The RunAway Model

XX. The Great Escape

Khaye was silent throughout the drive. She had blindly given Marco her trust. It may sound stupid, considering she couldn't even trust her own brother. Despite that, she couldn't do it herself. She had to have someone or she'd be a total wreck.

Her desperation to go back to her old life was eating her inside. But that had to wait. She had to wait until this mess was cleared. Jamaica's death should be solved one way or the other. And Petroff should be taken care of once and for all. Her brother though was a different matter and that was the biggest struggle for her right now.

"Gian is the key to all this," Marco said, breaking the deafening silence. A light drizzle was washing the windshield of his car and he turned on the wiper. She concentrated on the sound it made and lost herself following its movement with her eyes. "If we can talk to him, put some sense into him, we can solve everything."

Khaye blinked and swallowed her fears. "He might have been working for Petroff for a long time." She scoffed and added, "Looks like we have been working for the same man after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Petroff was our boss, remember? When I was still walking down the runway—before I started running for my own fucking life."

He didn't answer and she was grateful for that. The life she had left behind was too precious that any word from him might only cause her to totally lose it.

"Where are we going?"

"Do you want to know?"

She hesitated. She wanted to know. But what good would it do? She decided to let it pass for now. "What are your plans next?"

Marco lifted his shoulders and dropped it with a frown. "I am still trying to figure that out. I still need to get in touch with the HQ if I want this thing to be over with. But I cannot compromise your safety at the same time."

"If you take me to a well-hidden place, then you can just leave to do your job if you want to."

"They might follow me on my way back," he contradicted.

"Then we run away again. We'll lose them again until we can solve this thing."

"We?" He shook his head. "No, you are not getting yourself deeper into this mess."

"We don't even know where I belong in this mess, Marco. All we know is that they think I know who killed Jamaica. They think I know something. Which is not true! I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and now I am hunted!"

"We'll talk about this once we get to where we're going. For now, I suggest you try getting some decent sleep."

She didn't answer. Sleep was out of the question. Instead, she turned her head to the side and watched the passing darkness outside the window.

*****

Three days later, Berkeley approached her again.

"Well?" he asked under his breath.

"Well what?"

"Are we good? Do you have the pills?"

"Of course, I have the pills. I have one question though," she said, looking over her shoulder to see if Theo was around. He wasn't. He was probably in their cabin reading a book.

"What is it?"

"Have you talked to him?"

"Who?"

"My husband."

Berkeley shook his head. "We are not due to have contact until we dock. And that is in...let's see...about five hours?"