She felt good against him, her warm weight tight against his back. The softness of her breasts, how they moved against him with each rattle and bounce of the bike as they rode further and further away from that damned city. Aside from Laurel, Atlanta had offered him nothing but grief. And lately, Laurel must have felt the same. They’d both lost friends through mysterious and extremely suspicious circumstances in that city. They’d both been second-guessed by their boss. Sentry, specifically, though Jackson wasn’t exactly championing Laurel’s cause. Yet. Matthias was going to have something to say about that next time he checked in. The whole situation was rotten to its core, rotten all the way into the offices of Geffen and Andre. Then there were sharks in the periphery, people like Caitlyn and how many other conspirators and opportunists lurking about.

He was still yet to explain it all to Laurel, the whole story, Caitlyn. They’d taken only a few minutes to stop by Laurel’s condo, Matthias entering first with a drawn gun just in case, clearing it before holding post at bedroom her door while she packed. If Smedley was indeed part of the problem, then Laurel was bound to have a few visitors, and soon. All the more reason to skip out with her. Get off the grid and hide out for a few days, or weeks. However long it took.

They’d probably figured out who Matthias was. He was fine with that. Let them know everything. Let them know the face of vengeance, first for Ernesto, and the rest of it, for what they’d already put this sweet girl through. Let them know his name. Let them know his wrath.

They’d been on the road for nearly two hours, crossing the Alabama state line and now stopping for a rest at a roadside burger stand outside of Montgomery. In the dirt parking lot, Matthias watched her stretching her back with a quiet groan. “You okay?” he asked.

“I guess we’re both stiff now, huh?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m used to it.”

She gave him a dirty little smile before turning to face their dinner options. She tilted her head from side to side, deciding.

“What?” said Matthias. “Not a burger girl?”

“Not particularly.”

“We can keep riding. I just figured you could use a stretch.”

“I could use food, too. I’m actually more of a fry girl. Fries and a salad and mix it all up. That probably sounds gross to you.”

It actually sounded really good.

Laurel sounded good, too. Her voice had already lifted, a lighter tone, as if she’d been suddenly unburdened by crossing the state line. She had breathed a huge sigh into his back when they’d ridden past the sign. He could feel it through their bodies, she was almost relaxed, unlike the look of fear on her face when he’d found her in that van with Smedley.

After grabbing their food, they found a quiet, shaded picnic table overlooking a small brook. The brook had dried out and the tiny footbridge that crossed its sunbaked clay had looked a little silly, if not sad. Laurel, too, although devouring a fry-salad, had otherwise become as quiet as the brook. Still, it was a comfortable silence while they finished their food, a quiet that would be occasionally broken up by a passing transport truck, and eventually, broken up by Matthias’ awkward introductory statements on how Laurel’s friend might not have been quite so friendly to her.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What friend?”

“Caitlyn.”

Laurel drew the straw out of her mouth and set the drink down, but said nothing.

“I know it’s difficult, and maybe painful to believe. But I’ve uncovered some evidence.” He pointed to his bag. “I can show you, if you—”

She waved his hand at him, waving away his offer of evidence. “Maybe later.” She picked up her drink again, just holding it this time, her gaze floating over Matthias’ shoulders to the footbridge.

“I’m sorry,” Matthias said softly.

No response. Eyes still away from his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Did she set me up?” She was looking at him now, the smallest traces of tears forming in the corner of her eyes, the slightest hint of strain in her voice. “Her and Smedley?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure what that was all about. But I can almost assure you that she set you up before, with the leak.”

“How?”

“Like I said, it was Caitlyn who leaked the info. But she did it while logged into your user account.”

“How do you know?”

“We can just tell these things.”

Laurel sighed. “You know, you can actually talk to me like I’m someone who works at a cybersecurity company. You know that, right? I’m not just—”

“I know, I know . . . I’d just rather show you the data itself.” Matthias looked at her long enough to realize that wasn’t good enough. “I was able to access a database of user habits. You know, fingerprints.”

Laurel nodded.

“Mr. Geffen gave me the key for that. So I used it to match up the session’s fingerprint with Caitlyn. It was something like a ninety percent match.”

She was still holding her drink cup, halfway between the table and her mouth, her body frozen in suspension.

“The data spells it out better than I can,” Matthias said. “Maybe I should just let you draw your own conclusions.”

She finally had the straw to her mouth, taking a long sip and then placing it down with a quiet, hollow-sounding thud. “What if she was set up?” Laurel said. “What if someone, somehow, imported and used her activity profile in the same way they used my account? I think that’s possible.”

“It might be. But I also found out she’s been associating with the biker club that Ernesto’s been investigating.”

“She has?”

“I went to her house. The morning of the attack, a few hours later. There were two bikes in her driveway that I matched to the scene.” He waited for her to say something, but again she was quiet. “So, it doesn’t look too good for her. The fact that she suggested that you go see the Attorney General, and how he so conveniently made time for you in a few hours’ notice. And then everything with the van, and wherever the hell they were bringing you . . .”

“What do you think he wanted to do to me?”

“My guess is as good as yours,” Matthias said. “But I think we both know that it was a good thing I found you.”

At least, he hoped she felt that way. On the outside she seemed happy enough to be away from Atlanta, but Matthias couldn’t help but feel that she was still holding something back. Information, and emotion. He had to take things slowly. “How was your fry salad?” he asked.

“It’s just . . . really confusing. I mean, I don’t even know . . . Where are we going again?”

Matthias took a deep breath, hoping she would, too.

She didn’t. “I’m glad we’re on the road and away from Sentry and the bikers and everything, but. . .”

