean, whoever killed those two poor kids is the one who's really responsible. And anyway, you probably prevented a lot of other deaths when you destroyed a bomb-transporting device."
Benjamin's gaze flashed upward. "Do you think so?" Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "You know...I think I'd be going insane if you weren't here."
Instant heat flushed Zara's face. "Oh. Well..."
Benjamin picked up his paper cup of coffee. "I wasn't very nice to you at the beginning. I thought you'd get in the way. But, boy, I sure am glad you're with me now." He shook his head and the shy smile that had started on his face faded. "I'd understand, though, if you wanted to split. I'm a fugitive from the law. Being with me could get you in trouble." His big, brown eyes looked at her.
The heart that had grown so big inside Zara's chest was pushing against her ribs now. He wasn't trying to get rid of her like he had at the beginning, as if she were a pest. Now he was letting her go, out of concern for her welfare.
Sucking in her lips, Zara wondered if maybe she didn't like Benjamin, after all. How could he do this to her, get under her skin so far? It wasn't fair. Yeah, maybe in fact, she hated him. That had to be it. Only hatred could be this powerful.
If Benjamin was taking a Greyhound to Boston, well then, she'd take one to—San Diego. She'd get as far away from him as she could.
From across the empty bus parking space, the old man piped up again. "Wait a minute! I know. You're a celebrity. Traveling in disguise... But which one?"
Benjamin blinked while the old woman gave Zara a critical look.
"Jennifer Aniston," she croaked.
"No, no." The old man squinted at Zara's tattoos. "But somebody."
"Look," said Benjamin. He pointed with the hand holding his coffee cup. "I see a driver coming up now. Heading for the St. Louis bus. I wanta get on, get sure of a seat." With his free hand, he dug into his pants pocket. "Here. Here's your ticket. You can trade it in for one going to a different city. If you want."
Benjamin shoved the ticket into Zara's hand before struggling to his feet. While he grabbed his suitcase, Zara tried to open her mouth. She tried to explain that she thought Benjamin's idea was a good one. In fact, she was planning to travel to San Diego.
"Come on," whined the old man, as he saw them gathering their things. "You can tell me who you really are. I won't let on to no one."
"Winona Ryder," the old lady guessed.
Both Benjamin and Zara were on their feet now. It was time for her to turn around, to go into the station and buy that ticket to California.
"Wait," Benjamin said. He peered intently into Zara's face, then put down his suitcase. He wiped a crumb from her chin. "There ya go."
Hate. She definitely hated him.
Meanwhile, Benjamin picked up her plastic bag of clothes—clothes he'd bought for her two days ago—and handed it to her. Then he bent to grab his suitcase again.
"You must need eyeglasses!" the old man spluttered at his companion. "She ain't Winona Ryder."
Turning, Benjamin went toward the parked bus. Clearly, he'd accepted that Zara was taking his suggestion and parting company. She wouldn't have to worry about disappointing him. If she split now, she'd be doing what she always did: leaving first.
Benjamin did not turn around as he walked past the front of the parked bus toward the door.
Zara tried to make her feet move. She wanted them to take her inside where she could exchange her ticket for one that went anywhere but St. Louis with a transfer to Boston.
Behind her the old man called out in triumph, "I know who you are!"
Zara's feet started moving, but not toward the station. Instead, they started tracking Benjamin's path. They started moving faster, started running.
As she rounded the bus, she wondered what she was doing. Getting on this bus would be crazy and self-destructive. She was setting herself up for heartbreak. There were a thousand reasons Benjamin was going to end up rejecting her, starting with her sexual history and ending with all the other things her father had said were wrong with her, all those wild, brain-dead, irresponsible qualities that made her so much like the mother who'd abandoned her.
The door of the bus was open. Feeling breathless, light as air, and terrified, Zara jumped on.
Inside and down the aisle, Benjamin was turning to get into a seat. He stopped.
Their eyes met. Something cartwheeled inside of Zara.
Then Benjamin smiled, warm and big and beautiful. Zara felt herself smile back. A huge warmth enveloped her. Oh, she was in trouble here. She was in much greater danger than her nerdy friend, Benjamin, could possibly realize.
"I know who you are!" the old man shouted from outside the bus. "Elizabeth Taylor!"
