She’s shaken- that much is obvious. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Sophie has tucked her hands between her legs and stares out the side window. If she would let him touch her, take her hand in his, he’s certain that it would be shaking. Hunger and exhaustion do nothing to improve her ability to cope- so it would be unwise to say anything.
Glancing into the rearview mirror with a frown, Jacks spies their tail again.
“Have you ever wondered if you were so far gone . . . if you’d made so many poor choices . . . that there was no way back?” Sophie asks, her wistful voice quiet with introspection.
“There’s a way back,” Jacks asserts, his determination making his voice hard.
Sophie leans against the glass, her eyes riveted on the passing asphalt. “Maybe your choices weren’t as stupid as mine.”
“Plenty stupid,” Jacks admits, the edge still very present in his voice. “But there’s a way back.”
The cab grows quiet and Jacks’ eyes leap from the road ahead to the cars behind and back again, gauging their threat.
“Jacks, I think we’re being followed,” Sophie tells him in a low voice- calmer than he’d expected.
“I know,” he answers. As a point of fact, there are two- but there’s no reason to mention that fact. Reaching over, he pulls her hand away from its nest to lace it into his own. “Can you trust me?”
Sophie turns those devastating chocolate brown eyes on him, worry in her features. “Jacks, you should probably jump out of this car at the next light. Run and don’t look back,” she tries to laugh, but it’s a weak, wavering sound.
The car slows to a stop at a light and Jacks turns to caress Sophie’s cheek. “No surrender. No retreat. We’re getting that flash drive.”
She visibly swallows her fear and gives him a bit of a nod.
Jacks snaps open his phone and mashes a button before lifting it to his ear. Pulling onto the interstate, Jacks heads towards a thick knot of roads that splinter and merge- a crazy interstate maze made all the more complex by the obstacles moving alongside them at over seventy miles per hour.
“Bernini, get off my tail. I know what you want and you’ll get it- but not this way,” Jacks growls. He listens to the man on the other end for a minute. “You know I want it, but I can’t give you what I don’t have. It’s coming- just not yet. So back off.” Jacks eyes lift to the rear view mirror and back to the thickening traffic. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll shake him.” He frowns at whatever the man on the other end says and heaves a sigh. “Yeah, that’d work. I . . . I guess I’ll owe you.”
Disconnecting the phone, Jacks eyes slide to Sophie. “Hang on, kitten. This is going to get rough.”
The old station wagon weaves into spaces between cars that only existed in theory, making their horns blare obnoxiously. Watching the tail in the glossy tan sedan- not much different than most of the cars on the road- Sophie braces herself against the inertia that throws her against the car door and her restraints. It speeds to pass the cars it has carefully kept between them until it falls into their blind spot, just on their right. Another car, one she hadn’t picked out, speeds to their tail. On their left, a large tractor-trailer lumbers forward and boxes them in. Sophie feels the press of claustrophobia. There’s no where to go.
“Jacks,” Sophie squeaks in warning. A gun has appeared from the darkly tinted window.
Slamming the breaks, Jacks greets their pursuers with their rear bumper. The impact throws them both, but the seatbelt catches them roughly, burning Sophie’s neck. Then Jacks punches the accelerator, leaving the dark sedan swerving and struggling to regain its proper orientation. Meanwhile, Jacks disappears into thick clumps of traffic, under an intersection, across four lanes of traffic and into Atlanta’s downtown maze.
It’s stop and go when Sophie only wants to go. Around them other cars, vans, and a bus follow along the same trek. The tall buildings rise on either side, intensifying the entire rat-in-a-maze feeling. Jacks shoulders bunch and flex with stress, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, until he announces. “We’re leaving the car.”
“Leaving the . . .” Sophie has no time to comprehend. Jacks has already jumped out of the car, the back opened and the bags retrieved before Sophie is even able to fumble her door open to the sidewalk beside her. Jacks nearly pushes her to the bus stop where the mammoth vehicle hisses open. Digging out a five-spot, Jacks pays the toll and leads them deeper into the vehicle.
