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Sam opened her backpack. “Okay.” Pulling out a book, she settled back into her seat and opened it.
“A paperback is smart, but it’s a lot of weight if we have to run.” Trevor glanced at her.
She rolled her eyes. “My unnecessary items are in a separate bag. I can pull it out and drop it if necessary. And there’s no identifying information in them. Since our camping trip”—she made ironic air quotes—“and subsequent house arrest, I’ve been building and refining my go-bag. They’re used books with no inventory tags. While I hid in your house, Erin helped me out. She paid cash at a thrift store for the books and most of my clothing. She also got me drugstore makeup, a couple pairs of non-prescription glasses, hair dye, and some other costume stuff. Wiz coordinated with Davidson to deliver all of it. Then, I studied videos for tips on face contouring. I may not be the easiest person to disguise, but I can do it.”
“I’m impressed.” She was taking her situation more seriously than he’d believed. Except her deliberate mislabeling of protective custody as incarceration. Which meant he had to take her concerns seriously too, complicating everything. He pulled off the freeway at a rest stop and parked in the middle of a row. After searching their surroundings and finding nothing, he grabbed a baseball hat from the back seat and took off his jacket. “I’ll get a screwdriver while you use the bathroom.”
“Okay.” She pulled a tote bag-style purse from her backpack, then got out and walked to the bathrooms.
He watched their surroundings for unusual attention but only spotted three truckers standing outside the building. One said something to Sam, but she kept walking, lifting her nose in the air. The men yelled and one whistled, but she ignored them. He watched through the glass front of the building until she made it safely into one of the bathroom compartments. Then he took the laptops to the back of the car, retrieving his electronics tools. It took less than a minute to remove the laptop batteries and place the cell phones and computers in a shielded container. He labeled the batteries with blue painter’s tape, and put them into a separate container, a metal ammunition can with paper packing materials. When they found a place for the night, he’d search the car again for trackers. He’d found nothing during his routine sweep before dawn two days earlier.
Sam returned, wearing a navy blue knit hat with her hair tucked under it, rectangular black-framed glasses, a bulky canvas jacket, and worn, baggy work pants. A plastic grocery sack replaced her tote bag. The truckers only glanced at her, even when she glanced at them.
After she settled into the car, Trevor visited the bathroom. After he returned and buckled in, he got back on the freeway. “Nicely done with the disguise. I think we’ll find someplace to stay near Spokane and then figure out where we’re going next. It’s more difficult without phones, but lots of people manage just fine.”
“Maybe outside Fairchild Air Force Base?” Sam retrieved her paperback. “There are lots of people going in and out of cheap hotels near military bases.”
Trevor nodded. “I’ve got friends of friends near there, but it’s a distant connection. Might raise more attention than I want.”
“I know one of Wiz’s new employees lives in Spokane, but you probably don’t want to contact them, right?” Her nose wrinkled.
“No, but that’s a good thought if we run into trouble.” He hadn’t known Wiz had hired anyone, and he should have. Did Young keep that from him, or had he not known? Someone in the Bureau was supposed to be keeping a file up to date on Wiz and Victory Cyber Services. Finding out whose responsibility that was just moved higher on his long priority list. But VCS was notoriously difficult to watch.
They sped westward, passing through small towns and up and over three separate mountain passes. The highway rolled beside beautiful Lake Coeur d’Alene and then descended into Spokane. Trevor avoided the obvious hotels near the freeway; they’d stand out too much. He took the Fairchild AFB exit, intending to pass the base and find a motel, but the standing, blackened tree trunks reminded him that rooms would be hard to find. “I’d forgotten they had a huge fire in this area. They lost a lot of homes, so we won’t find a hotel room here.”
“Those poor people.” Sam grimaced. “Ryan and Michael deployed here on a Team Rubicon cleanup; they said entire neighborhoods were wiped out.” She sighed. “I guess we should have turned off at the amusement park north of Coeur d’Alene. Summer season is over, so a hotel would be easy to find.”
Trevor kept driving. “I saw that sign and thought about it, but it seemed like an obvious hiding place. Same with the ski area and water park we passed earlier.” Highway 2 continued west for miles across the rolling plains of eastern Washington State. If they stayed on it, they’d end up in Wenatchee. But it was fall, so it might be apple harvest season. That would also make cheap motel rooms hard to find and they’d stand out among the migrant workers.
“Maybe around Grand Coulee dam? The boating season is over, right?” Sam opened a box of hair color, unfolding the instruction sheet.
“I think a lot of those close for the winter. But we might find something in Leavenworth, and we’d blend in there.”
“The Bavarian tourist town with the ‘Sound of Music’ style buildings?” Sam laughed and held up a paperback novel with colorful, faceless cartoon characters on it. “That’s one of the towns Lia Huni’s novels are based on.”
Trevor shot a glance at her. “How is that going to help us?” Novels weren’t exactly realistic.
She huffed. “It’s not. I just thought it was funny.”
At least she could laugh about something. “Well, it will be dark by the time we get there, but I’m guessing there’s a tourist center or something.”
“Hopefully they’re not in the middle of a big festival because we’ll never find a room. Actually, we might have a hard time anyway because it’s leaf peeping season.”
He’d forgotten regular people did stuff like go look at colored leaves. “Okay, we’ll find some tiny place along the highway with a parking lot behind the hotel.” As they drove, the number of buildings decreased, leaving miles of empty plains or harvested wheat fields on both sides. He slowed to a crawl through tiny towns where the largest structure was a grain elevator; half of them didn’t even have gas stations. He slowed for another middle-of-nowhere town.
“Hey, look at that.” Sam pointed out her window.
A bright-colored old west town facade appeared, complete with a stagecoach and antique carved wooden Indian statues. The sign read “Black Bear Motel.” No one would ever expect classy Sam Kerr to stay somewhere so ridiculously over-the-top. “Perfect.” He turned in and parked in front of the office. “Wait here and I’ll see if there’s a room.”
Inside, the office was crammed with dark wood antiques and more wooden Indians, along with animal heads and ancient rifles hanging from the wall. An older gentleman with a bushy mustache, red kerchief, and cowboy hat nodded. “Howdy, stranger. Looking for a place to hunker down for the night, or a week?”
“Just a night, please.” Considering what Sam had planned, he’d better add some requirements. “If you’ve got a room with a bathtub, my wife would appreciate it.” The spouse label slid from his mouth easier than it should have.
“Sure do.” The man looked him up and down. “Think you’ll be perfect for the City Slickers room.” He slid an old-fashioned book across the counter. “There’s a discount for cash. We just need your name and hometown in the register.”
“Sure.” Trevor looked at the price sheet at the top and handed over the bills, plus a little extra. He wrote “Marcus and Margaret Daly, Anaconda, Montana” in the register.
The manager gave him a crooked smile but didn’t say anything about the obviously fake names. “The rooms are all over there across the lot. You can park right in front of your room. There’s a restaurant menu in the room. No deliveries, but we’ll do takeout if you’re looking for privacy.” He slid an old-fashioned motel key across the counter.
