Page 52 of Agent Zero
This sudden détente was still fragile, so he couldn’t say anything like that yet.But he could think it all he wanted, couldn’t he?
Down, boy.
The TV’s sound came on with a roar; he winced and turned it down.
“The National Weather Service has issued a severe warning, asking you to stay home if you possibly can.With tonight’s forecast calling for freezing rain and two feet of snow reported in the metropolitan area?—”
He hit mute.The blonde reporter continued, blithely silent, her trained expressions flickering.School closures, power outages, all sorts of fun and games outside this calm little bubble.
Damn.
The percentages were bad either way.Staying put was risky; he wanted to be moving.Crawling along in the snow with a civilian to keep alive was bound to be worse, though, and the chance of a fender-bender or even getting stuck was uncomfortably high.Weighed against that was the persistent unease, lingering even when he was fully rested.
He kept watching, hearing Holly move in the bathroom.No APBs saturating the airwaves.Of course, there could be one on the cop scanners, but the press would get hold of that.Which meant either they thought him dead—the gas, whatever it was, still might have some sort of effect—or they hadn’t halted the program and liquidated agents.
If they hadn’t, well, guess who would be hunting him?Which made moving even more imperative.
Most of the available options were bad.Time to pick one and hope for the best.
“Holly?”
“Hmm?”She peered out of the bathroom, a black plastic comb in her hand.Jeans again, and that same well-loved bra.No shirt yet.
Christ.He told his hormones to settle down, hoped they’d listen.“Do you like camping?”
“In this weather?Not really.But my dad used to take me out hunting with him.”
Better than he’d hoped.“We’re not going to be in a tent, sweetheart.”Though that might be nice, you’d have to snuggle up to me.
“Then where are we going to be?”A little defiance, as if she expected him to resist telling her.
It was probably too late, but he could at least try to ease some of the tension.He tried for an easy grin, and found one.“Out with the wolves, little girl.Finish up, I want a shower.”
THIRTY-TWO
Fat,fuzzy white flakes whirred down, clumping on the windshield wipers.Chains bit a layer of compacted and double-scraped snow, digging in—she hadn’t even asked why he had them in the back of the car.Being a bionic spy was being like a Boy Scout, maybe—always prepared.
In a whirlwind they had become a newly married couple from California, stuck in the storm and needing appropriate clothing.The concierge beamed at them and wrote down directions to a decent sporting-goods store in the same mall complex as a grocer’s.Reese put his arm over Holly’s shoulders, nuzzled her hair, and her confused blush was taken for something else entirely.
The hulking two-story store was full of camo—pinkcamo for the ladies—and taxidermy displays, racks of guns behind a long glassy counter, tents, bicycles, everything other conceivable outside good, and it was doing land-office business, though Holly would have thought that the people in this part of the country would already be prepared.
She’d ventured to say as much to Reese, who had actually given a brief, boyish grin.“The locals are probably all getting toilet paper and French toast,” he’d said, glancing at a display of parkas before choosing a nice dark blue one with a fur-lined hood for her.“Eggs, bread, milk.”
Her own laugh took her by surprise.He’d looked outright pleased for a moment before putting a pile of clothes in her arms and telling her to try them on.
He paid with cash, and afterward the grocery store was pure havoc.Still, they made it out with six bags of supplies, and she was beginning to get the ideacampingmeant something different to him.
Maybe she needed a lexicon to keep up.
Finally, creeping away from the edge of the city along the freeway, Reese’s expression intent and serious, she decided to push a little more.“So you’ve been here before?”
“Mmh.”Either neutral or affirmative, no way to tell.Concentrating on driving, he looked completely different from the relaxed, obviously in love almost-klutz he’d shown the sporting goods employees.He’d done such a pitch-perfect imitation even Holly had fallen into the game.
Which one was the real Reese?
Or the real Holly?It would be kind of ironic if she was just finding out who she wasnow, with so little time left.
“And we’re going where?”She fingered the new winter gloves, lying in her lap.The car was jammed with supplies—where did all the cash come from?
