He had that momentary “deer in the headlights” look, but quickly recovered. “Ma’am, I invoke my right to remain silent as guaranteed by the Fifth Amendment lest I incriminate myself and end up in deep trouble.”
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I’ll say this for you, Ramirez, you’re quick on your feet.” Then instantly my humor was gone. “Did you tell your father how much I appreciate what he’s doing for us?”
“I did. He brushed it off like it was nothing. But he knows.”
“And you too,” I added. “We’d be lost without you. I can’t believe what I said earlier.”
“Good. Maybe if you’re stricken with guilt, you’ll take mercy on us males and not spend forever when we get in the store.”
“Ha!” I cried. “Dream on.”
By 5:45, we had entered the south part of the Salt Lake Valley and ran headlong into a major traffic jam. I had been rereading Grandpère’s materials and hadn’t been watching. “What’s up?”
“Can’t tell. Maybe road construction, maybe an accident.”
I made a face.
“But all is not lost,” Rick added quickly, pointing to a large sign up ahead. “There’s a Kohl’s at the next exit.”
“Well done, Ricardo,” I said. “You have redeemed yourself.”
Rick shrugged. “While you’re shopping, I’ll call Dad and check in with him.”
“Coward.” I didn’t add that I really didn’t want him with me, hanging back, looking at his watch every ten seconds, wondering how long it was going to take. This wasn’t a major shopping trip. I just needed something that wasn’t already old, dirty, or smelly. I had way too much on my mind for anything else. My plan was to go in fast, find what I wanted for me and Cody, and be back out in under half an hour. “But thanks,” I added, and went back to reading.
“Man, what a mess,” he said a few minutes later.
“It looks like we’re going down to one lane,” Cody said, leaning over the seat.
“And right before the exit,” Rick agreed.
I put the papers away and surveyed the situation. “The thing that makes me crazy,” I said as I watched the cars on our left slip by us, “is that even though they can see what is coming, there are always those who stay in the inside lanes as long as possible so they don’t have to wait like the rest of us.”
“That’s my dad’s favorite gripe too,” he said.
I peered ahead. We were about a hundred yards from where the lanes merged, and another hundred yards from the exit. “Since you’re getting off here, can you get on the shoulder and squeeze by?”
He shot me a dirty look. “And slip by all these others who are waiting their turn, you mean?”
I felt my face flush. “You’re getting off at the exit. It’s not like you’re trying to cut ahead of them.”
No answer to that, but no movement either. I decided that in light of what had happened with the speed limit sign and our experience with the sports car, I was treading on thin ice, so I clamped my mouth shut and settled in to wait. Which was not my strength. I had always thought that the old saying about patience being a virtue was highly overrated.
But I couldn’t let Rick get by with that last snippy comment. “If you were really smart, you wouldn’t pick a fight me with right now, Mr. Ramirez. I’d wait until you’ve fed me and got me some new clothes.”
He laughed. “Got it.”
We moved forward slowly, one car length at a time. Cars were passing us on the left, squeezing in up ahead and forcing our lane to a bare crawl. We went from four lanes to three, then from three to two. One more merge to go. I was happy to see that most people had already merged in with us.
Then movement caught my eye. Behind us in the inside lane, a guy driving a red pickup was moving up on us. It had at least two feet of ground clearance, huge tires, and spotlights on the rack above the cab. As he passed, I saw there was a woman with him and wondered if she needed a hoist to get into something that high. But the guy was the perfect fit for the truck: shaved head, three-day-old whiskers, white tank top, biceps like a quarter of beef.
He passed another four or five cars, then braked and turned on his right signal.
“See what I mean?” I exclaimed. “That bugs me so much.”
The guy edged in, trying to stick the nose of his truck between two cars.
I rolled down the window. “Close it up! Close it up,” I yelled. “Don’t let him in.”
“Danni! Roll up the window.”
I ignored him. To my great joy, the other drivers, seeing what the guy was up to, closed ranks until front and rear bumpers were almost touching.
I looked at Rick. “Don’t you let him in.”
“For crying out loud, Danni. Maybe his wife is having a baby or something.”
“Yeah, right. You don’t even know if that lady is his wife.”
We were three cars away from the red intruder. His right front fender was just inches from the other cars. There was a long, angry honk that I was pretty sure was from him. Honk all you want. Wait your turn like the rest of us.
He was going to have to do something, because just ahead of him was a sign blinking the words SINGLE LANE AHEAD along with a flashing arrow pointing right.
Foot by foot, we moved closer to the merge point. I was elated. One more car length and we would be past him.
“If you yell at him as we go by,” Rick said, “I’m getting out and walking.”
I glanced at Rick, not sure if he was kidding. I didn’t think he was.
And in that split second of lost focus, a five-foot gap opened up between us and the next car. Instantly, the Ram lurched forward, inserting his nose between us and the next guy. Rick had to tap his brakes to avoid hitting him. Then, adding insult to injury, the woman rolled down her window and gave us a cheery wave of thanks.
Fuming, I reached across Rick and laid on the horn.
