Where It Ends

| 13 | A Storm's a Comin'

"Did the guy say anything to you? Do you have any idea what he wanted?"

I flip my windshield wipers to high. The storm is terrible, and they can hardly keep up.

We're also getting blasted with tornado and flood warnings. I shouldn't even be on the road right now.

"He wanted Quinn's ring," Taryn answers while peeking at her bloody fingers. "When I said I didn't have it, he said, bullshit, and grabbed me."

"But you did have it on you?"

Taryn said the ring was in a safe place, accessible if she needed it, and I left it at that. I honestly want nothing to do with it. It's just asking for trouble. We shouldn't even have it here with us for reasons that are now obvious. There's at least one person willing to fight for it, almost to the death.

"I still do. It's sewed into the tongue of my sneaker." She stamps her left foot to show me which one. "You'd need scissors or a lot of patience to remove it."

Or a sharp knife...

I nod once. "And you didn't even consider giving it to him?"

"He wasn't willing to negotiate. You said so yourself, don't hand it over to just anyone. It may be the only thing we have to trade for Quinn's life."

I check again to see if my wipers go up any higher, and they don't. There's nothing I can do to make going faster any safer. "What about your own life?"

"I didn't think he was going to kill me," she responds after a long pause for thought. "Not until he had what he wanted anyway."

"Taryn..." I come to a stop at a red light, and I'm grateful for the chance to close my eyes. "If you do anything like that again, I swear to God, I will..."

I blow out an exhale and hit the gas. The light is already green. It's one of the few things I can see out here.

"You'll what? Kill me?"

She scoffs for a second, and then emits a nervous giggle that I find offensive.

I shouldn't have said it like that, but I wish she thought a little more of me. I was worried. Terrified. I'd lose my shit if anything happened to her. That's all I wanted to get across.

"It's not a joke," my bruised ego strikes back. "I hope you realize I would have shot the bastard, even after he dropped the knife. And it wouldn't have ended our problems. It would have multiplied them."

"I'm sorry." Her voice is smaller, sadder. She peeks at her wound again, and then corrects the fabric and makes a fist. From the looks of it, she hasn't yet curbed the bleeding. "I understand. I just don't respond well to threats."

There's a lot to unpack there, but we don't currently have the opportunity. We come to the bright lights of a Walgreens, and I don't hesitate to make the turn. It's a stop we shouldn't avoid, even if we're being tracked.

I leave Taryn in the truck, telling her to drive away at any sign of danger. Then I dart across the parking lot, through quite the deluge.

The pharmacy is eerily empty inside. Everyone in Dallas is wisely elsewhere. I don't care, as long as there's a clerk and no boogeyman.

Clown-face was injured and sped off in the opposite direction. In the storm, I figure we have at least a few minutes before he or his crew, assuming he has one, is able to pinpoint our location, through whatever means they're able.

It must be digital. I'm almost positive that I wasn't being followed on the interstate this morning. Unless the gardener gave him the same lead, which I suppose is possible, I can see no other way we'd end up in the same place at the same time.