When it pulls away, he breathes easier.
“Jacks, that was my car,” Sophie whines, watching it disappear into the distance. “I can’t buy another one!”
“Sorry, kitten,” Jacks whispers, pulling her against his chest. “It was too old, too distinct- especially now that I’ve smashed the rear bumper. We’re just going to have to use my bike.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to blend in,” Sophie grumbles surly.
Jacks lets Sophie sleep- her feet tucked under her body and her head cushioned on his chest- while the bus makes its rounds. By the time the bus came back around to the place where they’d abandoned the station wagon, it stood open to the world, obviously searched and then abandoned. There is absolutely no way he’s letting Sophie anywhere near that car now.
She sighs against him and burrows into his chest- the action rearing fiercely protective emotions that bars sleep from his own exhausted watch. He’s gone without sleep for less compelling reasons than this. Pressing his lips against her hair, he silently promises her safety- at least for now. His mind scrambles to find a way out of this mess.
Jacks resorts to cataloguing their options.
The wares: A flashdrive with proof of a money laundering scheme, an incriminating list of participating individuals and even the cipher to break their codes.
Customer One: Bernini. Jacks has to consider him first. He is the man that holds the vid that shows, without any shadow of a doubt, that Jacks was innocent that night. He could be cleared of the FBI charges and removed from their most wanted list. He could prove his innocence to the Commission. The hit on his life would be lifted. Bernini’s price: Sophie and her flashdrive.
Shutting down the emotion, Jacks focuses on customer two: The Commission. Sophie believes she can bargain her life for this information. Jacks is unconvinced. The Commission doesn’t like a loose cannon. Outside of their influence, she’s a liability. He disregards this option.
And, finally, customer three: the FBI. Jacks shakes his head and squeezes Sophie. Neither of them trust the FBI, but Jacks will concede that he trusts Callan. It doesn’t mean much. One man in an organization can only do so much but she might live- though like as not, she wouldn’t. Assassins like Thomas are effective and far more common than anyone likes to admit. Cost: Sophie and one flashdrive.
Those are their choices. The stark reality is that Sophie’s life and the contents of that flashdrive will only redeem one life.
Just one.
She stretches and Jacks tilts his head to watch her wake. Reaching for the bus ceiling, her back arches. Jacks takes in the way her chest lifts, the curve of her back, the swell of her derriere and quickly decides that- hair mused and clothes rumpled- she’s still the most luscious woman he’s ever met. She’s classic 1940’s pin-up material, a beauty from a time when women were supposed to have shape. The sight makes him ache, like someone just ripped everything out of his chest, and he tears his eyes away.
“Did you sleep?” She asks.
Jacks shakes his head and looks into the emerging downtown life, his silent debate continuing. No matter how he rehashes the problem, he can’t see any other solutions. “How far have we got to go?”
“Little place in Tennessee called Soddy Daisy.”
Jacks nods and when the bus stops, he rises to grab their bags.
He’s just tired. You can see it in his eyes, Sophie notes, trying to excuse Jacks suddenly distant manner. Besides, how much conversation do you expect on the back of a Harley?
The long hours of riding finally over, Sophie dismounts Jacks’ bike and carefully works the kinks out of her muscles. Her legs feel numb from the motorcycle’s violent vibrations and she’s not entire certain she’ll ever walk right again but none of that is as troubling as Jacks. In the early morning light, he tends to his bike, his wide back to Sophie. He’s never been terribly talkative and he’s not doing anything in particular but her unreliable heart seizes, a violent clench that predicts trouble she can’t discern with her eyes yet.
Jacks looks over the great metropolis of Soddy Daisy- the epitome of country small town. The trees are showing off their fall fashions. A nearby farmer’s market showcases a harvest that seems to compliment the leaves by design. The cooler Tennessee air carries the smell of cinnamon and apples, enticing Sophie with promises of one pot stews and loud families nearby.
“You okay?” Jacks asks, sounding gruff.
