Girl Called Fearless: A Girl Undone Part 9

Vera had pushed me to wear a short skirt and tights, and now I knew why. I walked up the shoulder toward the line of patrol cars, my heart pounding, and a hot-pink-lipstick smile on my face. The dogs tugged at their leashes.

The man in the truck ahead rolled down his window. "Hey, baby, I'm freezing. How about you come warm me up."

Drop dead. I kept going. Up ahead, a young officer wearing body armor, tall, freckles all over his clean-shaven face, guarded an older man and his s.h.i.+vering wife.

I scooped Felix into my arms and sashayed up to the officer, noting the words U.S. MARSHAL on his bulletproof vest. "Hey, Officer, what's going on?"

He smiled at me, before he remembered not to. "Miss, you need to return to your vehicle."

"Is there an accident? Is anybody hurt?" I stepped closer to the marshal and Felix stretched out to sniff him.

"No, miss. We're trying to apprehend some felons. For your safety, we need you to return to your vehicle." He tried not to smile at Felix, but couldn't help it. "What's his name?"

"Felix. And that's Bruno and Hernando. I thought I'd walk them as long as we were stopped."

The marshal petted Felix. "I've got a Lab at home."

"Oh, I love Labs."

"Officer Barton!"

Officer Barton snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

An older officer glared at him. "Escort that civilian back to her vehicle."

"Yes, sir."

Barton winked at me as soon as his boss wasn't looking. He walked me back, handing me the dogs after I'd climbed into the RV. I gave him a big smile. "Thanks for your help."

Selena had stripped down to a rhinestone tank, and she leaned over Luke, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s inches from his face as she scrunched his hair. I threw off my down jacket, and peered at Luke. "Are you wearing eyeliner?"

"So what if I am?"

"No big deal. Just asking."

A knock hammered the door. Selena straightened and put on her game face. Luke moved toward the door. "I'll get it."

He set two dogs on the steps by his feet and opened the door. Whoos.h.!.+ Cold air poured in and the dogs leaped out and dashed between the legs of the officers gathered outside. The men split apart, letting Luke tear after the escaping dogs. Through the back window, I saw Officer Barton jog after him.

The ten other perritos yelped and snarled as four officers climbed into the RV. I read the law enforcement division names silkscreened on their bulletproof vests: Sheriff, ATF, FBI, U.S. Marshal. The government wasn't taking any chances.

Some dogs cowered at the mens' feet, while others leaped on the chairs and table and snapped at them. The officers moved carefully, trying not to get too close. I picked up Nestor and hugged him to my chest. He was trembling even worse than I was.

Two officers began to search the cabinets, the oven, and the drawer under the bench seat, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they frisked us, too. "Ma'am," one said to Selena, his hand on the gun safe. "Would you please open this?" I listened to him call in the serial numbers on the guns, hoping none would link us back to Maggie or Salvation.

The sheriff took Selena into the tiny bedroom, saying, "Where are you headed today?" I inched toward the flimsy door. What was the purpose of our trip? he asked. How was she related to the people with her? We were stylists at her salon, Selena told him.

Sweat trickled down my side. Steady, I kept telling myself. Breathe. Act like you have nothing to hide.

Then I saw the U.S. Marshal checking me out against a flyer he was holding. The top was folded over, but I could read it upside down.

"WANTED BY THE FBI. Suspects in the Salvation Shootout. Aveline Reveare and Luke Stanton."

There was a black silhouette of a man's head under Luke's name, but there were two photos below mine. The blurry, bleached-out one must have come from the video broadcast, while the profile of me with my long, brown hair held back by a Hawkins-approved headband was from the People shoot.

The marshal's eyes met mine then traveled to my hair.

I'm not her. I'm not her.

"Could you please step outside, miss?"

My heart stopped. "Sure, Officer."

I picked up Nestor and cradled him in my arms. The marshal followed me out of the RV, our shoes hammering the metal stairs. The door closed, barely m.u.f.fling the dogs frenzied barking. Outside, four officers made a wall between me and the road.

This is it. This is the end.

"Could I please see your ID?" he said.

s.h.i.+t. I had no ID. Nothing but a fake Canadian pa.s.sport zipped into my jacket.

"Miss, your ID?" He looked from me to the wanted poster, and I saw myself handcuffed and shackled in the back of a squad car. Unless they shot me right here. Nestor yelped and clawed at my arm, and I realized I was crus.h.i.+ng him. I had to say something.

Don't just stand there. Say something!

"I think it's inside somewhere-in my coat or backpack or something."

"I need you to retrieve it."

My throat closed until I could hardly breathe. "Yeah. Right now? I mean, it's kind of crowded in there."

"Yes, now."

I glanced back at Luke, but he was splayed out on his stomach, reaching under a car with Officer Barton crouched beside him. If I didn't play this right, he and Selena would be on their way to prison.

The men near me snapped to attention, and I saw a tall officer approach. "What the h.e.l.l's going on in there?" He wrenched open the RV door, and the men inside stopped what they were doing. He looked at ATF and FBI. "Anything?"

"Three handguns," ATF answered. "All locked and legally registered. No sign of explosives."

"You done here?"

"Yessir."

"Go check out the freezer truck five vehicles down."

The officer looked from me to the flyer the marshal was holding. "That's not her."

I got very still. The marshal didn't answer, but the way his mouth hardened told me he didn't like the other officer telling him what to do.

The tall officer walked away and the marshal's eyes followed him. He folded the flyer and put it back in his pocket. "I won't need your identification."

Okay. Okay. I'm okay, I thought, as he walked off. I thanked Selena silently for making me blond and for the bright pink lipstick she had insisted I wear.

Luke was still trying to retrieve the dogs. Three FBI agents stood between us, sizing up the cars and trucks they hadn't yet searched. Scratchy chatter on their two-way radios mentioned roadblocks across five states.

