Page 58 of Omega

“Got it.”

“All right. See you soon.”

“Promise?” I hated how vulnerable I managed to sound in those two little stupid syllables.

“I promise, Layla.”

Click. I hung up on him, to save him the difficulty of saying goodbye. And because if I didn’t hang up right then, my thin façade of strength would come crumbling down. I’m a tough bitch, but everyone’s got a breaking point, and I was nearing mine.

I managed to find the road north, totally by accident. I was checking my rear-view mirror regularly, watching for any more black SUVs, but so far I’d seen nothing. They’d managed to find me when I’d been absolutely positive I’d gotten away clean. Had they planted a tracker in me, like some kind of Tom Cruise spy movie? I mean, how else could you explain them just showing up like that? Only sheer luck and a big pink umbrella had prevented them from seeing me.

When I was out of the city proper I called Harris back, told him I was on the 160 heading north, and hung up before he could say anything.

With two broken windows, the ride was noisy and windy. My leg ached from where the door had crumpled, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to look down there to assess the damage. My neck was sore and stiff too, from the whiplash. Also, the climb up the hill had exhausted me.

But at least I wasn’t hungry, right?

Always look on the bright side of life.

If you’re humming the Monty Python song, then I love you forever.

Thirty minutes of driving lulled me into complacence; my phone rang, startling me enough that I shrieked and jerked the wheel, nearly sideswiping the car next to me.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Harris said. “We should be getting close to each other. Have you reached the point where the north and southbound lanes merge, yet?”

Leaving Guarujá, the north- and southbound traffic lanes were often far apart, taking totally different routes through the mountainous terrain, only joining a good thirty miles or so north and west.

“No,” I said, “not yet.”

“Okay, good. When the lanes start merging, I want you to pull over and hide in the woods in the median. Get as far north as you can, so you’re at the very edge of the woods, looking north. I’ll find you. You see anyone else but me coming for you…well, do what have to.”

“Okay. Got it.”

“Any questions?” he asked, his voice firm and brusque and calm.

“Just one.”

“What is it?”

“Does knowing you’ve killed someone ever get easier?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Yes and no. Like anything else, the more you do it, the easier it becomes. But that comes with a price.” Another pause. “We’ll talk more when we’re together.”

“It was ugly, Harris.” Why the hell was I saying any of this? I didn’t want to think about it. I’d been trying not to.

“Deathisugly, Layla. No two ways about it.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, you will.” He was the one to hang up, this time.

I tossed the phone on the passenger seat and focused on driving, focused on watching the terrain and watching for pursuit. After another ten minutes, I saw the southbound traffic lane in the distance, off to my left, just a strip of gray in the green of the forest, sunlight glinting occasionally on windshields. When the lanes were a hundred yards or so apart, a thin screen of trees appeared in the ever-decreasing space between lanes. I moved into the left-hand lane and slowed down, earning horn honks and angry shouts as the faster-moving traffic swerved around me.

Another three minutes, and the median narrowed yet further and the trees thinned to a point. There wasn’t a shoulder, so I had to pull off the highway and directly onto the grass, thudding and bouncing as I braked to a halt. I shut the engine off, left the keys in the ignition, palmed my phone in one hand and my knife in the other, glancing in both directions. I was earning a lot of looks, but no one was stopping, yet.

I took off running for the trees.