Convicted by Kim Fielding

Author:Kim Fielding [Fielding, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

They left Orlando before dawn, each with a paper cup of coffee. They’d also grabbed some fruit and pastries, which Kurt figured would hold off hunger for a while. They spoke very little while packing up and even once they were on the road. Silence had reigned since Kurt’s speech the previous afternoon, which was too bad: Kurt missed Des’s constant chatter. But he meant what he’d said about culpability, and he had no intention of softening the impact of those words. Des needed to hear that particular truth.

Kurt drove all day, taking only short breaks for gas, snacks, and bathrooms. As they traveled the length of the panhandle, the flat greenness took on an unnatural aura in Kurt’s California-bred eyes. He was used to shades of brown and beige and sagey gray-greens. Even when the air in LA was at its worst, he was used to seeing angular mountains thrusting up from the horizon.

“Where are we heading?” It was the first time Des had spoken in hours, and his tone was subdued.

“Little town in Mississippi, southeast of Jackson. Roebuck Springs.”

“How many days until we get there?”

“You don’t remember the trip from when you went with Krane?”

Des shook his head. “No. It’s like with motel rooms—if you spend enough time on the road, one trip blurs into the others.”

Kurt believed that. He certainly couldn’t recall all the details of marching through jungles. There must have been differences in the landscape, but all he remembered was mud and misery. “We’ll be there tonight,” he said. “Late. It’s a pretty long haul.”

“Don’t you get tired of driving?”

“Not really. Anyway, you’re not taking a turn. Bureau wouldn’t approve.”

“Because I might try to escape?”

“No.” Kurt didn’t think he would, at least not this early in the trip. He was enjoying his freedom and getting nice lodging and food, so running made little sense. “They’re protective of their property. During training they made me spend hours behind the wheel.” He hadn’t considered that aspect necessary—Los Angeles had perfected his skills as a defensive and offensive driver already—but the Bureau had insisted. They made him do weapons training too, even though he was already far too proficient with a gun.

“I can’t drive anyway,” Des said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Your license expired seventeen years ago.”

“Never had one. Never learned to drive, actually.”

He said it cheerfully enough, but the words made Kurt frown. Des had spent his childhood in poverty and chaos, his youth homeless or playing lackey to a psychopath, and the rest of his life in a cell. He must have missed out on so many things in addition to the joy of hitting the gas and zooming down the road.

They’d gone another twenty miles when Des spoke again. “You had several nightmares last night.”

“We can get you earplugs if I’m disturbing your beauty sleep.” It had been an especially rough night, made worse because he knew he’d brought it on himself with that little speech he’d given at the Royal Tropics.

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