~~~
The plate of summer fruit was about to topple off the tapestry-covered table, led by a curling spiral of lemon peel. Three hundred and fifty years later, nobody had yet pushed the plate safely back on the table. Gazing at the still life painting on Friday afternoon, Aletheia released a deep sigh.
They weren't going to find Benjamin here. The whole thing was a wild goose chase. Aletheia couldn't see Benjamin coming to San Francisco at all, let alone hanging out at some artsy museum. He had no special friends in this city, nor even across the bay at Berkeley. But Felix's client's source insisted Benjamin had been sighted this morning in the Legion of Honor hilltop museum, so here Aletheia and Felix were, strolling the halls together.
Yes, together. As Aletheia gazed at the brushstrokes creating the drying peel of lemon, she was acutely aware of the man standing beside her. It was like standing beside a pulsing bar of energy. Her skin felt electrified, her nerves alert.
Since landing in San Francisco the previous evening, she'd felt herself the object of a scrupulously careful courtship. Felix had treated her to the most amazing meal of her life at a gourmet Nob Hill restaurant, then taken her to his elegant condo. There he'd served the smoothest wine before a panoramic view of the bay. As the fog rolled in over the water, they'd sat in his deep leather chairs in a warm, mellow silence.
Had he made a move on her? No, sir. Once the fog had settled into a soft blanket over Alcatraz, he'd taken her glass of wine and shown her to a thoughtfully-appointed guest bedroom. He'd left her there for the night, entirely unmolested.
The result of Felix's reserve was to make Aletheia feel bold. She felt...want. A full-spectrum pull in his direction.
Now in the museum, Aletheia felt compelled to distract herself from that tug. "I'll bet you prefer modern art," she blurted. Any stupid thing.
In answer, Felix tilted his head at the forever drying fruit. "I think I'm open to whatever happens to seize me." He blinked and stared at the painting, as if surprised by what had come out of his mouth. Frowning, he added, "If that makes any sense."
"Yes, yes. It makes sense." Aletheia slid him a careful glance. What he'd just said was far more than he usually offered, almost personal. It made her wonder. Maybe if she learned more about him, she could understand him better. Not anything to do with that tug of hers, but for Benjamin's sake. If she could find some key, maybe she could convince Felix of her brother's innocence. Yesterday he'd admitted he was considering the idea.
If Felix believed Benjamin was an innocent victim of whatever was going on regarding the invisibility Cloak, then he and she could be on the same side. She wouldn't have to feel like she was working with the enemy. Maybe even falling for him...
The murmur of people discussing artwork echoed off the high ceiling. By unspoken consent, both Felix and Aletheia left the still life and strolled toward the next painting. They both passed swift but thorough gazes around the room, searching for Benjamin. Both relaxed when there was no sign of him.
As they stopped in front of a scene of water gushing through some Roman ruins, Aletheia sucked in her lips and wondered how to make an 'in' with Felix. Perhaps if she opened up about herself that would encourage him to do the same.
"It's funny, I was thinking of majoring in art history when I was in college." She smiled toward the Italian waterfall as she remembered. "Thought I would become a curator, travel the world. Have adventures." She laughed softly now to think of it, and how different everything had turned out for her.
Felix smiled faintly. "Life has a way of getting in the way, doesn't it?"
Not daring to look at him, Aletheia stared at the droplets of water misting off the distant waterfall. "You mean becoming a crack security consultant wasn't your childhood dream?"
She could hear a wry smile in his voice. "I thought I was going to become the wealthy ruler of a real estate empire."
"But you didn't?"
"I did," Felix claimed, with a mocking nod. "Or I was on the way to one, until it all went to hell."
This was news. Aletheia turned to stare at him. "What happened?"
Felix shrugged and moved toward the next painting. Once again, like dance partners, he and Aletheia swung their glances across the room. "My business partner got cancer," he told her. "A winter storm took out half the building we had under construction. Insurance denied all claims on a technicality."
He stopped before a painting of a choppy sea. Dutch villagers struggled to bring their craft in to shore. "Our company went belly-up. Corporate and personal bankruptcy." Felix lifted a shoulder, as if the whole thing hadn't fazed him.
Aletheia knew better. Letting down creditors, documentation of failure to honor his promises—it must have nearly killed him. No wonder he was so concerned now with the reputation of his security consulting business.
"What happened to your partner?" she asked.
