Eleven ♥
*
Grant watched Misty cooking. She looked comfortable doing it. It wasn't that he doubted the claim that she'd lost her memories. It explained more than a little bit about the strange ways that she'd been acting.
But there were things about her that made it hard to believe, nonetheless. The cooking was one of them. Nobody learned to cook like that in a year. Why hadn't she forgotten that, when she had forgotten so many other things? When she'd forgotten him, forgotten the family that the two of them had been planning to build? Of all the things in her life, all the answers that both of them wanted, the only thing that she remembered, apparently, was how to cook a plate of eggs.
She shifted the pan and poured the eggs off onto a pair of plates. Wordlessly, she handed one off to Grant. He took it, and moved to the table. As if he weren't freaking out. Neither of them needed to be told that something was wrong. It was as obvious as could be.
Grant let out a breath and ate. Misty was as good a cook as she'd ever been. It had always been something that he had looked forward to about his life with her. The chance to have someone who really loved to make delicious food.
Maybe he could have found another woman just like that. He didn't. Didn't even try. That was the space reserved for one woman in his mind.
"So what are we going to do next?"
"Do next?" The question was unexpected enough that Grant almost laughed. It was strange to hear her asking it. After all, he barely knew what was going on. The woman sitting across from him had made such a serious effort to make sure that he didn't know anything that there was really no way for him to make a plan.
"I don't think we're going to be able to stay here forever, do you?"
"No," he admitted. "They'll probably find this place, eventually. But we've got plenty of time. There's no connection between Grant Holloway and this house. As far as any records are concerned, this place doesn't exist."
"That's not going to last forever."
"You're not looking at the silver lining," Grant said. "This is a chance to kick the can down the road pretty far. I bet we've got a week, minimum."
Misty watched him. Grant wondered if there had been seven uninterrupted days in the entire life that she could remember. She seemed like she was so far past worn down that she didn't even remember what being caught up felt like.
"So we shouldn't make a plan now?"
"Instead of eating?"
Misty let out a breath. He could see the frustration on her face. What he couldn't see was the understanding in her eyes that signaled that she knew why he was doing this. As far as he could tell, she didn't. But eventually, she had to figure it out. He hoped, anyways.
"I'm not just being a shit, you know."
"You're not?"
Grant stuffed a fork-full of eggs into his mouth.
"You're awful acrobatic for someone who just got shot."
Misty looked down at her leg and pushed her eggs around the plate. "I guess it wasn't that bad."
"You're confident enough to go on without getting it treated? What if it ruins your hips? You'll regret that one for years to come."
"There's one thing I'll admit. I wouldn't regret going to the hospital nearly as long."
Grant opened his mouth to crack wise. He closed it again. There was no reason to get into a fight, regardless of what he might have wanted to do. Besides, he didn't even want to fight. He just wanted to move on. Wanted to pretend, for a little while, that things were going just fine and dandy. That his life wasn't falling apart at home. That Misty was here because she wanted to be, not because it was convenient. Grant was fine being used. He just needed the illusion.
He let out a breath. It was a long time before he spoke. When he did, the heat had gone out of his voice. "Alright, well. If we're both going to make a plan, then we both need to know what we're up against. It's not much use for me to make suggestions if they're just going to get shot down because I didn't even know not to make them."
Misty looked at him. She didn't look conflicted, or doubtful. But she was considering it, all the same, and he knew that it was just a matter of time before she came to a conclusion.
"Alright," she said finally. "The whole thing."
"The whole thing?"
"What I know of it," Misty corrected, with a nod.
"Let's hear it."
"I was involved in some… stuff."
"That's very illuminating," Grant said; he made no special effort to hide his frustration from her. Non-answers weren't something that he wanted desperately to hear.
"I don't know how I got into it, or how I was trained. Something happened–nobody seemed interested in filling me in afterward–and I woke up in a hospital in Suffolk."
"In England?"
