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“Army? Navy?”
“Hooah,” said the driver.
Her eyebrows flew skyward.
“Shut it down, Pierce,” came the order from Will. “All you need to know is that we are here at the order of Vice President Coulter and we’re the good guys. Okay, Melanie?”
Will looked at something on his phone as she registered the name. She really ought to tell him she wasn’t who he thought.
“Umm, I actually need–”
Whatever Will had seen on his phone made him tense up, an angry expression fixed on his face. He spoke over her, a commanding voice that left no room for argument. “Get us to the hotel yesterday, Pierce.”
“Yes, sir,” came the response from the driver. Hannah looked toward the front and saw the car accelerate smoothly, changing lanes to pass a minivan.
Hannah turned back to Will to explain her real identity.
But his phone was to his ear and he was looking away from her, talking quietly so she couldn’t hear. She leaned in slightly, trying to make out the words.
From her right, a low voice interrupted her eavesdropping. “Do you need to check in with anyone? A job? Boyfriend?”
Surprised, Hannah whirled toward Tank. She couldn’t tell by his expression if the questions were sincere or just meant as a distraction so she couldn’t listen to Will’s conversation.
Still, it would be rude–not to mention suspicious–to ignore him. She shook her head. “No, there’s no one,” she said. “No one will notice if I’m gone for a few days.” Her voice trailed off toward the end of the statement as it sank into her consciousness.
How pathetic was that? Two years she’d been in Florida, and the only person who would notice her missing was her scummy landlord. And it wasn’t as if he cared. He was just hoping she’d get desperate enough to sleep with him so she didn’t get evicted.
“No job?” Tank’s tone was gentle, and she was surprised by the softness in his eyes. His muscles were the size of her head, but she was getting the idea that there was more to this giant than met the eye.
“No. No job. I’m a freelancer,” she added.
“Freelance what?” The question came from Will, and she turned to find his eyes on her, a look she couldn’t decipher.
“Writer,” she said cautiously, feeling like it was the safer answer.
Will nodded.
“We’re here,” the driver announced from the front seat. Hannah saw a single-level motel out the window. It wasn’t fancy, but it was probably nicer than her apartment. As though that were saying much.
“Miranda said we’re in nine and ten. They’re unlocked. Keys are inside,” Will said.
Hannah raised her eyebrows, looking to Will for an explanation of the unusual welcome.
He shrugged. “Miranda is a miracle worker. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Hannah ignored the twinge of jealousy that came with his obvious admiration of this Miranda woman. The entire team seemed to have this camaraderie that made her all the more aware of her own lack of friendships. It was hard to worry about making friends when you were worried about paying the bills.
But after this entire experience was over, she’d join a church and make some real friends. She’d have an actual job.
She’d have a life.
That was it. She was desperately ready for her life to begin. Jeremiah had tried to squash it, and she’d spent eight years fighting her way out from under the weight of his influence on her circumstances. But she wasn’t going to let him ruin the rest of her life.
CHAPTERELEVEN
An hour later,Will Gilbert stared across the bleak hotel room at Melanie Byers with a scowl on his face as he tried to figure out what to do. Tank had the television on across the room, the pundits on cable news already hashing and rehashing the announcement that President Walters had succumbed to her injuries. The assassination attempt had just become an assassination. The first in over sixty years, something the reporters kept pointing out.
“Vultures,” he muttered.