Gazing at the angry clouds over a choppy sea, Felix's face darkened. "It only took him four months to die. Can you tell me why it's always the truly decent people who contract the most incurable diseases?"
Aletheia shook her head. "I don't have the answer to that one." Judging by the restrained pain in Felix's voice, his partner had also been his friend, and a good one. Together, she and Felix stared at the gray and stormy painting.
Dimly, Aletheia remembered she was trying to find a key, a way to convince Felix of Benjamin's basic nature. Far more than that, however, she was soaking in everything she was discovering about this usually private man. "So how'd you get into the security business?"
"A tenant in the first building we did, the one that made money, heard about the disaster." With a quick glance around the room, Felix led the way to the next painting. "Feeling sorry for me, he offered me a job."
Biting the inside of her cheek, Aletheia threw her own glance around the room as she followed Felix. This tenant must have seen a rare opportunity to snatch up a hungry, intelligent, go-getter. "That was the Morrison of Morrison World Security Consultants?"
"Mm hm." Felix's lips curved into a small smile. "We rubbed along okay together. So when nobody in his own family wanted to take over the business, I bought him out five years ago. Only fly in the ointment..." Felix turned to give Aletheia a sardonic look. "I made the mistake of marrying his granddaughter."
Jealousy curled into a sudden, unexpected knot. He was married? Aletheia attempted to clear the knot out of her throat. "A mistake, you say?"
Felix's nod made her relax a little, as did his next words. "The marriage didn't even last a year. Elsa's a hotshot lawyer, a super-achiever. I thought with both of us focused on our careers, it would make us compatible, but it didn't. She wanted my attention." He frowned. "Or maybe what she really wanted was my— Anyway, whatever she wanted, I couldn't give it to her."
Felix's faint smile faded. Aletheia could practically feel him pulling away from her even as they stood right next to each other. He clearly blamed himself for the failure of his marriage. What kind of attention had his wife wanted that Felix had been unable to provide? And why couldn't he? She remembered the half-conversation she'd overheard between Felix and his mother, something with all the warmth of Arctic ice. Did he have issues with women? Intimacy? Old wounds that had never healed?
It was a terrible time for the rescued damsel in her to leap to the fore again. He'd just warned her he had baggage and problems. Yet her hands itched to touch him, somehow to heal whatever ailed him.
Thankfully for her self-possession, Felix stepped away from her. He shook his head and smiled, as if it were all water under the bridge, nothing to worry about.
With cheerful, if deliberate, purpose, he turned the tables. "So what about you? What happened to get in the way of becoming a globe-trotting art curator?"
It was Aletheia's turn to lift a dismissive shoulder. "My mother died." The old grief managed to slide past all the years and her defenses. Fortunately, she'd gotten used to the uneasy mix of mourning her mother and also her dreams.
Felix searched her face. "And you had to take over the family."
"I didn't have to." With a sigh, Aletheia led the way toward the next work of art. "But no one else was about to."
"No one else could." Felix pronounced this with authority as he strode beside Aletheia.
She shot him a curious glance. "What makes you say that?"
With a snort, Felix planted himself before a painting of halcyon pastures. "Only the obvious."
"Which is?"
He turned to give her an exaggeratedly patient look. "Don't tell me you don't know what you are."
Aletheia met his gaze. A funny sensation swept over her. What did he think she was? And why was he looking at her with such heated intensity? Aletheia's heart beat hard and high in her chest.
She thought maybe she did know what he was talking about, she just hadn't expected him to value it, the aspect of her character that kept her locked in Deer Creek because she was unable to imagine letting her family down. Did he think that was good? Did he think she hadn't been crazy to take on that role? Her skin felt like a summer breeze was caressing it.
Nobody, ever, had told her she'd done the right thing.
"Maybe," she told Felix, "you don't know what you are."
Their gazes locked. The room seemed to hum around them. Aletheia felt acutely aware of Felix, cognizant of every cell and pore. She felt positive he had the same awareness of her. They were entwined, and yet not quite together. Perhaps it was that remaining gap that pulled Aletheia with near-magnetic attraction.
She leaned toward him. He, toward her. Her head tipped upward as his lashes lowered. A delicious tension seized her.
Suddenly, he stopped. "Aletheia?" he said, low.
"Yes, Felix?"
In the same low voice, he continued, "Behind you. There's a man. I hadn't been sure till now, but he's been following us since we came in."