Page 37 of Nothing to Fear

She glanced at the fire-engine red hair on the other box. Subtle was better.

Gideon pulled on a nondescript ball cap, handed her one, and wiped down the car with a plain white cloth—the steering wheel, dash, console, anything they’d touched. He scanned the garage and adjusted her cap, lowering the bill to cover her face.

His fingers grazed her ears, and she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and thank him for saving her twice. For having the foresight and gumption to risk his life to save hers. But he was already out of the car before she had the chance.

He moved quickly around the front, in that predatory way of his, and opened her door. She slipped on the backpack and hopped out. He did a sweep on her side with the cloth.

“Keep your head down in case we pass any surveillance cameras,” he said.

The Gray Box would be searching for them, using the upgraded facial recognition program she’d designed. If she’d had any idea her program would be used against her one day, she might’ve been less thorough.

Resting a hand on the small of her back, he set a quick pace through the garage. She trotted to keep up, but it was the firm weight of his palm pressed to her spine, not the exercise, that threw off the rhythm of her heartbeat.

The physical contact, like in the car, hadn’t shocked her. Some part of her had probably reached maximum freak-out capacity. Maybe she even expected the grounding feel of his hands at this point, keeping her moving and focused.

They strolled four blocks through an area of northern Virginia she didn’t recognize. Based on the signs they’d passed on the freeway, she suspected they were close to Springfield. Apartment buildings, small businesses, shops, and restaurants dominated the urban area.

Stopping at a doughnut shop, he opened the door. The most delicious aroma hit her. “I thought we were going to see a friend. Why are we getting doughnuts?”

“I’m starving. Aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, he squired her inside.

Customers occupied three small tables. The rest of the shop was empty other than a couple of employees. They strode to the counter, passing a conveyor belt and deep fryer, where doughnuts were made fresh on the other side of plexiglass.

A young Asian woman stood behind the register. She smiled at Gideon, her eyes lighting up the way Ivy’s did whenever she came home for a visit, but he gave no indication of knowing her. The woman’s gaze swung to Willow, and her smile fell.

“What would you like?” The woman glanced between them.

“A half dozen,” Gideon said. “Ken’s Special.”

The woman hesitated, holding his gaze. “For here or to go?”

“For here.”

Willow glanced at the overhead board. There was one type of doughnut, with an array of glazes and extras to choose from, but she didn’t see any Ken’s Special.

The young woman stared at Willow, then looked back at him. “A name for the order?”

“Gideon Stone.”

Willow flinched so hard, she nearly jumped out of her skin. They were fugitives, and he’d given his real name. In a doughnut shop?

Gideon ushered Willow to the side of the shop where the doughnuts were made.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The woman behind the register picked up the phone and made a call, staring at them.

Willow tensed. Their names hadn’t been released to the public yet. Unlikely the woman was dialing the police, but the call was definitely about them.

“Patience.” Gideon pointed to the doughnut-making process. White bundles of dough fell into a vat of hot oil. A teenage boy fished them out once they turned golden and dunked them in various glazes. “These are the best doughnuts you’ll ever have.”

How could he act relaxed? Nonchalant?

They’d escaped from the Gray Box and had almost been shot. Actually, he had been shot. Twice. And they’d left Director Sanborn in a precarious position.

“What happens in a whitewash?” On the helicopter ride, she’d been too shell-shocked to ask specifics.

“It’s a twofold process.” His voice was low, smooth. “All paper trails verifying the deep black ops team, division, or agency are erased. Cleaners are sent in. Personnel who have knowledge that poses a threat are eliminated. The rest are disavowed. No government work history, no pension—but they have their lives.”