Bad Road to Nowhere Page 4

  She’s not her, damn it. She’s nothing like her.

  He did not want them to get friendly. He planned to keep his distance. “I figured we’d grab something somewhere up the road. I want to get an early start.”

  Mariah brought the mug to him and stood there holding it and looking up at him. “Well, it’s all ready now. Should I throw everything out then?”

  Novak took the mug. “Go ahead and eat. I’m not hungry.”

  She kept standing there. “God, I forgot how big you are. What? Six-five? Six-six? And you’re all buffed up now. A lot more than I remember. And where did you get that tan, or is it sunburn? And that scar down the side of your face? Ooh, that is downright wicked looking.” She brought up her hand as if to trace the knife scar that ran down in front of his left ear and then back toward the nape of his neck.

  Novak recoiled from her touch and stepped back away from her. He took the mug and sipped the hot coffee. Didn’t answer any of her questions. Didn’t let her touch him. The scar was old, inflicted when he was a bit too careless and got caught alone on a dark beach in Somalia. He’d almost bought it that night, but he’d ultimately gotten the better of his two assailants. It was another memory he didn’t like to dwell on. He’d spent a long time on a hospital ship nursing that particular wound. “We don’t have time to waste. It’s a long drive up there. Take us all day, probably. We need to get on the road.”

  She smiled. “So you are going to help me?”

  “I’ll go along. See what turns up.”

  She reached out and touched his hand where he held the mug on the counter. “Oh, thank you, Will. I’ll never forget this. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  Novak pulled back away from her touch again. He looked away. He already regretted it.

  After that, nothing more was said. She busied around the kitchen, as if she knew what she was doing. Cooking wasn’t something she’d ever done in the past, not that he could recall. She went ahead and made both of them a plate filled up with hot buttered toast, fried eggs, and a pile of crisp bacon. She completely disregarded what he’d said about not being hungry, which was what she had always done. He had hated her guts for years, but despite what he’d told her, he was hungry enough to eat what she had cooked. He sat down at the bar and ate without looking at her, and she did the same, right across from him. Neither of them spoke. Then he got up, rinsed his plate and mug, and put them in the dishwasher and told her he was bringing the truck around and to get her gear and meet him out front. Mariah immediately got up and began putting things away.

  Fifteen minutes later, she came out the front door where he had parked his old green Ram pickup, pulling her pricey red Gucci suitcases behind her. Three bags, all of which looked heavy. Novak grimaced. He didn’t help her load up, and she didn’t ask him to. He felt boorish about not doing it for her, but she picked them up herself and shoved them up and over into the bed of the truck, then she opened the passenger door and looked across the seat at him.

  “You want me to lock the front door, or anything?”

  “I never lock my door. Just get in.”

  “Trusting sort, huh?”

  Not even a little bit, he thought.

  Mariah climbed in and buckled up.

  “What about the Taurus?” he asked her.

  “I leased it for a month. No problem.”

  “A whole month? Why so long?”

  “I didn’t know how long this would take or how far away Georgia was. I thought I’d do some sightseeing around the States if we don’t find her up there. Want to show me around?”

  Novak fired the ignition and didn’t answer. She already knew the answer was no. They rolled down the driveway, his big tires crunching on the small white shells. He still didn’t trust the woman across the seat from him, and he was pretty sure she might be lying about the story she’d told him, or some part of it, anyway. She was always lying about something. So he drove in silence, not paying any attention to her, while she punched in GPS directions on a smart phone. Destination: Sikeston, Georgia.

  “Well, it’s not much of a city,” she said, her eyes on the screen. “Just a little hamlet, I suppose.”

  Novak hadn’t heard such a pure Australian accent for a long time. The diction, the cadence, everything, reminded him of home, of his formative years spent growing up with his aunt and uncle in Sydney and working summers with his father on their enormous sheep ranch in Queensland. Mariah did not use American slang, Southern style, Louisiana style, or any other kind. He hadn’t heard much Australian slang out of her, either. Every once in a while something would slip out, but most of the time, she spoke like a highly educated, modern Australian woman, which she was. Which Sarah had been. He wasn’t sure if he hated hearing the way she talked again, or liked it. Either way, he had better get used to it because she sure as hell liked to talk.

  They took Louisiana State Highway One back up toward Thibodaux and then merged east headed to New Orleans on 90. Lucky for him, Mariah was still weary from her long flight from Sydney. After a while, she leaned her head against the passenger window and slept like a baby. Fine by him. He didn’t have anything else to say to her.

  Mariah slept for almost three hours, giving Novak a long period of sweet silence. She snored softly, though, completely dead to the world. Probably because she had spent all night going through his personal belongings back at Bonne Terre. He wouldn’t put that past her. That was who Mariah was. By the time she sat up on the seat again, dark hair mussed and ratted in back, eyes swollen, and stretched herself like a limber cat, they were already through the state of Mississippi, had crossed into Alabama and were skirting the Gulf coast beaches. Novak had judged the various routes the night before and decided to take Interstate I-65 north out of Mobile to Montgomery, and then veer northeast on I-85 up to Atlanta. It would probably take a good eight hours on the road to reach their destination. Maybe more. Maybe a little less, depending on the traffic clogging the outer sprawl in the large cities. At the moment, he was hungry again. Traffic had picked up, and he kept his attention on the road ahead.