Rick knocked my hand away. “What is the matter with you?”
My anger flashed at him. “It’s not right that he can get away with that,” I muttered. “It’s not fair.”
Rick shook his head.
I knew my reaction was partly due to my lack of sleep and a truckload of stress, but I didn’t need another lecture from him. Then I had an idea. I picked up the pouch, clutching it to my chest.
Seeing the movement, Rick shot me a look. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything,” I fired back. But even as I said it, I pulled the pouch closer, closed my eyes, and made a wish. The flashing sign momentarily blacked out. I held my breath. When it came on again, I punched the air. “All right!” I crowed.
The sign was now blinking a new message. And while I felt a little twinge of guilt, I could easily ignore it. The sign now read
HEY BLOCKHEAD IN THE RED PICKUP.
TAKE YOUR TURN LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE.
I stole a glance at Rick, whose lips were pulled into a thin, hard line.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Then, to my satisfaction, all up and down the line, cars tapped their horns to express their total agreement.
We finally exited the freeway and left Johnny Redneck moving north. Which, to be honest, was a big relief. As we had crept forward, I suddenly wondered what would happen if the guy somehow decided it was us who had made the sign change. I could picture him grabbing a crowbar, jumping out of his pickup, and pounding poor Rick into a two-inch high mound of pulp while I looked on helplessly. But the guy had no way of knowing who had changed the sign, and a minute or two later, we turned off and headed for Kohl’s, and I relaxed.
Cody and I were in and out of the store before Rick had finished talking with his father. I wasn’t after something spectacular. Anything was better than what I had on. Though Rick seemed surprised—and pleased—to see us so quickly, he said nothing as we got in and started north again.
The rest of the way into Salt Lake was like riding in a hearse. I didn’t dare look at Rick, and as near as I could tell, he
never took his eyes off the road. Sensing the tension, Cody sat in the back and said nothing.
As we pulled into the motel’s parking lot, I finally spoke. “Just say it.”
“I’ve nothing to say.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve been saying it all the way here in your head. So you may as well say it out loud.”
He just shook his head, but as we reached the front door and he held it open for me, he finally spoke. “First the woman in the sports car. Now a guy that looks like a refrigerator in a T-shirt. That’s not right up there with saving downed pilots or rescuing your husband from the Gestapo, is it?”
I said nothing, but I felt my face go hot.
“And that’s all you’ve got to say?”
My shoulders lifted and fell. “It was a stupid thing to do. Do you want me to turn in my driver’s license?”
To my surprise, his face softened. “It’s been a rough two days for you, Danni.”
“That’s no excuse for being a jerk.”
“I know. But it is an explanation.”
Not only that, but it was an offer of a truce, and I took it gladly.
Chapter 50
“Well, don’t you clean up nice?”
“Thank you,” I said, blushing a little. I wasn’t used to seeing such open admiration in his eyes.
“Nice . . . umm . . . capris.”
I laughed. “These aren’t capris. These are just shorts. But thanks anyway.”
“Oh.”
Walking over to the edge of the pool, I called to Cody. “Okay, little bro. It’s your turn in the tub.”
He came over. “After swimming? You gotta be kidding.”
“On your way. Get the smell of the chlorine off.”
He kicked off from the side, floating on his back.
“I mean it, Code. It’s almost nine thirty, and there’s no sleeping in tomorrow.”
“Sheesh!” he said in disgust. “I’m just getting my towel. Gimme a break.”
“I left the door open a crack. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
He waved, climbed out of the pool, grabbed his towel, and went inside.
I sat down beside Rick. “Did your dad make it back yet?”
“Not yet. He wants to make sure the girls are asleep first. It’s been a long day for them.”
“And for you? Aren’t you tired?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t up all night. I’m okay. Oh, by the way, Caitlin called.”
“Caitlin?”
“You know, from the phone store in Price?”
“Oh.” That seemed like days ago. “And?”
“A man showed up just before closing time. Short, plump guy.”
“Gordo,” I said, my pulse suddenly racing.
“I think so. She said he had black hair and dark eyes that sent shivers up her back. She said she was glad she wasn’t in the store alone. He claimed to be an employee of your father, who had sent him to make sure you got home safely.”
So they had been able to track Rick’s phone. “Did she happen to see what kind of vehicle he was driving?”
“Guess.”
“A black Hummer.”
“You got it.” He shook his head. “We can’t underestimate these guys, Danni. They’re not missing much.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and one other thing. Caitlin said he asked if you were carrying an old-looking purse.”
“Really?” So El Cobra did suspect there was something unusual about the pouch. Maybe we could work that to our advantage somehow. I was tired of running from Doc and Gordo and El Cobra and of being sick with worry about my parents and whether or not we were being tracked every second. “So what does your dad make of all this?”
“He’s relieved you’re meeting with the FBI tomorrow. Though he thinks we shouldn’t have waited.”
“Do you agree?”
“Not anymore. Who knows what tomorrow’s going to bring? You and Cody need to get a good rest.”
