Riley got off the highway at Jackson, Tennessee, and found a Walmart.
“We need necessities,” she said. “Clothes and food.”
“I asked Vernon to stock food for us,” Emerson said.
“I looked through the cabinets and fridge. They’re filled with beer and chips and beef jerky. Get some money out of the duffel bag. We’re going shopping.”
An hour later they had new sweatshirts and jeans, all of the basic food groups plus M&M’s, and the RV tank full of diesel fuel.
“We can park here for the night,” Riley said. “No one would think of looking for Emerson Knight in a Walmart parking lot.”
Riley slept in a T-shirt and sweatpants in the cab-over bunk and Emerson took the queen bed in the back. Emerson slept like the dead, and Riley woke with every sound. A little before seven she stuffed her feet into her sneakers, zipped up her new sweatshirt, and shuffled off to Walmart. She returned minutes later with coffee and doughnuts.
“You made the morning news,” she said to Emerson. “Me too. It’s awful. They had the snack bar television tuned to a Washington station, and the news came on while I was waiting for fresh coffee. The conjecture is that you and an accomplice broke into my apartment and kidnapped me. They described you as an eccentric billionaire gone berserk. Anyone seeing either of us should contact the authorities immediately.”
“Did they show pictures of us?”
“Yes. You were in a tux and you had a ponytail. I almost didn’t recognize you. My picture looked like a mug shot. I think it was taken on my first day at Blane-Grunwald for my employment file.”
“Did anyone recognize you?”
“Not that was apparent, but we should get on the road. A lot of people saw us yesterday while we were shopping and getting fuel. I’m sorry I made us go shopping. It was a bad idea.”
“Not at all. We had to stop for fuel anyway. At least they don’t know where we’re going. Not yet, anyway.”
Eight hours later Riley pulled into a KOA campground on South Choctaw Road near Oklahoma City.
“I can’t keep driving,” Riley said. “I can’t sit anymore, and I’m having a hard time staying awake.”
“This should be okay as long as we don’t give them our real names,” Emerson said. “There’s no reason why anyone should suspect we’re in this motor home.”
“We should have gotten disguises and fake IDs,” Riley said.
“That would be helpful,” Emerson said. “I didn’t anticipate television coverage.”
Riley hadn’t anticipated any of this. She could barely believe it was happening. When she’d woken up this morning her first thought had been to decide what she should wear to work. This was instantly followed by a mental reboot, because there was no work. At least not at Blane-Grunwald.
She eased the Redhawk into visitor parking and Emerson went into the office to register. Not a lot going on in the campground. It was off-season on a weekday. Mostly empty spaces. Emerson returned and directed Riley to a spot toward the back of the campground.
“Who are we?” she asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dugan.”
“We’re married?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“You don’t intend to act married, do you? I mean, at night and all.”
“Do you think I should?”
“No!”
“Then I guess I won’t.”
There was a long silence.
“Was that awkward?” Emerson asked.
“Yes.”
“I could cloud your mind so you don’t remember.”
“Do not mess with my mind. Why did you pick the name Dugan?”
“I had a dog named Dugan.”
“What kind of dog?”
“Brown. I don’t remember him very well. I was quite young and we didn’t have him very long. He bit my father, and my father replaced him with a giraffe.”
“You had a strange childhood.”
“Everyone’s childhood is strange. It prepares you for the strangeness of adulthood.”
Riley maneuvered the RV into its assigned space, and Emerson jumped out and plugged them into the electrical hookup.
“All the comforts of home,” Emerson said, back in the Redhawk, settling into a swivel club chair.
“No television.”
“Is that important to you?”
“It would be nice to get the news,” Riley said.
“I get the news on my computer.”
“We don’t have one of those either,” Riley said.
“The news is overrated anyway,” Emerson said. “We tried listening to the news on the radio this morning and it was depressing.”
Riley was pacing in the RV, trying to get some exercise without going out and showing her face. They didn’t have any immediate neighbors, but she thought the campground might have security cameras. She was freaked out enough. She didn’t want the Grunwald goon squad breaking her door down in the middle of the night.
“I don’t see how this is going to end well for us,” Riley said.
“I have a plan.”
“Does it involve fleeing to a foreign country and surrounding ourselves with bodyguards?”
“I’m going to find the stolen gold and expose the Grunwalds. They’ll be put in jail and we’ll be heroes.”
“How are you going to do this?”
“I haven’t got the details worked out.”
“You have no clue.”
“Not at the moment, but I’m sure it will come to me.”
“You think the gold is hidden on the air force base.”
“Yes. Or in the vicinity.”
“Are you familiar with the air force base? Do you have a map? Aerial photographs? Inside information?”
“No, no, no, and no.”
“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear.”
“I’ve made arrangements for a guide,” Emerson said.
Riley nodded. “I guess that could work. It’s someone reliable, right? Knows the area in and out?”
“I really don’t know. Vernon made the arrangements.”
“Oh boy.”