  “So where are we?” Mariah asked him after a few minutes of looking around.

  She was still stretching her bare arms up high over her head, yawning until she made him want to yawn, too. Today she had on a tight red T-shirt without any logo, black denim walking shorts and the same white sandals she’d worn the day before. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair and looked across the cab at him, her mascara smeared down under her eyes. He didn’t mention it.

  “Mobile.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Alabama.”

  “That doesn’t tell me a damn thing. I’m an Aussie, remember? Like you used to be.”

  “You telling me you didn’t research all this stuff and pick the best route before you came to see me? Thought experienced investigative reporters knew how to do stuff like that.”

  “You’re not going to make this trip pleasant, are you?”

  Novak kept driving. He wasn’t going to argue with her. Been there. Done that.

  “Well, okay, I did check out the best routes. Of course I did. But I didn’t pick which one to use. I thought I’d wait to do that after you turned me down. But since you didn’t, and much to my surprise, I might add, and since you supposedly know the U.S. better than I do, I guess you can call all the shots. At least for now, you can. Oh, and that’s right, I figured there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d take me along with you, even if you did agree to help me. I figured you’d throw me out on my ear the minute you saw me. Just being honest here.”

  Novak hit the right turn signal and moved into the inside lane. “I’m hungry. Let’s stop and get an early lunch.”

  “If you’re stopping for petrol, I want to pick up the bill. I’m paying all the costs on this trip.”

  “Yeah, you sure are.”

  “God, can’t you even be civil for one minute?”

  “Any reason for anyone to be following us, Mariah?”
>
  She looked over at him, surprised. “No, why?”

  “Because I’ve seen the same white Nissan SUV behind us for the last ninety miles. Staying about a hundred yards back. Shadowing us. No doubt about it.”

  Mariah turned and looked behind them through the rear window. “I don’t see any white Nissan.”

  “They turn off now and then. Then they show up again. Typical shadowing procedure. They know what they’re doing. There might be a second vehicle that I haven’t spotted yet.”

  “Well, there is no reason for anybody to follow me. You, I wouldn’t doubt it in the least. Probably the law.”

  Novak felt the urge to smile. He wouldn’t doubt that, either. That’s why he was watching the road behind him. A good habit he had cultivated.

  “Well, I’d like to freshen up a bit,” Mariah said. “That’s why I mentioned the petrol station.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop at the next one.”

  Mariah didn’t say anything more, just stared out the window. Novak drove on, keeping an eye on the rear window. The white Nissan was following him, he was sure of it, and the first time they ventured too close, he was going to find out why.

  Mariah

  When Will Novak finally decided to stop at a servo for petrol, Mariah Murray got out of the truck and walked quickly inside what was heralded on the sign out front as a Signal station. She glanced around for a moment. She was still angry. Will was behaving like a total jerk. Good grief, how long was he going to hold a grudge? The rest of his life? She didn’t see what she was searching for, so she looked back out the big plate glass windows at the truck. Will was busy filling the tank, so she glanced around the parking lot, but didn’t see what she was looking for there, either. Damn it.

  The store was busy. People were milling about everywhere, purchasing sodas and coffee and beer and snacks. Next door in an adjoining area was a Maccas; she could smell the Big Macs and french fries. Lots of people were lined up for fast food. She could use some more coffee herself. She still felt groggy and tired from a restless night sleeping alone in that huge, creepy old house. She kept a wary eye on the other customers, and then she walked to the back and entered the women’s bathroom. It was a single stall so she locked the door and moved over to the far wall away from the corridor. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

  “Yeah?” said a male voice at the other end.

  “You’re following too close, damn it. He saw you. I thought you said you were good at tailing people. I thought you were going to leapfrog.”

  “I am good. He must be, too.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s good, all right. And he’s no dummy. He’s got an IQ around 160 and a photographic memory. He remembers everything he sees, and he sees everything. So back off, and get a different car. Or get two cars, for God’s sake. He’s seen the Nissan and now he’s watching for it. Like I already told you, Will Novak is not stupid. He’s well-trained, and he can take you down. Both of you at the same time. And he will take you down if you give him a reason. Trust me on that. If you can’t handle following us any better than this, just meet me up there later. I’ll let you know where we end up.”

  “What’s this guy look like? We haven’t seen him up close, and we’ll need to know how to ID him. You never showed us a photo.”

  “Because I couldn’t find a recent one. Right now, he’s got on a black New Orleans Saints T-shirt and faded jeans. He’s got dark blond hair, cut close like somebody in the military would wear, blue eyes but not pale, dark, sort of like navy blue. He’s big and tall and very strong, and he’s armed with a .45 in his back waistband and he knows how to take care of himself. Remember that. Like I told you, keep your distance. He will take you down if you confront him. I’ll take a photo if I can catch him unaware and text it to you. Just stay back and let me handle him for now.”

