Seven minutes passed before she spoke again. I watched the dashboard clock.

“I’m sorry” was what she said when she did break the silence.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. They weren’t there for you. They were there for me.”

“I might have led them to you, though. I used a credit card to pay for my flight and my hotel room. I assume they have someone who is capable of tracing that. I should have considered it to begin with, but I didn’t. So it’s just as much my fault as yours.” I wasn’t sure how the Russians had become aware of me in the first place, or concerned enough to try to trace me, but I figured that was how it had happened.

“No,” she said, shaking her head in the darkness. “It’s not your fault or my fault. We didn’t do anything wrong, we’re just paying the consequences. It’s my husband’s fault-his and Jeremiah Hubbard’s.” She said it sadly but firmly.

We drove on in silence.

“Are you going to drive all the way to Ohio?” she asked several minutes later.

“I’m going to try.”

“That’s not safe. You’ll be exhausted.”

“Julie, it would take a dozen tranquilizers to slow me down right now.”

“Okay.”

“Besides, the farther we get, the better. The police will be looking for the car.”

“Is that a problem?”

I shrugged. “We agreed that we didn’t want to deal with the local authorities, but I’m not too worried about it. If they pull me over, I’ll go to jail and you can ask for the FBI. These hick cops will be happy to do it, because they won’t have a clue what to do with you.” Cody was with the FBI, but I didn’t see how he could possibly have enough power to get to Julie and Betsy once they were under the control of authorities in a different state. Yet I continued to keep them out of police hands. A fool for a keeper, that’s what they had.

“Why would you go to jail?” Julie asked.

“I killed a man, Julie. It was a justifiable homicide, but I’m going to have to prove that in court. All the cops know is that I shot up a hotel and killed a man. They aren’t going to let me go home right away.”

She reached out and gripped my arm. “I need you with us. If they arrest you, they’ll separate us.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not going directly to the cops. But if they stop us, that’s what’s going to happen. We’ll deal with that when we come to it.”

Julie turned her head and stared out of the window. “I know it seems unimportant now, but we need to talk about what happened in the whirlpool tonight. I need to apologize for that.”

“It’s fine, Julie.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I can’t believe I did that. My husband has been dead for ten days, Lincoln. Ten days. And I’m jumping on you in a hotel hot tub. Classy.” She looked up at me and pushed her hair away from her face. “It was an emotional response to a lot of fear and confusion,” she said. “That’s all it was.”

“Of course. I didn’t think you might have actually found me attractive.” It was a juvenile response, and I regretted it as soon as it left my mouth.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She gave a short laugh and then sighed. “That was the problem, Lincoln-I do find you attractive. In so many ways. In every way. I’ve known you for one day, and yet I’m incredibly drawn to you. And I feel that’s wrong. It is wrong, considering the circumstances. But I can’t help it. You came to me when I needed someone, and you have all the qualities I’d always… I’d always thought my husband had,” she finished softly.

We sat in an awkward silence after that. After a few minutes I realized she was crying. I didn’t move toward her this time, though. I’d learned my lesson. Eventually, she reached out and took my hand in hers, brought it away from the steering wheel and to her face. She kissed my fingertips softly, her lips so warm they seemed to sear my flesh. A few of her tears fell to my skin as well. It was an appropriate mix. She placed my hand back on the steering wheel, took a deep breath, leaned back in the seat, and closed her eyes.

Then it was just me and the road. The traffic was sparse, and I stayed in the left lane with the cruise control set on seventy-five. Fast enough to make good time, but not fast enough on the interstate to attract attention from police. I watched carefully for them, and once I saw a state police car headed in the opposite direction, but it did not slow.

The dashboard clock rolled over to midnight, and a song lyric popped into my head: lonely midnight drivers, drifting out to sea. Who did the song? What was the song? I couldn’t remember either answer, but there that line was, trapped in my mind. Funny.

We crossed over the state line early in the morning and then spent two hours driving through North Carolina before entering Virginia. The entire eastern seaboard in an exciting midnight tour. Police drove past and didn’t slow. Julie and Betsy slept soundly. I stopped once to fill the car with gas, and I called Joe. He answered immediately, and I realized guiltily that he probably hadn’t slept at all, waiting for my call. I told him what had happened, and I told him I hoped to be in Cleveland later that morning. We wished each other well, and then I drove on, a lonely midnight driver drifting out to… to what? A quick, simple solution, I thought optimistically. I didn’t believe it, though. Not even for a second.

Dawn broke as I pushed us through the mountains in West Virginia. The hills came up out of a gray mist, becoming more defined with each passing minute, the fog and shadows fading as the sun rose and burned them away. My mind was still alert, but my body had begun to ache-the hours of sitting in the cramped Contour combining with the lack of sleep to make me long for a bed and some hours to enjoy it. Julie woke around six, stretched, and smiled sleepily at me.

“I can’t believe I slept that long,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed awake to help you pass the time.”

“I wouldn’t have been much for conversation anyhow,” I said. “My brain was pretty much dead to everything but the highway in front of me. I was surprised that you didn’t wake up when I stopped for gas, though.”

“You stopped for gas?” she said, and then laughed. “Has my daughter stirred?”

“Not once.”

“Good.”

We drove on for a while, and then I noticed the needle on the gas gauge was creeping toward empty once again. This was the longest stretch of driving I’d done in years, and the thing that most surprised me was how quickly the gas seemed to disappear. I stopped at an exit that boasted several gas stations and a Cracker Barrel restaurant. The Cracker Barrel meant coffee. Coffee would be very nice after ten hours on the road.

Betsy stumbled out of the car groggily after Julie woke her. She stood in the parking lot and rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists, then gave a great yawn, opening her mouth so wide I thought I could drop a basketball into it.

“Where is we?” she asked with all the energy ofa sloth.

“Where are we,” Julie corrected, and I wanted to laugh. We were driving through the mountains, hiding from gun-wielding thugs and even the police, and Julie was still correcting her daughter’s grammar. Priorities.

“We’re in West Virginia,” I said. “Do you know where that is?”

“Of course,” Betsy said as if I’d asked her if she knew her own name. Oops. Never underestimate the children.

“Are we going home?” she asked, and Julie and I exchanged a glance.

“We’re not going home, exactly,” Julie said, and I was relieved that she’d decided to field the question. “But we’re going to be close.”

“Do I get to see Daddy?”

Julie’s smile stayed in place. “Let’s go eat, honey. You’re wearing me out with all these questions. It’s too early for them.”

Betsy shrugged and started for the restaurant, then stopped and stared at me. I followed her eyes and saw she was looking at my shirt, where a cluster of tiny dried drops of blood remained.