"The United Kingdom," she said. "Yeah."
"Okay, so starting there. You wake up in a hospital. What DO you know?"
She chewed her lip.
"I know that I was approached by several men over the next several days. Men who were working for at least two governments. Two government agents came to me with badges, that is. One was Joe Green, the guy I told you about. The other was working with British intelligence. They both had questions. Neither got answers."
"That sounds like an admirable result for someone who didn't even know what she was being asked about."
"I suppose that's why they didn't kill me right then and there. I didn't hurt them. Something went wrong but no information got out. That's when they get real upset."
"You're letting information get out now," Grant offered.
"And I've been telling you for two days that I don't want to tell you about it," Misty countered.
"Okay. Two intelligence guys. What happens after you get out of the hospital? How do you get here from there?"
"Wait, I'm not done with the hospital yet. There were other men, too. At least one who I imagine thought we were romantically involved."
Grant's teeth grit together. He was better than this. At least, that was what he told himself. He almost managed to believe it, and did an admirable job hiding his jealousy even from himself.
"Were you?"
"At the time, I supposed it was possible. It wasn't until later that Greene contacted me again, separately. Privately. I was working under him, and he could prove it. Jonathan was a mission."
"Jonathan?"
"The businessman. The one who thought I was his bride to be."
"So you weren't?"
"I'm not sure how well I come out of this story, Grant."
"Then at least answer the question," he said. Misty's lips pursed together, but her gaze remained levelly on Grant's face. She looked like she was hoping for an excuse not to answer. If that was what she wanted, then she was lucky enough to get it.
Grant's phone rang. He pulled it out, and automatically hit the button to hang up. The silence only lasted a moment before it rang again; he didn't even have time to return it to his pocket.
The name across the screen was 'Unknown'. He pursed his lips and looked at it. It rang a second time. A third ring. A fourth. It would go to voicemail. If it was important, then he would listen to it afterward. But he wasn't in the mood to engage with some telemarketer right now.
A fifth ring. A sixth. It shouldn't have gone on this far without going through to voicemail. After the ninth ring, he finally decided that he'd waited long enough. He swiped on the green circle, and the call connected.
Doubtfully, Grant put the phone to his ear. There was a long moment of silence, neither of the people involved in the call daring to speak. He held his breath. Another long moment passed. He risked it.
"Hello?"
Before he even finished the word the noise began. It couldn't be called anything else. Just 'noise.' It was so ear-piercing that he pulled the phone immediately away from his ears. Still, his hands moved too slowly to save him from the pain. It was like a hundred nails scratching a hundred chalkboards, at a hundred different speeds.
He didn't remember dropping the phone, but by the time he regained his senses, the phone's tiny speaker still chirped from the ground.
"Jesus," he said.
Misty watched him until he looked back at her, and then her eyes dropped to the phone.
"Friend of yours?"
"No," Grant said. "Not a friend."
"Maybe you're in some trouble."
"Maybe I am," Grant admitted. He knew where the trouble was coming from. What he didn't know was how they'd gotten his number, and how much it was going to bite him in the ass.
He reached down and picked his phone up, swiped the button to hang up. The noise died, feet away from his head. His ear still hurt a little, but it had faded to something almost indistinguishable from the headache that he had, left-over from the night before and the lack of sleep.
"I guess you're wanting to know what's going on with me, then? I guess it's only fair."
"Are you offering?"
"Can I fall back on saying that I can't comment on an ongoing investigation?"
"Be real," Misty joked. "You pissed off some US Government intelligence guys. There's a good chance that you don't have any active investigations. Other than the search for yourself, of course. You know where you are?"
"Funny."
"So. What's the story?"
"Pissed off some hackers. They think they're hot stuff, fighting the good fight. Standing up against Big Brother and all that. I'm Big Brother, I suppose. And since I'm investigating them, and looking to make them stop, I'm number one on their hit list."
