Page 9 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“Don’t get me started,” I scoffed. The unrealistic portrayals of protectors on television were a pet peeve of mine. “But most people are in the same boat, and it’s not your fault. Ideally, someone should have sat you down and explained all this to you. Answered your questions.”
“I guess. It’s not like I could ask anyone in my life about it, though. My uncle would rather die. My parents are gone. I don’t have a lot of c-close friends, really.And Mrs. Rose—that’s our next-door neighbor who used to babysit me—she’s really sweet, but everything she knows comes from novels. So, you know, I’ve asked around, a little bit, and researched it on the internet, as you do, but some of the information I found made me evenmorenervous?—”
My jaw dropped. He’d researched this on the internet? No. He couldn’t possibly have been that foolish.
“Hold up.” I pulled his hand down so I could see his face. “Youasked around? You didinternet research?” I envisioned him talking to people in town about me and googling “Agent Sunday, Division, witness protection.” Anyone who’d overheard him, who’d checked his search history, could potentially threaten my family. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. Of course not.” Chris seemed confused by my anger… which only made my temper rise. “I mean, I used a private browser and everything.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a phone as if to demonstrate. “See, I—ohmigosh, Reed, could you please watch the road?”
“You brought aphone?” I roared. “A traceable, trackable phone? Are you insane?”
I tried to calm myself. It wasn’t the protectee’s fault that he hadn’t been thoroughly briefed. It was at least partiallymyfault because I’d assumed he had, and I should have verified before he climbed into my car. But holy shit, the one thing movies and books gotrightwas that you had to leave all traces of your old life behind when you went into protective custody, especially your goddamn phone.
Did the man have no concept of self-preservation? Did he not understand that he could, at this very moment, be tipping off the people who wanted to hurt him in order to get at his uncle? Or was he a spoiled mafia heir who thought his sweet-and-innocent act meant the rules didn’t apply to him?
“Give me your phone,” I demanded. “Hand it over.”
“N-no.” Eyes round, he pulled back, clutching his phone protectively. “No, thank you. You’re scaring me a little right now, Reed, and I think I’d rather?—”
I didn’t care what he’drather. Not when he was endangering both of us. Opening my window, I reached over and grabbed the phone from his hand, then tossed it out onto the pavement. With any luck, the lumber truck would be along shortly to finish the job.
I immediately felt better. Calmer.
Chris did not.
“Hey!” He lunged like he was trying to follow his phone out the window, and it took me a few seconds to wrestle him back onto his own side while maintaining control of the vehicle and definitely not noticing the vanilla-lime scent of him.
He sat upright in his seat, red-faced and breathing hard, and pushed up the glasses he’d nearly lost in the scuffle.
He folded his arms over his chest and glared at me, hair wild and cheeks red. “What in the heckingheck ballswas that? Turn around right now and get that back.”
I glanced sideways, tightened my grip on the wheel, and said as firmly as possible, “No.”
“Look, Reed, I like you.” He paused like he was rethinking that statement. “I liked theideaof you, at least. You’ve got nice eyes, a-and nice shoulders, and… flannel. I thought you had a John Ruffian vibe?—”
“Who the fuck is John Ruffian?”
He gaped at me like this was the most mind-blowing thing I’d said yet. “You’ve never heard ofJohn Ruffian: Pretender?”
“That’s… a show?” I guessed. “No. I don’t watch television.” I didn’t have time.
“Is it a show?Pfft.It’s notashow, it’stheshow. The best show in the history of… of… shows. It’s about a guy who—” He shook his head angrily. “No, you know what? Never mind. You don’t deserve to know. Because I was wrong. You’renothinglike John Ruffian. John Ruffian wouldneverhave thrown away the phone my uncle bought me right before I left for Vermont. It was special to me.” His lip quivered, but he firmed it and added in what I could only imagine was an impression of the grandmother he kept mentioning, “I don’t like your attitude, mister.”
“My attitude?” I shot back. “Jesus Christ, I’m trying tohelpyou here?—”
He lifted his chin. “Well, I don’t want yourhelp. Not anymore. My pants are damp, you’re a terrible driver, and I don’t like this adventure. I… I would like you to take me home now.” He folded his arms over his chest, but after a moment, like he couldn’t help himself, he added a small, polite “Please.”
“Please,” I scoffed. His prim manners and big, solemn eyes were making me feel like a villain when I was only doing my job.
But it didn’t matter what the protectee wanted as long as I was doing my job and keeping them safe. It was a lesson I’d nearly forgotten back in August, but I wouldn’t forget again.
I hardened my voice. “You won’t be going home, Chris. Not until I say. This ride goes one way, and it doesn’t stop until we get there. Understand?”
His eyes were so comically wide they took up half his face, and guilt twisted my gut. But learning to follow my lead might be the thing that saved his life eventually, so I didn’t back down.
“Sit still and stop distracting me, and let’s get this over with,” I muttered. “Okay?”
He huffed and curled his arms tightly around himself, leaning against the passenger door, but he kept his mouth shut for once. So I turned up the radio and told myself I didn’t miss his babbling as the car rolled through the night.
