“That’s registered under one of my aliases. My work phone is in my apartment in D.C.,” he said, shutting the gun safe. He looked around his basement at all the modifications he’d done over the years. His cabin was off-grid but had all the technology to keep him informed of any attempted intrusions, of which, he’d only had a few. He’d contacted the local police and the perpetrators were taken away. His cabin was essentially impenetrable. It had food, water and weapons to last out years under siege.
It was comfortable, peaceful and it was his. He’d grown up with nothing. His father had been an abusive drunk and had driven his mother away. Or at least that was the story he’d been told. It hadn’t been until years later that he’d learned that his father had actually killed his mother. It was his father’s deathbed confession; he’d died of lung cancer. Xander despised the man and hated him for lying about his mother. For years, Xander hated her, until he’d learned the truth. Even now, he felt a deep sense of shame and guilt for his feelings against her. He jerked around when he realized Zahara had been speaking to him.
“What? I’m sorry, what?”
“You okay? I kinda lost you for a minute there,” she said, her eyes filled with concern. He smiled at her and shook his head.
“No, I’m fine. Just reluctant to head back to work. You sure you don’t know what they wanted?”
“Naw. I’d have told you if I had. I’m fairly sure they’re not going to be happy with me for disappearing either. I’d been on assignment just before I came here.” She smiled, walking toward the stairs.
“Yeah, the agency isn’t real keen with its assets and their secrets.”
“Don’t I know it. But I think they understand at some level, at least the operatives turned desk jockeys. Keeping a low profile is pretty essential,” she said. They moved into the living room and Xander went to his bedroom. He’d already packed his bag, it was a small black roller bag, filled with ammo. Like Zahara, he felt naked without the ability to defend himself well. If that meant lugging around weapons and ammo, so be it. He smiled, remembering the guns that were scattered about Zaraha’s body.
He’d seen the news from time to time, reports about some trucker that had been murdered. He knew that riding the big rigs was her preferred form of transportation. He also knew that if some fool tried to hurt her, he’d be in for a rude awakening and he’d be dead before the sun rose the next day. He thought perhaps she did that on purpose. He’d heard that she’d been raised in foster care and if that were so, she’d more than likely suffered abuse at the hands of some of those people. The thought of someone hurting a child caused his blood to heat. He took a deep breath then blew it out. No, she wasn’t a child now and took care of the assholes who wanted to hurt women. He smiled grimly at that thought. Coming out of his bedroom, he looked around the living room and smiled at Zahara.
“Ready?”
“No, but I guess we gotta go. Thanks again for letting me stay here. I mean that. I know I intruded on your vacay, but it really has been nice. Thanks again for teaching me to fish. I really, really liked that.” She grinned impishly, her face tinting a pretty pink. His smile widened and he nodded.
“Tell you what, you come here any time, even if I’m here or not. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Thanks. So, we go directly back or what?” she asked, walking out of the door.
“No, we’ll head south, then west. You got a baseball cap?” he asked, turning and locking the door. He’d already armed the security and activated all external and internal monitors.
“Sure, why?” She was hopping down the steps like a five-year-old and he shook his head at her energy.
“Facial recognition. I’m always paranoid about being spotted too close to home and in this truck,” he said, nodding to the deep blue 57 Chevy.
“Yeah, I guess that would suck if you were picked up in this truck. They could do a search and figure out your nom de plume. Where’s your regular vehicle?”
“I’ve got a few storage units over in Huntsville, Alabama. I switch out each visit. I’ll put this vehicle there, pick up mine. My Honda has false plates, once I get to Virginia, I’ll switch out the plates at a gas station. It’s in an area with very little traffic cams. I can then appear back on radar.” He grinned at her.
“Damn boy, you’re good. But you do know that the agency has more than likely put a real time tracking device on your car? Hell, for all we know you’ve been chipped and they can track your body.” She laughed and climbed into the truck.
“Maybe. If they did, they’d only get as far as Huntsville for my car. Somehow, I doubt that the agency would have the technology to actually chip us and try and hunt us down. Otherwise, they’d have just come here and gotten me,” he said. He placed their gear in the locked storage box in the bed of his truck.
Zahara settled herself on the padded aqua bench seat of the 57 Chevy and looked expectantly over at Xander. She watched him as he looked around his place and she knew he was loath to leave it. She was as well. It felt like home, though she’d never really known what that meant. She’d never felt at home anywhere. She’d moved
