Crossing Double (A Heartbreaker Novel Book 3) Page 8

  Brent was quiet for a few minutes as he seemed to absorb the information. “You said you weren’t like Eloise. But maybe you are. You live in a big house with a father who doesn’t pay much attention to you. With Zoila and Justin as your surrogate family, maybe taking Weenie and Skipperdee’s place, and you don’t see your mom very often either. And based on the press, you used to be a mischievous girl who had to serve community service at the homeless shelter once for the trouble you and your friends got into.”

  Ouch!

  “While that’s all true, my life is entirely different from Eloise’s!” Wasn’t it? “Actually, it was rumored that Eloise was based on Liza Minnelli. It was her godmother who wrote the books. Liza’s dad was a big-time Broadway director and didn’t have a lot of time for her, so he dumped her in that hotel. Totally different from my situation!” She huffed out a breath.

  “Sorry.” Brent petted the purring cat in his lap. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Sara crossed her arms and tried to figure out why his comment had bothered her so much. “My mother loves my sister and me more than anything else in the world. She hated when I went to live with my father. But I needed to— You know what? It’s none of your business.”

  She’d almost told him how she often felt like a third wheel with her mom and sister. They had their unique abilities that bonded them at a deeper level. When she’d ask questions about how their dreams work, they’d pat her on the head and tell her she wouldn’t understand. They didn’t take her curiosity or intelligence seriously.

  Unfortunately, neither did most anyone else. People always assumed she was a spoiled rich kid just breezing through life. Without a care in the world. Not a person working hard to graduate and find a job so the paparazzi would get bored with her and leave her alone. Someone passionate about helping the people at the shelter.

  They drove in silence, with only the sounds of passing cars and the pop song on the radio playing softly adding to the thick air of tension between them. Maybe Brent hadn’t been all wrong. To an outsider looking in, her life might have seemed a little like Eloise’s.

  She was just about to concede when he broke their silence and said, “You asked earlier who taught me to cut hair. It was my mother. She was a cosmetologist, when she wasn’t a waitress or working in a department store.”

  Finally, a tidbit of personal information about him. “Then please thank her for me. You did a good job.”

  As if he didn’t hear her, he added, “I’d never heard of Eloise because I didn’t have many books growing up. My mom had a hard time keeping jobs, much less a roof over our heads. Because of the drugs. Then she died of an overdose. Don’t even know who my father is. Your life sounds pretty great to me. I wasn’t mocking it.”

  She felt like a major jerk for getting angry with him after hearing that. “I’m sorry about your mom, Brent. How old were you when she died?”

  He frowned as he stared at the road ahead. “Nineteen.”

  “That’s young to be left on your own.”

  He shrugged. “I survived. Don’t like to talk about it, though.”

  “Okay.” She turned her attention back to her purse, searching for something that didn’t belong.

  He broke their second awkward silence when he asked, “Ever since that day in my office, I’ve been wondering something. Where did you learn to solve that Rubik’s cube so fast?”

  “What you’d really like to know is how an airhead like me could solve it so fast. And don’t try to deny it. It was written all over your face that day.”

  He glanced her way. “I’ll admit it. I misjudged you. But I was honestly impressed.”

  “Thank you.” She spotted an opportunity to lighten the mood. “So to answer your question, I taught my poor little rich girl self. When I was all alone, in my bedroom at the tippy top of the mansion in Malibu with no one to talk to but my nanny Zoila and pet turtle, Justin.” She’d added a dramatic flair her mom would have been proud of.

  He laughed. For the very first time, he actually laughed. “Guess I deserved that.”

  He had a great laugh, full-bodied and sincere. It made her smile too. “The truth is, I read how to do that online for a school project. I’ve always enjoyed school. My friends used to call me google girl.”

  He turned his head and met her gaze. “Why google girl?”

  She wouldn’t have customarily shared that, but Brent had opened up to her about his mom. “Ask me something obscure. I have this weird visual memory thing. If I see or read something, it sticks in my head forever.”

  He laid his hand over the map on her lap. “Name five small towns we’ll pass once we’re on 62.”

  She sometimes hated how much of a freak show her brain could be. But it was better than having the curse of prophetic dreams like the other Botelli women had. “White Water, Morongo Valley, Yucca Valley, Joshua Tree, and Twentynine Palms. But the last one looked a little bigger than the rest.”

  He grabbed the map and squinted at it. “I’ll be damned. That’s pretty impressive. But two can play this game. I have a weird ability to quickly add, subtract, multiply, and divide huge numbers in my head. I see patterns and designs in numbers no else seems to see.”

  “When did you know you could do something most others couldn’t?”

  “I moved around from school to school so much as a kid that no one figured out I was exceptionally good at numbers until college. Including me. I thought it was normal and that everyone could do what I could.”

  Her too. It had been disconcerting when she’d realized she had her own kind of unique power. And odd at the same time. Like she didn’t fit into her own family even more after learning that.

  She dug for a pen and something to write on in her purse. “Okay, how much is two hundred ninety-seven times five hundred sixty-two?”

  Without hesitation, he said, “One hundred sixty-six thousand nine hundred fourteen.”