“We’re actually meeting up with another group of bikers,” Matthias said.

Her expression didn’t change.

“Good bikers,” he said. “The good guys.”

“How do we know?”

“Because I’ve already trusted some of them with my life.”

“Your vets? The vet riders?”

Matthias nodded. “We were originally headed for New Orleans for Bike Week, and then I made the detour here.”

She laughed finally. “Aren’t you glad?”

Matthias smiled. “Aren’t you?”

“We’ll see.”

He winked at her, collected their garbage, and then stuffed it all into the paper bag. “For anyone who wants to hide for a bit, and to stay well protected doing it, hanging with those guys is the right move.”

* * *

He couldn’t blame her for getting a little sore. Before today she’d never even been on a motorcycle. And there she was, riding for hours with minimal breaks, at high speeds, with an increasing anxiety about being spotted by any type of law enforcement. They were essentially on the run. It was a big jump from her normal routine, her normal world of office spaces and computer labs. He’d almost pitied her for that, how things can change so drastically from a new and exciting job opportunity, and from the safety of hacking behind the shield of a cybersecurity firm, to the high-speed evasion of assassins and crooked cops. Matthias had already made that paradigm shift long ago. He’d been well seasoned since his time in Libya where he’d almost been blown up by his own people. He knew all too well the savage underworld, the shadow government, the self-eating snake. And there, on that motorcycle, he hoped he was driving Laurel away from it, not closer.

Leaving Atlanta was a good move, certainly, as was their joining up with his Vet riders. But that could change again in a moment. Matthias stared down the flashing line of stripes along the highway. The road, especially his road, would always be filled with uncertainty.

Laurel had tapped on his shoulder a minute before, their agreed-upon signal to pull over. She had picked an off-ramp that featured signage for a hotel. Through all the danger, the discomfort of riding for hours on a bike, when he saw that sign with a bed logo, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited. Even a little hard, despite some amount of numbness from the ride. The numbness would go away, and fast, the moment they were in the same bed together. Then he’d feel something else, something much better. God, he couldn’t wait to have her under the blankets, their naked bodies finally touching again. He couldn’t wait to be off the bike and with her, and with the freedom to move around. To move in just the right positions. It was all he could think of as he pulled into the parking lot of the Sandtrap Motel.

They went in the office together, each of them getting room cards from desk staff and then walking together down the long row of doors facing a parking lot perched above the highway. It had become dark now, and their walk was lighted with a pale orange glow of the lights, which attracted small buzzing clouds of flying insects. It was good to be on foot, walking and enjoying the slow return of blood flow to some much-needed extremities. It was also good to be away from the traffic, the sound of it muffled considerably behind their closed door, the dangers of the outside world barricaded with the turn of a lock and the slip of a deadbolt. The sound of it sliding home was comforting, and Laurel took a deep breath as she dropped her bag. She scanned the room, and then looked straight at Matthias.

“Room okay?” he said.

She nodded.

“You need anything? Should we head out for food or anything?”

She shook her head and took a few steps toward him over the fake wood laminate floor, as did he toward her. And there in some cheap random motel in Alabama they held each other—a different kind of embrace than her afternoon spent on his motorcycle, but still seemingly as strong as one would hold on for their life. Matthias was all too happy to feel it, to feel the necessity of it, the long squeeze of her hug and the soft weight of her head burying itself into his chest. There, at the same time, they took another deep breath.

“Thanks again,” she said. “You seem to always know when to show up and rescue me.”

“Even at work?” They laughed together, breaking their embrace. “You didn’t seem so thankful then.”

“There especially,” she said. “But really, if you hadn’t come along and done your research into Caitlyn, then I’d still be the guilty party, and, probably by now I’d have the authorities after me.”

Didn’t she know? Matthias had assumed that she’d known about that, assuming that she would have at least suspected that she’d become the suspect, especially since her unceremonious departure from whatever the Attorney General had in store for her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said, her face blank and still.

“I thought you would’ve known.”

“Known what?”

“That you’re most likely still a suspect. As we speak.”

She took another deep breath, but it didn’t sound as relieving as her last, and this time she’d begun biting on the inside of her cheek. She looked away, her gaze roaming around the room again, but not focusing on any one thing but her misery. “Fuck,” she muttered finally.

“I thought, um  . . .”

“I knew that,” she said. “I knew that. I knew that I was a suspect.”

“This is serious, Laurel.”

“I know that, too.” She turned to face him again. “Well, I guess I just didn’t want to know how serious.”

He stared at her for moment, before nodding his head calmly and saying, “I’m gonna clear it all up.”

“Well, you’re pretty much the FBI, aren’t you?”

“No, but I’ll clear it up.”

“With your data?”

“And by finding who’s guilty.”

“Caitlyn?”

“She’s just the beginning. But the first step is to extricate you from the whole thing. To keep you safe. That’s my first goal.”

“But if this thing goes all the way up to the Attorney General . . .” She sat on the bed and grabbed a big clump of her hair. She swore again. “You really think you can take them all on? Just you?”

“Not just me.”

“You and your data.”

“And my team.” He walked over and sat next to her. “And we’re good. Very good.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“This will be over sooner than you think. But you need to stay tough and ride it out for now. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.”

“So what if you’re a fugitive for one day?”

“I’m a fugitive!?”

“No, no,” he laughed, patting her shoulder. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Great.”

“But you’re definitely a person of interest, and they’re definitely looking for you. Which is why we made a good choice in leaving Georgia completely, and signing in here with a fake name.”

“What about your bike parked out front?”

He grinned. “And moving my bike and hiding it somewhere else.”