The door slammed behind them as soon as Morgan and Alex climbed into the van.
Darkness.
Morgan tossed the duffels across the van, behind the couch. “Come on. Let's ‘hunker down.'” He climbed over the mattress to the couch and then reached out a hand to help her over the back of the couch. He followed and settled down beside her.
She felt the throbbing vibration as the truck pulled out of the rest stop, and she leaned back against the wall. She should have felt safer than she had when they were running through the woods, but she didn't. The darkness was claustrophobic and she felt . . . helpless.
“Like being sealed up in a metal box,” Morgan said quietly. “But a box isn't a coffin. There's always something you can do.”
She should have known he'd realize what she was feeling. He seemed to have the knack. “Like what?”
He chuckled. “Damn if I know. I just thought I'd make you feel better. I should have known you'd call me on it.”
She smiled. She did feel better. His honesty made her feel a sense of companionship and she was no longer alone. “Are you saying you'd be stumped if we had to get out of here?”
“No. I'm saying I'd have to stretch my capabilities and borrow some of yours.” He leaned back beside her. “So let's hope nothing happens and try to get our minds off it. Want to have sex?”
She went rigid.
“No, I didn't think so.”
“And you thought it safe to offer since you knew this wasn't the time or place I'd take you up on it.”
“Oh, I don't know. And neither do you.” He reached over to her duffel, pulled out the laptop, and gave it to her. “I'm going to go over my conversation with Powers before he died. I've been trained to remember details, but I want them down in black and white.” He flipped open the laptop, and a gray glow lit the darkness. “You type them as I give them to you, word for word. Here we go.”
He closed his eyes and said, “The first thing he said to me was ‘Save me. . . . Don't let me die.' ”
For the next five minutes Alex typed quickly, occasionally asking a question, but Morgan's memory was amazing. He remembered everything, including pauses and breaks in the flow of conversation.
When he stopped, she looked up at him. “Is that all?”
He made a face. “Not much, is it?”
“More than we had.” She saved the document. “So that's why we're going to West Virginia. You think something's going to happen there.”
“I don't know. Powers seemed to think that whatever was going to happen wasn't nearly as important as Z-3. He said it was bunk. But Powers doesn't give a shit. Arapahoe Junction was only a mistake to him.”
“So West Virginia could be another Arapahoe Junction.”
“And if Arapahoe Junction was only a minor mistake, it makes you wonder what Z-3 is going to be. . . .” He closed his eyes. “It's a long way to West Virginia. Think about it. Vents. Lontana. Z-2 . . .”
There was no question she'd think about it. Her head was awhirl with information and the ugliness of Powers even at his death. She closed the computer, and the dim glow of the screen disappeared.
Suffocating darkness.
Morgan's arm suddenly went around her, and he pulled her close so that her head rested on his shoulder. “Shh, you're not alone. I'm here. I'm not going away.”
Comforting words, but not true. It didn't matter. In the darkness she could pretend they were true. In the darkness she could take comfort and healing.
After all, in this day and age nothing was permanent. Fire came from the sky and quakes ripped the ground from beneath your feet.
And always was only a word.
“We've closed all the roads,” Jurgens said. “And we've run fingerprints in the Powers house. Morgan was there and I'm betting so was Graham. We found a knife under Powers's wife's body. But it's not Morgan's prints that are on the knife.”
“Runne.”
“Yes. Morgan must have come before or after.”
“If he'd come before, those would have been his prints on the knife: He wouldn't have let Powers live. The question is, how much later? Could Powers have been alive to talk?”
“It's doubtful. The wound was—”
“I need more than doubtful. I need to know.”
“Then you'd better ask Runne, don't you think?”
Hell, yes, if he could get in touch with the bastard. As usual, Runne hadn't answered his phone. “As soon as I make contact with him.”
There was a pause. “There was blood on the front porch. Neither Powers nor his wife could have been out there.”
“You think Runne was wounded?”
“The police say a local intern, Richard Dawson, has been reported missing from a hospital a few miles from the Powers house. His car is in the parking lot, but he never showed up for his shift.” Another pause. “So maybe Runne isn't as good as you thought he was.”