  She had to do the math to check. “That’s right. How about division? No one is as fast at dividing as multiplying. How much is two million divided by eighty-five thousand nine hundred nineteen?”

  “Twenty-three point two seven eight. I can actually divide much faster than multiply.”

  “Well then, that just proves you’re a total freak.” She didn’t even bother to check his answer. It would have taken her too long. “How much does the human head weigh?”

  He turned and met her gaze again. This time with a ghost of a smile tilting his lips. “That’s from the movie about the agent, right?”

  “Yeah. It was on the other night when I couldn’t sleep. So, do you know?”

  He turned his attention back to the road again and nodded. “That kid was off by a bit. He said a human head weighed eight pounds. But the brain weighs about three pounds. The skull and all the rest weigh about seven to eight pounds for a total of ten to eleven pounds.”

  “Look at that. We’ve finally found something in common.” She raised her hand for a high five. “We’re a couple of weirdos.”

  Brent gently slapped her hand. “Two weirdos whose lives are going to get potentially very complicated when Scott wakes up in the morning. You should get some rest before it’s your turn to drive. We need to get as far away as we can tonight.”

  “Good idea. Mittens and I will climb in the back and stretch out.” She grabbed the sleeping limp cat from Brent’s lap. “Let me know when you get tired.”

  “Will do.”

  She and her new pet cat settled into the buttery leather backseat as she tried to fall asleep. But the gravity of what would happen in the morning crept back into her mind. Those men had been serious about killing them. They’d been lucky so far to get a head start that probably wouldn’t last much longer.

  She’d learned to put on a good face for the public and to hide all the disappointment her father dished out on a regular basis, but now, alone with her thoughts, it was hard to hold back her worry.

  Snuggling the cat closer to her chest, she closed her
eyes and hoped she and Brent would make it to her mom’s house alive.

  Brent checked on Sara in the rearview mirror. Sound asleep. He studied the page on the map Sara had left open and then dug out his phone to text Rick.

  Status? Heading for 62 now. Need another vehicle without GPS. Meet in Lake Havasu?

  Rick responded right away.

  About time you checked in. You have company. About ten minutes behind.

  Did Scott report the car stolen?

  No police activity. Your tail is tracking something else. Boss is concerned for Sara’s safety. Brass says abort the road trip.

  He didn’t want to give up. He wanted to solve the case. Sara wouldn’t be safe until they had enough evidence to arrest everyone involved. The information her mother used to warn Sara the day before had to come from somewhere.

  If nothing else, they needed to get out of California and away from Miller’s jurisdiction if they were going to have a chance at survival.

  He glanced at Sara in the mirror again. The cat was curled up against her belly, and her hands were tucked under her cheek. She looked cute sound asleep with her cat and her new blonde haircut.

  But where the hell had that smartwatch come from? That was probably what Miller’s pal was tracking.

  Was she wearing it on purpose?

  Doubt about her motives crept back inside his head again. Was there something hidden at her mother’s house? Was that why she wanted to get there so badly? Or was she leading him into a trap? Letting the people following know their location until they got somewhere remote. Like when they’d cross the desert in a few hours? Easy enough to lose people there.

  But would a woman so worried about a cat that she’d brought it with them be capable of committing a major crime? And why would she wear the watch in plain sight when it’d had to have been in her purse all along? He wasn’t ready to concede, so he typed back:

  Negative on the abort. Sara’s not safe in CA with Miller. Found the tracker. Need a meeting point to hand it off. Take the tail the opposite direction.

  Hang on. I’ll ck. Boss not happy dude.

  While he waited, he called out, “Sara?”

  She blinked her eyes open and sat up, annoying the cat enough it grumbled. “My turn to drive?”

  He shook his head. “What’s that on your wrist?”

  “My watch?” She lifted her left hand to show him. “Well, I really use it more for a fitness tracker. Without my phone, it’s the only way to know what time it is. Why?”

  “Is it synched to the app that finds your lost phone by any chance?”

  Sara’s eyes widened. “Crap! I set that up when I brought it home. Dammit!” She leaned toward the window and pressed the button to roll it down. “I’ll throw it out.”

  “No. Stop.” How was he going to explain his new plan without giving everything away? “If they’re tracking us, then let’s let them think they’re going to catch up while we figure out a way to divert them. Buy us a little more time.”

  Sara leaned her head between the front seats. “More time for what? We’re driving the speed limit. Ten bucks says they aren’t. They’ll catch up with us soon.”

  Sara wasn’t wrong. He liked how she thought logically. “They might not know what car we’re driving, so they’d have to get very close. Close enough for us to see them too. Chances are they’ll stay just behind us until we stop, because we have to at some point. Then they’ll make a move.”

  Sara chewed her bottom lip. “Like a shoot-us-with-their-guns move?” She frowned as she grew quiet. After a few minutes, she said, “Maybe we should throw the watch out right before the turnoff to 62. Then they won’t know if we went to Palm Springs or took the turn?”

