Chapter 8: Intruder

That meant someone had opened a door or window to the outside. Was Whitney doing a runner? He heard a creak—a faint one, but he knew it came from the basement. If it were just him, he could escape off the roof. Hopefully, Whitney wasn't afraid of heights. As a gargoyle, up would be his natural direction.

With his shoes in hand, he crept in his socks to the room Whitney had chosen. Her door was still closed. The doorknob didn't make a sound when he turned it. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see she was still there. A fierce sense of protectiveness overcame him. Why? Why did he feel the need to keep Whitney safe? He'd never felt this strongly about Brenda. He shook off the thoughts of his dead ex-girlfriend.

Moving to the side of the bed, he nudged Whitney. She woke up, and he put a hand over her mouth. "Quiet. It's Deke." She nodded, and he let her go. He was close enough to whisper, "Grab your clothes. Leave your phone."

She rose and was ready to move in minutes. He was impressed. She was only a civilian, but she followed orders like a good soldier. He grabbed her hand and opened the door. He hadn't heard any more noises while she was dressing, so he'd put on his shoes, and they were ready to go.

Up.

Deke yanked open a door and shoved Whitney in its direction. Glancing behind him, he didn't see anyone on the second floor—yet. But if they didn't care that they were making noise, then they were probably close. Was it a warning?

They reached the roof minutes later. Deke pointed to the end of the block. "That way."

"Where?"

"There's a fire escape that way," he said as he put a chain across the door they'd just come out of. It wouldn't stop anyone, but it would slow them down. Deke sprinted with Whitney in tow, his night vision helping him see as if it were daylight. Nothing was ever truly dark in a city.

Whitney stopped at the edge of the roof. "I can't even see down there."

"It's a five-foot drop. If you dangle over the edge, you'll reach it."

She snorted. "Right."

"You have to trust me, Whitney."

"You go first."

The chain on the door rattled. They'd already discovered he and Whitney had escaped. He'd hoped for more time, but there wasn't any. He jumped down onto the top of the fire escape. "Dangle your feet over." She did, and he grasped her legs. "Let go."

After a hesitation, she did. He slid her down his body, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of it. But they were in danger. He couldn't think about that right now.

"I really can't see," she protested.

He tugged on her hand. "We don't have much time, Whitney."

"Deke, I can't see enough to move."

Okay. He scooped her up and raced down the steps. At the bottom, he set her down to extend the rest of the ladder. He descended the ladder before jumping the last few feet onto the sidewalk. She must have found some bravery, because when he looked up, she was already on the ladder. He caught her when she jumped. With her hand in his, he crossed the street.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I have a truck."

"What?"

"Just trust me."

She sighed but followed him through the streets of Philadelphia to the garage he owned.

"Keep an eye out," he said.

"What am I looking for?"

"Any movement." He unlocked the door, pushing it onto a track he kept well-greased. "Come on." With the key he'd put into his pocket, he unlocked her door, then his own.

"How old is this car?"

"Old enough not have a lot of electronics in it."

She climbed into her side. "Why not?"

"Because if someone does an EMP strike, all of today's cars will be inoperable. I can still start this one, no matter what happens."

She stared at him by the light of the dashboard as he turned the key in the ignition. "EMP?"

"Electromagnetic pulse. It would take out the grid and everything electronic."

"What happened to you to make you so paranoid?"

He chuckled. "It would take far too long to explain. There is just no reason not to be prepared. Buckle up." He inched the old SUV out of the garage but saw no one on the street. They might have evaded their pursuers, but he wouldn't feel safe until he was out of the city.

"You going to tell me what that was about?" Whitney said.

"Always full of questions."

"Well, you did wake me up in the middle of the night to escape your house. I think that merits an explanation. What are you involved in?"

He chuckled as he glanced at her. "Not me, sweetie. That was all about you."

***

Whitney had to admit she'd never been awakened quite like that before. Her adrenaline was just beginning to ebb. She'd gone silent when Deke said the attackers were there for her. She wrote for the society page. What could she have written that would make someone track her to Deke's house? Oh, right. She saw a dead body yesterday. Someone had been murdered. That might have sparked the attack. Her head spun with questions and the ramifications of the answers.

The lights of the city passed them by, and as the sun thought about peeking over the horizon, the sky was lighting up. Her bones were tired, but her mind was spinning.

Deke was taking it all in stride, which intrigued her. "I can hear you thinking," he said. He kept his eyes on the road. The city had turned to suburbs.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I have a cabin."

"I'm supposed to trust you in a remote location? I want to call my father," she said—not that he would be worried. No one would. She didn't even have houseplants or a pet for anyone to take care of. She might not be missed for days. That chilled her, and for the first time, she questioned what she'd been doing with her life. She'd become the job—and it wasn't even the job she wanted yet.

"Shall I drive back and leave you with the people who broke into my house?" he asked.

She turned to look out the windshield. He had a point. "Who did break into your house?"

"Hungry?"

"Yes, but I want answers."

"I want food." He pulled the truck into a diner. They weren't on a main road, and it looked like the opening credits of a horror movie. Or an episode of "Supernatural".

"We're eating here?" she asked.

"Yes. It's the only thing open."

"The turnpike has rest stops."

"The turnpike also has cameras," Deke said.

Why was he suddenly worried about cameras? Were they on the run from the cops?

He slid out of the truck. She wasn't going to stay out there alone, so she followed him into the janky place. She was a city girl. This was as country as she could get, and she was not comfortable.

He chose a booth in the back and took the seat facing the door. She wondered about his deliberate choice. She hadn't done much research on him personally but knew he was ex-military. Was he ex-biker gang, too? It was a toss-up in her mind. One tattoo he had was clearly of coordinates. She'd look them up, but her phone was still on the nightstand at Deke's house.

Deke pulled out his phone.

"Why did you get to keep yours?" she asked.