Sophie sniffs and wipes the tell-tale moisture from her cheeks with the length of her well-manicured index finger. “Haven’t been here since my folks died,” she admits. Taking the lead, she ambles into the roughhewn wooden structure that promises fresh produce, year around. “Uncle Buck! You ‘round here?” She calls into the vacant aisle of produce.
“Now I know that isn’t my Soapy-girl!” Someone bellows from the back. “Because she’s done left this backwater and hasn’t even had the courtesy to call a man in I-don’t-know-how-long!”
Sophie’s face coils into shame, her cheeks pinking from the distant chastisement.
A large man with hair and beard thick with wiry grey appears from a shadowed door, his face immediately brightening with good humor. “It is! My Soapy’s come home!”
“Heya, Uncle Buck,” Sophie demurely greets, biting her lip. She’s suddenly five again, playing childish games among the bins while her mother wandered through the selections and her father shot the breeze with his best friend and mentor.
The large man throws his arms open and swallows Sophie, his rotund belly pushing against her awkwardly in the squeeze. She hardly notices, inhaling the scent of soil and honest labor that clings to his flannel. “Uncle Buck, have you got that package I left for you?”
“In the safe, unopened- just like you asked. And just like I warned, I want to know what’s happening, Soapy. Are you in trouble?”
“Yes,” Jacks answers for her.
Still holding Sophie tightly against his side with paternal affection, Buck looks Jacks over and seems discontent with his assessment. Looking at Jacks with fresh eyes, Sophie understands Buck’s caution. Even under the black leather coat he wears, his build is intimidating. He scans their surroundings like a man accustomed to confrontation. Sophie had almost forgotten the first, frightening impression Jacks had left on her. She’s since learned to wait out the stoic manner he sometimes locks-in-place but looking up into her ‘Uncle’ Buck’s expression, she can see that he’s come to the same conclusions she once drew: Jacks is dangerous.
“He’s keeping me alive, Uncle Buck,” she whispers. “I owe him so much.”
At the end of the aisle, Jacks closes his eyes, his expression pained. Swallowing, he turns his face away from Sophie’s examination.
Something’s wrong.
“Well, you kids look like you could use a shower and food,” Buck announces. “Why don’t you come into the back and make yourselves at home. I’ll rustle us up something decent to eat and you can tell me the whole story over my famous breakfast casserole.”
Sophie laughs and quickly admits, “A shower sounds mighty nice.”
Jacks nods. “I’ll get our things.”
“I’ll help,” Sophie announces, hurrying after him. As soon as she’s outside the shelter of the market, though, she slows and watches Jacks’ manner- seeking hints as to what eats at his mood. Tentatively touching his back, she calls his name, “Jacks?”
He spins and swiftly pulls her against him, his hand securing her head against his chest as if he could permanently anchor her against him. Her heart tightens and, for a space of a few seconds, forgets to beat. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.
“You should have never come to my parents,” Jacks tells her, his voice hoarse. “You should have come here. Disappeared . . .”
“I couldn’t bring all that to Uncle Buck! Bryce would take one look at this fruit stand and . . . and decimate him! Your father was the only person I knew who could and would stand up to him . . .”
“I know. I know,” Jacks admits, pulling Sophie closer. There’s a weight on his shoulders so real that Sophie can feel it in their embrace. “I’m going to stash the bike in the back, out of sight. Maybe we’ll get a day to rest.”
Sophie nods. “Yeah. You need some sleep. Everything always looks better after you’ve gotten a bit of rest.”
“God I hope so,” Jacks admits and the burden on Sophie is suddenly enough to make her stumble. She braces against it, helping Jacks physically shoulder whatever weighs on his mind.
“Talk to me, Jacks,” she pleads but Jacks inhales a long breath and straightens. Giving Sophie a weak smile, he reassures her, “There nothing new to say. We’re going to get that flash drive and make everything right. Right?”
“Right,” Sophie agrees, but the hope in her eyes is dimmed. Something is terribly wrong.