“You grew up in Texas,” Emerson said. “Groom Lake was practically in your backyard. You must have some familiarity with it.”
“Nope. Just the usual urban legend. When we took a vacation we opted for Six Flags. Groom Lake wasn’t in the running. It’s actually about a twelve-hour drive.”
Riley was back on the road after another restless night. The sky was a brilliant blue and the air was crisp. Emerson was silent in the seat next to her. Her second cup of coffee of the day was in the cup holder. She was on Interstate 40 and in six hours they’d reach Amarillo. If she took loop 335 she’d be home in Bishop Hills.
Ten years ago she’d been the country girl going off on a great adventure, anxious to leave Texas. She loved her family but she’d wanted independence. She’d wanted to experience a larger world, to make her mark. And now here she was heading back to Texas under strange circumstances. Not the triumphant return she’d hoped for. And she wouldn’t be taking the loop road this trip either. Too dangerous.
“I need to find a way to contact my parents and tell them I’m okay,” Riley said.
“Understood. I’m sure I can find a way to make an untraceable contact when we get to Vegas.”
He’s on the hunt, Riley thought. He’s stimulated by this. She could see it in his eyes and in his posture. She could feel the energy radiating off him. He wasn’t the hunted. He was the hunter. And that’s where they differed. She felt hunted. She was numb with disbelief that her life had taken this turn. She was going through the motions of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was in survival mode, and Emerson had become the Caped Crusader. Okay, she admitted to herself, Emerson has probably always been the Caped Crusader. The man has no fear. It’s all like a game to him.
The ache in her chest started an hour before they reached Amarillo. She was homesick. The road and the landscape were familiar and she could feel the pull of family. She hadn’t been home since Christmas. Too long, she thought. If she somehow made it through this she’d visit more often.
They motored along without speaking, Emerson lost in his own thoughts, Riley not trusting her voice. They were on the outskirts of Amarillo, and Riley felt the ache begin to lift. The road was forcing her to look forward. They were approaching the no-man’s-land between Amarillo and Tucumcari, New Mexico, now. One of those stretches where it seemed like the white lane lines went on forever and never seemed to reach human habitation.
She checked her side mirror and saw a vehicle approaching from the rear. It was a red Jeep traveling at high speed. In moments it was on her, passing her, and swerving back into her lane ahead of her. The Jeep instantly slowed to a crawl and Riley had to stomp on the brakes to keep from plowing into it. Riley pulled left to pass and the Jeep veered in front of her, blocking her.
“How odd,” Emerson said, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“There’s a second car on my back bumper,” Riley said. “It’s a black SUV.”
PING! PING! PING! A bullet took out the side mirror.
“They’re shooting at us,” Riley said.
She slammed the brake pedal to the floor, the Redhawk fishtailed to a stop, and the black SUV crashed into the back of the motor home with a loud BANG! Riley pulled forward and stuck her head out the window. The entire front of the SUV was crumpled, and steam spewed out from under the hood.
The red Jeep came to a stop several car lengths in front of the Redhawk. The driver’s door opened and Rollo jumped out and opened fire.
“Holy crap!” Riley said.
Emerson narrowed his eyes. “Ramming speed, Mr. Sulu.”
Riley floored the gas pedal, ducked behind the steering wheel, and aimed for Rollo. Rollo continued to shoot, peppering the windshield, registering surprised horror only an instant before Riley bounced him off the front of the Redhawk and sent him airborne. She put the Redhawk into reverse and backed into Rollo’s Jeep, pushing it off the road and into a ditch.
“Just in case he’s not dead,” Riley said.
Emerson raised an eyebrow. “This is a new side to you.”
“I might have gotten carried away what with being shot at and all.”
“I’m actually quite turned on.”
“You’re a very strange man.”
“Thank you. I have my moments.”
Rollo was a crumpled heap alongside the road, and the man in the black SUV was on his feet and limping away from them. A car traveling in the oncoming lane pulled over and stopped. A good Samaritan looking to help.
“Do you suppose the hit-and-run rules apply when you’ve run over someone who tried to kill you?” Riley asked.
“I imagine it’s a gray area.”
A second car came to a stop in the oncoming lane. The drivers of both cars were out and running toward Rollo.
“We’re not needed here,” Riley said, pulling away from Rollo’s car and easing the Redhawk back onto the road.
“I agree,” Emerson said. “Time to move on.”
Riley squinted through a small clear patch of glass in the windshield. “It’s amazing that we’re alive, considering how many rounds he pumped into this RV.”
“The impact glass helped,” Emerson said. “And he was sighting high.”
“We’re going to have to abandon the Redhawk. And it would be best if it wasn’t found. I don’t want to implicate Vernon’s friend in this.”
“I’ve instructed Vernon to say that the Redhawk was stolen, if anyone should ask. This won’t reflect badly on him or his friend. We can leave the beast on the side of the road. Our larger problem will be getting to Nevada without it.”
“We’ve got a ways to walk,” Riley said. “And we’re going to have to do it off-road, but I know where we can find a ride.”