I nuzzled Nestor, and kept my head low, wondering if any of these agents had been instructed to look for a piece of embroidered silk like the one wound around my neck.

It was freezing even with Nestor in my arms. The cold blew through my tights, but I wasn't going back inside the RV without Luke. Finally, he and Officer Barton headed back with both dogs. Barton faced forward. No easy conversation with Luke.

When they reached us, the FBI turned to check out Luke. They glanced at his face and then at each other. One looked away, uncomfortable, while the other raised his eyebrows and faked a cough.

It's the eyeliner, I realized.

Then the sheriff stepped out of the RV, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. "You're free to go." He handed me a flyer. "The people we're looking for are armed and dangerous. If you run into them, give us a call. The number's here."

I don't know how I managed to say thank you, seeing not one, but two direct lines to my capture. Both 1-800-CALL-FBI and 1-800-AVE-LINE. Somehow I climbed back in the RV, where Selena, Luke, and I stripped the sweaters off the dogs. We moved around each other, barely talking, as we stowed the dogs in their crates.

Selena slid behind the wheel. She s.h.i.+fted into gear and drove forward between the squad cars and the black SUVs painted with U.S. Marshal and FBI emblems.

The RV lumbered along until the freeway was wide open, then the engine rumbled and picked up speed. Selena drove until the roadblock was out of sight, and then without warning, pulled over. Then she bent over the wheel, and started to sob.

I got up and draped my arm across her shoulder. "Selena, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry we got you into this."

She shook her head, still crying, and wouldn't look at me.

"Selena, this was wrong. I never should have asked you for help."

Luke handed Selena a gla.s.s of water. She gulped it down, then her shoulders dropped and she stared into the empty gla.s.s, shaking her head. "I forget what it's like to be afraid of police. Today I remember."

I felt sick to my stomach, hearing that. I'd asked her to risk her life for me. For me! What makes me think I'm so special, I deserve to ruin other people's lives? Selena pulled herself together and started up the engine. I got up and went back to my seat.

Selena fiddled with the radio, and then as the RV filled with the sounds of trumpets and a man belting out a song in Spanish, she pulled back onto the road. She bobbed her head to the beat, and began to sing along, quietly at first, but soon stronger and then almost defiant as we hit cruising speed.

I fingered the embroidered silk at my neck. I probably didn't deserve Selena protecting me or Vera or Harris risking prison to hide me-but the evidence Luke and I carried did.

Suddenly, I realized why Maggie had walked out of the church into what she knew would be a firing squad. She didn't believe her life mattered. What was important was Yates and I continuing the fight.

Her cause mattered and I knew it. Exposing the Paternalists could change millions of lives, but I wondered if I had anywhere near the strength or conviction Maggie did, because it would take all that for Luke and me to succeed.

Luke sat down beside me "You okay?"

His legs brushed mine, and I knew if I leaned against him, he'd hold me up like a pillar.

Careful, I told myself, it could just confuse things, and I moved my leg slightly so our legs didn't touch. "I'm trying, but what if I can't do this?"

"Yeah, well, you got to. You got no other choice." The way Luke looked at me, I saw a glint of Maggie in his eyes where before I'd only seen Barnabas. And I wondered if Luke had another side that I was only now beginning to see.

Streicker

12.

Selena drove the RV down a country road while Luke watched for landmarks. The houses were far apart, and the land rolled out like a churning, white sea broken by green-gray shrub and dried gra.s.s. Barbed-wire fences edged the road. Snow-covered peaks loomed far off in the distance.

Finally, Luke pointed Selena toward a tidy tan house set back from the road. It was boring looking, a house someone would pa.s.s by without thinking about it twice.

The RV lumbered up the long, gravel drive, and Selena slowed to a crawl. Behind the house stood a big, beige metal building with a door large enough to drive a truck through. A tall chain-link fence with razor wire surrounded the building and its gravel parking lot, cutting it off from the house.

We drew closer, and my skin began to itch. The house looked perfectly innocent, no peeling paint or broken windows, and the porch was clean and bare. It would have fit in a suburb anywhere if it had had a lawn out front instead of the stubbly, wild gra.s.s that was mowed short.

We were within seventy-five feet of the house when the front door opened, and two Rottweilers barreled out. They hurtled toward the RV, barking and baring their teeth. Selena braked. "Ayee."

I crouched behind her seat. "You can say that again."

She put the engine in park, but left it running.

Luke peered out the winds.h.i.+eld. "Streicker'll come out. We need to give him a minute."

I saw Luke slip his gun into the back of his jeans under his jacket. "Luke," I said quietly, "what are you doing?"

He turned, and saw that I'd caught him. "I'm not doing anything," he said, showing me his empty hand.

You just lied to me. You don't trust this guy at all.

The Rottweilers leaped against the door of the RV, and the perritos yowled and whined in their crates. Selena threw the RV into reverse. "Let's go."

"Hold on," Luke said.

She put the RV in park, and brushed past us to get to the crying dogs in back. I heard her coo in Spanish, trying to calm them.

A tall man with a shaved head stepped onto the porch. He stood, motorcycle jacket open, hands on his hips, looking us over.

The muscles along my spine pulled tight as I spied the big, black tattoo on his neck. "Is that Streicker?"

"I'm guessing it is," Luke said. He squinted, sizing him up, but I'd already sized Streicker up, and I did not believe Barnabas told Luke to find him.

"I'm going out," Luke said.

"Wait. Are you sure about this guy?"

"Yes," Luke shot back. He opened the door, but left the screen closed between him and the snarling dogs. As if that flimsy thing could stop a hundred pounds of attack dog. "Hey, I'm here to see Streicker."

"Yeah, what do you want with him?"