  They talked together for a few more minutes, finalizing their plans, and then Mariah washed her face and combed her hair and set her mind for a long ride north with an unsociable guy who hated her guts and didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. And he was spot on in that regard. He couldn’t trust her. Not for one minute.

  Outside, she paid for the petrol and bought two fifteen-ounce cups of black coffee and a sack of glazed jelly donuts for takeaway. A peace offering that he would ignore and not appreciate. But he did like jelly donuts. She remembered that about him. Just so he kept her with him, nothing else mattered. But that was beginning to get iffy, to say the least. She was going to have to be smart and alert and play her cards right. Like she had told Mason, Will Novak was no fool, and well did she know it.

  Chapter Five

  After Novak filled up his tank at the Signal station on the coast highway, he went inside, used the restroom, and walked back out to the truck. Mariah was still in the bathroom. She had stalked into the place and had stayed inside for a long time. Way too long, in fact. What the hell was she doing? Wiping off the ton of mascara smeared all over her face, no doubt, and then reapplying a ton of the stuff she liked to wear. He leaned back against the truck’s front fender, waiting for her, watching for the white Nissan, and gazing between the condos across the road, where he could see creamy waves rolling into the beach.

  When she finally did come outside, she had indeed washed her face, reapplied the makeup, put on fire-truck red lipstick, and twisted her hair up in some kind of messy-looking bun thing with lots of tendrils hanging down around her face and neck. She’d had time enough in there to take a bath and/or write a novel. By that time, he had pulled the truck over to the side parking lot, and he watched her approach.

  “Thought we’d eat over there.” He pointed at a BBQ place just across the parking lot.

  “I got donuts and coffee for us.”

  “Save it for later.”

  Mariah didn’t save it for later. She threw it all in the trashcan in front of the truck, and then they walked together to the restaurant. It was a small establishment called Hayden’s Barbecue. The inside décor resembled some kind of a 1950s hangout for teenagers, Novak thought. But no booths, just tables and the old-fashioned red vinyl stools lining the counter.

  Everything was done in black and white and red. White subway tiles and bead board on the walls and ceiling, photographs of the Alabama coast and surrounding areas taken maybe a hundred years ago. Novak was still keeping an eye out for the guys in the white SUV, but he hadn’t seen it again. Maybe he had been wrong. But he didn’t think so. When the waitress came, he ordered a double barbecue with slaw, fries, and what they advertised as their “famous pink lemonade.” Ended up that he agreed with the accolades about the lemonade. It had a maraschino cherry on top.

  Mariah ordered the same thing he did, which did surprise him. He figured she’d be bent out of shape that the menu offered no shrimp cocktail or Beluga caviar, in keeping with her self-identified sophisticated lifestyle. Even more surprising, she ate heartily and finished all her fries. Hell, more shock. She used to subsist mainly on salad greens without dressing and plain bottled water. She was anorexic back then, or well on the way to being so. Yet another thing he’d never liked about her. He liked women who actually ate food and had some soft curves to their bodies. Mariah looked healthier now.

  During lunch, he sat there across from her and partook silently while she kept on talking to him and dabbing barbecue sauce off the corners of her mouth with a white paper napkin. Most of her questions he answered in monosyllables because he was watching her face for the inevitable signs of lying through her very straight and gleaming white teeth. The more he thought about her sudden arrival at Bonne Terre, out of the blue, with an intense desire for him to help her crack a “big” story and save a damsel in distress, the more he suspected something was not quite copasetic. Something was eating at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the what or the why. Not yet. He didn’t trust her, not one little bit, which might be the major problem.

  Finally, he leaned back against the booth and said, “Tell me everything you know about
that girl. Emma Beckenridge Adamson. And I mean everything that you can remember. Childhood on up.”

  “I already told you everything.”

  “You told me stories about when she was a little girl in your old neighborhood and how her marriage went bad. I want to know more about her. I want to know who she is or was, and why her husband or somebody else would want to kidnap her. Frankly? This story doesn’t make much sense. None of it. The more I think about it, the more unlikely it seems. And that makes me wonder why you’re really here and what you really want from me.”

  Mariah’s eyes reacted somewhere deep inside those lovely jade depths, a response that was quickly hidden and became a quizzical gaze that riveted unblinkingly on Novak’s face. Innocent as a newborn babe. “Why would you think that it sounds unlikely?”

  Novak became annoyed, pretty damn fast, too, and didn’t mind showing it. “You’re the investigative reporter, right? You ought to know that without me having to tell you. You should’ve filled me in on all this background information the first time we talked about this case. That makes me think you don’t know some of this stuff, or you don’t want me to know what you know.”

  “Well, now, that’s just totally ridiculous. My God, when did you get so paranoid?”

  “Not paranoid. I just know you too well.”

  Mariah ignored that, finished her lemonade by sucking it dry through the straw. “Well, I know enough to know she’s in trouble. I’ll figure out the rest when I find her.”

  “Sorry. I don’t work like that. That’s stupid, by the way.”

  “Okay, for pity sake, I’ll get back on Google when we get done here. I’ll give you whatever background you want on her.”

  “Good. Better late than never.”