  That was his plan B. He wished he could read the text whose alert had just vibrated against his leg. But he worried about something else. “What will happen in the morning when you don’t come home? Anyone going to panic at Casa Chapman?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t think about that. I always let Zoila know if I won’t be home. I should have told her I was staying with friends for a few days while I’m on school break. She’ll call the cops for sure, if she doesn’t hear from me by noon. Like you, I suspect she’s on my mother’s secret ‘babysit Sara’ payroll too.”

  He increased their speed by a few mph. “Zoila loves you regardless of your mom. That’s why she’d call the cops.” He gave Sara a second to figure out she could send a text from her wrist. The more he let her think things were her idea, the better for his cover.

  He needed to stay in character if Sara was going to trust him enough to bring him anywhere near her famous mother.

  They were getting close to the point where they’d have to make some decisions. She needed to figure out the watch soon, or he’d do it.

  “Wait!” Sara held up her wrist again. “I can send her a text from this. I read it has voice control. Let me figure out how to do that.”

  She leaned back into the rear seat and started tapping on her wrist. “Maybe I should tell Zoila we were going to the lake but have decided to go to Vegas for a few days instead? The way the roads work, we could’ve planned to catch a small highway north from Lake Havasu. Then we could go the opposite direction?”

  That fell neatly into his plans. “Yeah. Good idea. Then if we ditch the watch right before the turnoff, they’ll go the wrong way.” Or, not. He wasn’t sure what Rick and his boss had in mind yet. It’d fend off an APB brought on by Zoila in the morning. But if Miller didn’t get his way, he might file the APB himself on Holden’s behalf to make it easier to find them once over state lines.

  While Sara figured out her watch, he slid a peek at his phone, keeping it down by his driver’s door. Rick had sent a response.

  Negative on Lake Havasu. Sara’s mother has a house in Palm Springs. Go there and wait for instructions. You’d better be right about the money coming from the Russians. And the political ties. If not, ur ass is grass, bro.

  Brent let out a long breath. He could be wrong, but the indicators all pointed to a vast international ring. They needed people in the government and enforcement agencies to operate their laundering scheme. Hence Miller and probably a few others they hadn’t identified yet. Brent texted a thumbs-up emoji and slid his phone back into his pocket.

  After resisting the boss’s orders, Brent had better be right. Or he could probably kiss his beach house goodbye.

  Or worse, his and Sara’s lives.

  Chapter 8

  In the darkened backseat, Sara texted Zoila. Sara was still kicking herself for not realizing her watch could be trackable.

  She told Zoila they were going to Vegas for a few days, before flopping into the front seat beside Brent again. Mittens still snored loudly in the backseat. “I’m really sorry about the watch, Brent. Should I throw this thing out now?”

  “Let’s give it a few more miles. We might have an even bigger problem. If Miller has any cop friends involved, they might have already identified the car as Scott’s from highway plate scanning. Know anyone else with a car we can borrow around here?”

  She glanced in the side mirror, watching for speeding cars behind. “My mom has a house in Palm Springs. There’s no one there right now, but she always has a car in the garage.”

  Brent nodded. “Then let’s go to her house.”

  “Won’t the highway cameras be able to track the car back to my mother? I’ve been thinking about routes back home, and we can almost stay off the interstate with no cameras all the way except for close to Phoenix and the last stretch into Albuquerque.”

  Brent frowned at her. “You memorized three state maps that quickly?”

  She shook her head. “Not the whole maps. Only the parts that pertain to where we want to go.”

  “That’s amazing.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Change of plan. Time to toss the watch. We have company.”

  “On it.” Her stomach clenched as she fumbled with the button to lower the window. The air had grown dry and the scent of
the ocean had disappeared and turned to that of dry desert tundra. After she launched the watch as far as she could, she asked, “Which car?” She started to turn in her seat to look out the back, but Brent laid his arm across her body to stop her.

  “Buckle in. Stay down.”

  “Not yet.” The sudden seriousness in his voice made her heart rate and blood pressure spike to stroke levels. However, she wasn’t prepared to die. “If you could let the smart driving tech take over for just a few and switch places with me, I’ll lose them.”

  “Negative. Down.” Brent pushed her head into her lap and then stepped on the gas. The engine roared to life, pressing her back into the seat and her head harder against his big mitt still covering her skull.

  “You don’t understand.” She pushed his hand away but stayed down. “My mother has made me take kidnapping training, evasive driving classes, hand-to-hand combat, and I can shoot guns. I’m probably more qualified to save our lives than you are!”

  Brent smoothly swerved around cars, weaving in and out of traffic, the speedometer reading 120 mph, all while ignoring her. But then maybe he was a little busy. Should she repeat herself or just cross her legs and hope she didn’t pee her pants?

  A gun appeared in front of her face. “Don’t shoot unless I give you permission. Put your seat belt on.”

  Geez, Brent was a bossy one when under pressure. She fastened her belt, took the gun, and then flipped off the safety. “How close are they? You might want to go a little faster. We must be near the turnoff. If we can make them lose sight of us, they’ll think we’ve gone the other way toward the lake if they were monitoring my email.”

  He yelled over the screeching of the tires, “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Just waiting for some clear road.” He pressed the pedal to the floorboard.