Page 32 of Witness Security Breach

“The easy way isn’t always the right one. I won’t ask my father. You don’t use family like that. Not if you care about them. This is our problem. I won’t drag him into this.”

“Your family is off-limits, but it’s fine for us to get Nick involved? He might only be getting us information, but we’re also making him complicit. He’s aiding and abetting us. I guess that double standard sits fine with you.”

The hypocrisy of it twisted through Aiden’s chest. Charlie’s point was valid.

Growing up, he’d worshipped his father. He’d been taught to protect his family at all costs.

Nick understood the stakes, the risks, and knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, he could rely on them to stick their necks out the same way for him. Nick could’ve said no, whereas Aiden’s father wouldn’t have a choice. His dad would be compelled to help.

There was a fundamental difference that he couldn’t put into words.

Folding her arms, Charlie looked out the window and dropped the issue.

A heavy silence filled the confines of the cab, almost consuming them in its enormity.

Aiden flipped on the radio and tuned in low background noise. He upped the speed a bit, keeping it under the limit. They didn’t come this far to get stopped for a traffic ticket.

For a hundred miles they drove east toward the mountains and the Arizona border without talking. There’d never been the need to force chitchat between them. It always flowed. The quiet moments were natural, not awkward and uncomfortable as it was now.

Her stomach growled, but she said nothing.

He saw a billboard for a shopping mall and restaurants. They both had bloodstains on their jeans. Most people might overlook it, but a keen eye would find it suspicious. If they figured out a way to fly, they couldn’t go through an airport looking like this.

Taking the off-ramp, he pulled into Yuma, five miles across the Arizona state line. First, he stopped for gas, making sure to keep his face turned away from the cameras.

Then he found the mall, which wasn’t hard. It was a sprawling, palm-tree-studded outdoor complex with plenty of stores to choose from, dining options and a theater.

He parked at a department store. “We should get fresh clothes,” he said.

“Good idea.”

Inside, Charlie headed to the women’s section and he went to the men’s.

Under normal circumstances he’d gravitate toward the sales, but efficiency was his focus. They needed to get in and out. He browsed quickly and found a replacement pair of jeans. Dark wash. Perfect size in a brand he was familiar with. Fifty bucks. His shirt was in good condition, but after smelling under his arms, he searched for something new. He grabbed a moisture-wicking crew T-shirt that had the stretch and fit he preferred, navy instead of black, and a long-sleeve button-up shirt to wear open and hide the bandage on his arm.

He changed in the cubicle, trashed his old stuff and took the tags to the checkout. Near the register, he saw a ball cap and grabbed it, too. His total was a hundred and twenty dollars.

It took them ten minutes to meet back up. Charlie wore slim-fitting jeans that looked great on her and a V-neck T-shirt in light gray that hugged her curves and flat stomach. She’d also added a cotton warm-up jacket.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

In-N-Out Burger was a close walk and the food would take no time. They ate inside, their backs to a wall, away from cameras and other people.

Charlie took a bite and moaned. “This is the best burger ever.”

Digging in, he had to agree. After the day they’d had and three hours hauling butt to get out of California, they were both famished, and almost anything would’ve tasted good, but the thick patty and cheese and grease hit the spot.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to hot-wire a car and pick pockets,” he said.

“In a group home. The place was like a jail, with white concrete walls and bedrooms that resembled cells. They even had rules against hugging because it violated the no-physical-contact policy. Some of the girls in there were on the road to becoming criminals. I picked up those skills from troubled kids, to pass the time, for fun. Other things I had to learn to survive. Like how to fight. To make sure that if I let the other girl get back up, I taught her a lesson first so she’d never touch me again. It wasn’t an easy place to grow up. But in there I figured out how to turn my anxiety into anger, channel it into something useful.”

He knew about her mom’s drug problem and Charlie’s time in foster care, but he’d thought it had been a brief stint. “How long were you in the system?”

“My sister and I bounced in and out from elementary to high school.”

Her most impressionable years had been spent in an institutionalized environment with child welfare monitors instead of loving parents. His heart sank. It pained him to imagine it.