Misty's head bobbed from side-to-side as she considered it. Grant fell onto the couch. He should get rid of the phone, and he knew it. He let out a long breath, opened a window, and tossed it out into the street. Within a couple minutes, a car would drive by, and that would be the end of that.
"Everything's going to be fine," Misty said. Grant knew it was a lie. But if it was a comforting lie, then at least he could accept it for what it was.
"So we'll have to deal with them at some point, same as everything else. Just keep head-down, make sure not to piss anyone off, right?"
"Right," Misty said. "Now. Let's talk about plans."
The idea of staying around suddenly didn't seem as appealing. Grant held his head in his hands and settled into the couch. "Yeah. Plans. So let's start with questions. How far will they go?"
"I don't know," Misty said. "I haven't made it across the border yet. I don't have a passport, that I know of. Never saw one."
"You don't always need one," Grant said, vaguely. There were plenty of people getting across the borders, in every direction, without a passport. It was only an issue when someone asked to see one. As long as you avoid looking suspicious, you don't run into too much trouble. "But it's hard to get across, and hard to get back. So if you're not sure they won't follow you, then you might as well not go anywhere."
"What, then? We wait for them to show up?"
"I'm not saying that," Grant sighed. He wasn't really sure what it was that he was supposedly saying. There was an idea in his head, one that seemed far away. If only he could brush the cobwebs out of his head, he could just get down to figuring out what it was. But as it stood he just knew that they had to keep looking until they figured something out.
What else could they do, though?
"We can't outrun them."
"I've been managing it for almost a year now."
"But don't you want to relax?"
"I don't think about it," Misty answered. She sounded like it was the truth. Like she had long-since given up thinking about the possibility. It almost sad enough that it hurt to think about.
"Then what? We keep moving. Is there an end game in mind?"
She looked at the ground and shrugged.
"Fine. I can think of something."
Misty looked up, curious. He pursed his lips. "I know a guy, out west. If we can get on a boat, then we've got a good chance of disappearing. Pretty much permanently, if we can live on the boat."
"What, forever?"
"He owes me a favor from back in the day. We get out to sea, and it's a hard time finding people even for the government."
"How are we going to eat?"
"You stop in to port every few weeks. But by then, we could be stopping into a port in Mexico, or in Peru."
"And you need passports."
"And I need a passport, sure."
"You're serious about this."
Grant let out a breath and shrugged. "It's the best call."
"What about your life here?"
Grant looked at the house. He'd been there a dozen times, maybe, in the four years that he owned it. There was a computer that he had used once to look at pictures of girls. It was something he might need if he came here again, but it wasn't something he cared about.
And back at his apartment? What was he leaving behind there? He already knew the answer: a whole lot of nothing much.
"What life?"
"Your job. You're the Sheriff for Christ's sake."
"Apparently not any more."
"So then… when do we leave?"
Grant slid up next to her and pressed his lips against hers. "I could think of a couple things I'd like to do before I get back on the road. I'm not looking to go on the road for six hours just yet."
His hand found her waist. She turned into him, kissing him back. Shifting her weight to press herself up against him. He liked it. He felt himself stiffening in his jeans. And then they froze.
There was a knock at the door. Nobody was supposed to know that he was here. Nobody was supposed to know whether or not he was ever here, and nobody was ever supposed to come looking. That was all a given.
Her voice was a low whisper. "Are we expecting guests?"
"Get ready to go," he answered. "We're going on the road."
She didn't answer, except to check her satchel. If she'd taken anything out of it, he didn't see it. But she checked, quick but thorough, nonetheless. Grant moved, low enough to avoid someone trying to peer through the upper viewing glass of the window. He pressed himself silently up against the door, and then stood up until he could see out the peephole. And he saw exactly what he didn't want to see.
Outside was a man in uniform. He had two badges, one on his shirt, and a logo emblazoned on his hat. Either one was enough to tell Grant who was standing outside the door. State police.