Page 43 of Facing the Enemy

“Belongs to my stepdad.”

“He gave it to you?”

“No, sir.”

“You stole it?”

“Borrowed it.” Carson trembled.

I’d not seen a killer so terrified. What were we dealing with here? A psychopath like I originally considered?

“Do you know how to use the gun?” Gage pressed in, his voice an even tone while Carson’s tone shrilled with his answers.

“Yes, sir. Dad showed me.”

“I’ll be keeping it.” Gage examined the Sig. “At least the safety is on.” He stuck the weapon in the back of his waistband.

“How did you find me?” Carson said. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t have used your credit card for gas and the motels. My friend here is FBI Special Agent Gage Patterson. We have a few questions.”

“FBI?”

I pointed to the ripped vinyl chair in a hideous shade of orange.“Take a seat, and let’s talk about my creative writing class, the one you were excited to take. Why am I not surprised you prefer blood and gore? I’ll be sure to add horror fiction to my next class.”

He gulped. “I can explain.”

“Wonderful. Mind if Agent Patterson and I sit on your bed?”

“Suit yourself.”

We eased onto the unmade bed. Probably had bugs like the other one.

“This is nice and cozy.” I peered at him. “Are you getting sick?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good.” I took a breath to calm my nerves. “Carson, your parents are worried about you. You lied to them about your road trip.”

“How I spend my vacation is my business.” He lifted his chin like a ten-year-old. “What do you care?”

“Oh, I have my reasons.” All I could think of was Trenton’s twisted and bloody body lying in the middle of the street. “Why the change of plans? Change of name?”

“As I said, my business.”

“For the record, I don’t mind a road trip when it’s fun. Trailing after you has put a bitter taste in my mouth. Who or what are you running from?”

Nothing. His body shook ...

“Carson, I asked you a question.”

“You’re not FBI, so he’s not taking orders from you. Besides, I haven’t broken any laws.” His gaze flung daggers at me.

Gage clasped his knees as though he intended to leave. “I can cuff you and drive to the nearest office. Or you can cooperate.”

“Agent Patterson,” I said. “I like the idea of pressing charges against him for a murder attempt on a federal officer and the murder of Trenton Jacobs. Both occurred on July 29.” Reciting the date fanned the flames of my anger.

“Hey, I told you I haven’t done anything wrong,” Carson shouted.