“Thank you. I was starting to wonder if it was me just being stupid or not.” I pulled a face. “Again!” I turned to face him. “I don’t know what got into me today, Rick. First the lady in the sports car, then the guy in the pickup truck. What’s the matter with me?”
“I’d rather focus on another question.”
“Okay. Just know I’m getting tireder by the second.”
“Tireder? That’s pretty serious.”
“Okay, more tired. So what’s the question?”
He reached down beside his deck chair and picked up a thin pad of paper; it had the motel’s logo at the top, and it was covered with writing.
“What?” I teased. “You’ve been making notes?”
“A list, actually.” He wasn’t smiling as he peered more closely at the paper. “A list of all the important things in this equation. I wanted to see if we could make sense of them. Feel free to make comments or corrections, or stop me if I’m making you mad.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“Number one. Three years ago, your grandfather gave you a very old pouch that has been in your family for umpteen generations—Le Gardien, or the Guardian. At the same time, he also gave you four charges, or the Four Remembers, as he called them, and said they would be influential in your life if you let them.”
“Check.”
“Two. Up until the day before yesterday, the pouch was just a quaint family heirloom hanging on your wall. Then suddenly, all sorts of strange things began to happen.” He shot me a sharp look. “Some of which seem to have been instigated by—well, let’s just say they didn’t spring from the noblest of motives on your part. These include changing speed limit signs, a—”
“I got it, Rick,” I cut in quickly. “Check.”
“Third. This remarkable change happened on the same day that a gang of violent and dangerous men decide to invade your home and hold your family for ransom. A very big ransom.”
“Check.”
“I’m not done with number three.”
“Sorry. Uncheck.”
“The Guardian further ‘comes to life,’ for want of a better term, and starts doing all kinds of impossible things.” He smiled faintly. “I was going to say magical things, but that doesn’t feel quite right. Now, the plot thickens. After a quite miraculous escape—”
“Quite.”
“You learn from Grandpère that he has put an envelope in your overnight bag without you knowing it.”
“Or seeing it until he told me about it.”
“Yeah, that too.” He took a quick breath. “In the envelope, you find a letter of explanation from your grandfather, an excerpt from his life history, a journal entry from—” He stopped. “What?”
“Do you always think like this? I mean, I’m not complaining. I think it’s wonderful. As I sat in the tub tonight, I was trying to sort it all out in my head, and it’s still one big jumble to me.”
“Then stop making fun of me,” he shot back. “This is serious.”
“I wasn’t making fun. I mean it. This is what I need. Keep going.”
“Okay.” He found his place on his list. “And entries from your great-grandmother’s journal and life story,” he concluded. “Does that about cover it?”
Reaching across, I touched his hand. “Excellent work, Sherlock. I am very impressed.”
To my surprise, he took my hand, interlocked his fingers with mine, and then continued. It was a good thing he was reading from the paper, because I was gawking at his hand on mine. This was the first time he had ever held my hand.
“With your permission, I would like to ask you some questions about your grandfather. I hope they will clarify the issues further.”
I smiled. “Permission granted.”
“Okay. First, I—”
“I can keep track of them without you numbering them,” I said, squeezing his hand. I smiled to let him know I was only teasing. He squeezed it back, and I decided he could ask me as many questions as he wanted. And number them any way he wanted to.
“Fi
rst, how did your grandfather know that what he included in that envelope would be of great significance to you?”
“That’s easy. What he shared is incredible. Even if nothing bad was happening, it would still be of great significance to me.”
“Right, right. Let me say it a different way. He writes you this letter, saying that he feels like something bad is going to happen. He doesn’t know what, just that he has this bad feeling.”
“Do you find that hard to believe?”
“Not at all. Especially since it’s your grandfather. But it does seem strange that he hasn’t told you any of this before. You’re right—it’s an incredible story, so why wait until you’re sixteen? No, why wait until you’re sixteen and in a crisis similar to your great-grandparents’?”
“This is nothing like what they faced.”
“Isn’t it? I agree that it’s not as sweeping, not as horrible, not as devastating, but your parents are in real danger, Danni. And so are you and Cody. Don’t you find it remarkable that he gives you these stories right at this moment?”
“No. That’s just how Grandpère is. As Dad likes to say, Grandpère doesn’t do random. He’s a deep thinker, and he always waits for just the right time to teach me something, even if it takes years. He’s a . . .” I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what word would accurately complete my thought.
“A mystic?”
I snorted in derision. “Come on.”
“Then what? A sorcerer? A magician? A wizard?”
“If Grandpère were here, he’d be laughing at you.”
“This from the girl who changes speed limit signs, rewrites bumper stickers, becomes temporarily invisible, makes things appear magically out of nowhere, and nearly creates her own road-rage incident by rewiring a traffic warning sign? Am I missing anything?”
I said nothing.
“Obviously, he knew that what was in those stories would be helpful to you right now. I mean, come on, Danni, surely you see this was the perfect message for you at this time.”
“To remind me that I’m not alone in all of this?”
“Yes.”
“That I too have a purpose to fulfill that has to do directly with saving those I love?”