“Alice,” Carlisle asked, “will they take the bait?”
Everyone watched Alice as she closed her eyes and became incredibly still.
Finally her eyes opened. “He’ll track you. The woman will follow the truck. We should be able to leave after that.” Her voice was certain.
“Let’s go.” Carlisle began to walk toward the kitchen.
But Edward was at my side at once. He caught me up in his iron grip, crushing me to him. He seemed unaware of his watching family as he pulled my face to his, lifting my feet off the floor. For the shortest second, his lips were icy and hard against mine. Then it was over. He set me down, still holding my face, his glorious eyes burning into mine.
His eyes went blank, curiously dead, as he turned away.
And they were gone.
We stood there, the others looking away from me as the tears streaked noiselessly down my face.
The silent moment dragged on, and then Esme’s phone vibrated in her hand. It flashed to her ear.
“Now,” she said. Rosalie stalked out the front door without another glance in my direction, but Esme touched my cheek as she passed.
“Be safe.” Her whisper lingered behind them as they slipped out the door. I heard my truck start thunderously, and then fade away.
Jasper and Alice waited. Alice’s phone seemed to be at her ear before it buzzed.
“Edward says the woman is on Esme’s trail. I’ll get the car.” She vanished into the shadows the way Edward had gone.
Jasper and I looked at each other. He stood across the length of the entryway from me . . . being careful.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said quietly.
“What?” I gasped.
“I can feel what you’re feeling now — and you are worth it.”
“I’m not,” I mumbled. “If anything happens to them, it will be for nothing.”
“You’re wrong,” he repeated, smiling kindly at me.
I heard nothing, but then Alice stepped through the front door and came toward me with her arms held out.
“May I?” she asked.
“You’re the first one to ask permission.” I smiled wryly.
She lifted me in her slender arms as easily as Emmett had, shielding me protectively, and then we flew out the door, leaving the lights bright behind us.
20. IMPATIENCE
WHEN I WOKE UP I WAS CONFUSED. MY THOUGHTS were hazy, still twisted up in dreams and nightmares; it took me longer than it should have to realize where I was.
This room was too bland to belong anywhere but in a hotel. The bedside lamps, bolted to the tables, were a dead giveaway, as were the long drapes made from the same fabric as the bedspread, and the generic watercolor prints on the walls.
I tried to remember how I got here, but nothing came at first.
I did remember the sleek black car, the glass in the windows darker than that on a limousine. The engine was almost silent, though we’d raced across the black freeways at more than twice the legal speed.
And I remembered Alice sitting with me on the dark leather backseat. Somehow, during the long night, my head had ended up against her granite neck. My closeness didn’t seem to bother her at all, and her cool, hard skin was oddly comforting to me. The front of her thin cotton shirt was cold, damp with the tears that streamed from my eyes until, red and sore, they ran dry.
Sleep had evaded me; my aching eyes strained open even though the night finally ended and dawn broke over a low peak somewhere in California. The gray light, streaking across the cloudless sky, stung my eyes. But I couldn’t close them; when I did, the images that flashed all too vividly, like still slides behind my lids, were unbearable. Charlie’s broken expression — Edward’s brutal snarl, teeth bared — Rosalie’s resentful glare — the keen-eyed scrutiny of the tracker — the dead look in Edward’s eyes after he kissed me the last time . . . I couldn’t stand to see them. So I fought against my weariness and the sun rose higher.
I was still awake when we came through a shallow mountain pass and the sun, behind us now, reflected off the tiled rooftops of the Valley of the Sun. I didn’t have enough emotion left to be surprised that we’d made a three-day journey in one. I stared blankly at the wide, flat expanse laid out in front of me. Phoenix — the palm trees, the scrubby creosote, the haphazard lines of the intersecting freeways, the green swaths of golf courses and turquoise splotches of swimming pools, all submerged in a thin smog and embraced by the short, rocky ridges that weren’t really big enough to be called mountains.
The shadows of the palm trees slanted across the freeway — defined, sharper than I remembered, paler than they should be. Nothing could hide in these shadows. The bright, open freeway seemed benign enough. But I felt no relief, no sense of homecoming.