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“So…where does that leave us?”
“Well, there’s a Jacqueline Marquette living in LaPlace, but she has no listed dependents.”
“Okay, you definitely didn’t find that online.”
“Define online. Because I technically did locate it on the Internet.”
“Criminal.”
“I prefer to think of myself as clever, thank you.”
“If you were so clever, you’d have found our guy.”
“I found two Leo Marquettes in a criminal record database. Only one with a known address in Louisiana, but he’s thirty-two. Isn’t our Leo a kid?”
It was my turn to shrug. “That’s the implication I got from Seth.” Of course time and age would be very different for a god, wouldn’t it? Could his idea of a few years actually be over three decades?
That could explain why I’d never heard of Leo. He actually predated my time at the temple. And on Earth.
Cade put his phone back in his jacket pocket, evidently finished with his search for the time being. “We can’t do much until we get there, but hopefully Manea’s people are under the same impression we are. If Seth’s son is actually an adult, we have more time to find him.”
As long as Death’s goons didn’t go around killing any kids who fit the bill, this was good news. Leo being an adult would go a long way to easing my mind about Manea trying to kill a child. But it might also make bringing him to the temple a lot harder. If he was a child, we could tell Jacqueline we were there to protect him. If he was a grown man it meant I had to convince him he needed the protection of his wayward deity father. No doubt that would go over swimmingly.
My headache was starting to return.
Cade pulled out his wallet, but I beat him to the punch, stuffing the billfold with twenties before he was able to. He hadn’t even eaten anything, like hell I was going to let him pay for me to glut myself. That would be too much.
Back in the car I made the triumphant error in judgment of attempting to choose the music.
The radio was tuned to a classic rock station, and as we neared the Wyoming border it began to crackle. Not wanting to do Def Leppard a disservice by listening to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” improperly, I adjusted the knob, looking for another station that was coming through clearly.
Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” began playing.
Cade didn’t even give me a chance to change it before shutting off the radio entirely. “No country in the car.”
“I wasn’t—”
“No. Country. In. The. Car.” His expression was dead serious, hand covering the power so I couldn’t turn it back on.
“This would not be an issue if you had an iPod adapter like a normal human being.”
He huffed and dropped his hand, but looked ready to cover the button at a moment’s notice if I made a move.
And that’s how we went through half a state in complete silence.
We switched drivers near the Wyoming border, I think mostly because he was getting sick of me fidgeting in the seat next to him. The second I got into the driver’s seat I popped a cassette into the deck before he could stop me. Bon Jovi started to sing “Livin’ on a Prayer.” I could tell he wanted to argue, but when I pulled my hand back from the tape deck, he didn’t eject it.
I’d take my victories where I found them. I knew there was a reason I kept tapes in my purse in case my adapter crapped out.
Just over the Colorado border, our good luck ran out.
I should have known it was only a matter of time, considering who my copilot was, but I thought perhaps we might get a pass on the bad tidings since he wasn’t actively working a job.
A flat tire was the first sign the tides were shifting in an unfortunate way.
That we got the flat on a barren strip of highway, miles from any assistance, was the next sign of ill tidings.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road, and we got out, assessing the damage. We’d been driving for over fourteen hours, and the mounting stress of our situation was starting to wear on both of us. At least that’s what I told myself when Cade took one look at the flat tire and snarled.
