The Lies He Spoke

EIGHTEEN

LOGAN

The sunlight was blinding outside, so hot and bright after the dim, cold refrigerator storage that Logan nearly cried in relief.

They made it to the parking lot without incident, where thankfully there were many cars behind which they could hide as they moved through the lot. Logan threw his leg over the bike, shoved Olivia's helmet at her, and drove.

He turned into the busy downtown area of the city that they lived in and meandered down the streets, scanning the sidewalks carefully. As soon as he saw an old payphone, he slowed down. He double parked his motorcycle against an old beige minivan and motioned for Olivia to get off.

"We're going to go across the street," he told her, holding out his hand for her to take.

"Logan, I don't think I need to hold your hand to cross the -"

"Hold my fucking hand or I will duct tape your hand to mine," he hissed at her. "I swear I will."

She hesitantly put her hand in his and he clutched it tight and hurried her across the street and onto the sidewalk, where a mass of people walking through downtown main street bustled past. When they passed beside a family of five people, Logan felt Olivia's clammy hand slip from his and for a moment, his lungs constricted. He looked back wildly for her and panicked when he couldn't see her curly hair.

Then her sweaty grip was back on his and with a sigh of relief he realized she was still next to him. He clenched her fingers tight so they wouldn't get separated again.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Someone stepped on my foot."

"It's okay," he said, although it was anything but. He felt like any moment his heart was going to finally throw in the towel.

"You're...not going to duct tape our hands together?"

Despite everything, he felt a small smile try to creep up his lips. He tried to push it down and shook his head.

When they finally made it to the tiny phone booth, Logan made Olivia get inside with him. The two of them barely fit in the cramped space. His knee was jammed into her thigh and his elbow was against her shoulders and her bony wrist was pressing painfully against his ribs.

He bent his arm at a painful angle and managed to pull his wallet from his back pocket. He flipped it open and shook it into his hand. A nickel and penny caught in his fingers, one quarter slipping between them and clattering to the ground at their feet.

"Dammit." There was no way either of them could bend over to get it. He put his hand against the phone holder and reached down as far as his arm would go, but it was no use.

"Logan, seriously, I can wait outside for two minutes -"

"Hell to the no."

Logan bent his knee slightly so it was pushed up against the wall and was able to bend down enough to grasp the quarter. He stood up with a sigh of relief and fed it through the coin slot. "Now please for fuck's sake tell me you have another quarter."

After Olivia gave him some from her backpack, Logan dialled the number for the FBI's witness security program from memory. After they'd been initiated into the program, they'd been given their rapid response number just in case something happened. Logan had written it over and over again on the inside of his arm with permanent marker until the numbers were practically tattooed onto the back of his eyelids. He could recite it in his sleep.

"FBI witness security emergency office, how can I help you?" chirped a man's voice after a few rings.

"Yes, hi, this is Logan," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Case number is 5631XF0. I need help, I think we just saw the people that we've been put in the program from."