he did, as if trying to figure him out.
“I’m going to get the keys,” Jason told her, “and then we’ll go.”
He backed out of the Renault and began to close the car door, but then Abbey spoke to him for the first time.
“Hey.”
Jason stared at her, waiting.
“What do you like most about Quebec?” she asked.
He allowed himself a quick laugh.
“Those wonderful little maple candies,” Bourne replied.
TWELVE
BOURNE drove for hours until it was dark and the Renault was in the hills north of Montreal. He took a dirt road that ended at the shore of a mountain lake, with dense stands of pines filling the slopes over the water. A small wooden pier jutted into the lake, and stars crowded the night sky. Behind him, tied up in the back seat, Abbey Laurent was silent. She hadn’t spoken again during the long trip.
He got out into the cold air and opened the rear door. Starlight shined in Abbey’s eyes. She was awake, watching him, waiting to see what he would do. He leaned inside and untied the belt that bound her ankles, and then he gently pulled her up by the shoulders and reached around to release her wrists. Slowly, she stretched her limbs, wincing, and she glanced through the car windows. Her eyes registered the remoteness of where they were.
“This looks like a good place to kill someone,” she said.
“I told you. I’m not going to do that.”
“No? Isn’t that what Cain does? You killed that man by the river. Not that I’m complaining, by the way, since he was going to kill me. You killed four people at the boardwalk, right? Four. And then there’s Sofia Ortiz. You shot her in the throat. As far as I can tell, killing is what you’re good at.”
“I didn’t shoot Sofia Ortiz,” Bourne replied. “As for the others, I killed them because they were trying to kill me.”
He watched her try to figure out if he was telling the truth or simply letting her believe what she wanted to hear. Her lips pushed together in a frown. Then she fidgeted on the seat.
“Not that you care or anything, but I need to pee so bad you wouldn’t believe,” she said.
“Sorry. Of course. Go ahead.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?”
“There’s nowhere to run out here, Abbey.”
They both got out of the Renault. Abbey held on to the car to steady herself as the blood returned to her limbs. She walked a little way into the trees, and Jason turned his back to give her privacy. He heard the noise of her zipper and then of her relieving herself in the dirt. He headed to the edge of the lake, and he was surprised when she came up beside him after she was done. He’d assumed that, regardless of what he’d told her, she would try to run and he’d have to chase her down.
Abbey knelt at the shore and washed her hands in the cold water, and then she splashed it over her face and did her best to clean off the dried blood. When she was done, she walked onto a sturdy pier, where she sat down and dangled her feet above the water. He followed and sat down next to her.
“I’m sorry about your friend Michel,” he said.
Abbey stared out at the lake. “It’s my fault. I got him killed.”
“Don’t blame yourself for that.”
“Why not? I asked him to help me, and now he’s dead.”
“Were the two of you involved?”
She shrugged. “Yes and no. He was kind of like my safety net.”
They sat in silence. He watched her try to quash her fear, as her knee jiggled nervously on the dock.
“Is it really true that you didn’t shoot the congresswoman?” she asked him finally.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“The shot came from your hotel room. That’s what my source told me.”
“You’re right. It did.”
“So?”
“I wasn’t there when it happened.”
“Oh, yeah? Where were you? Taking the Circle Line tour or something?”
“Actually, I was saving your life,” Bourne said.
Abbey swiveled to look at him. “What?”
“Someone tried to shoot you as you ran from the scene. I knocked you out of the way.”
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because you never shared on your social media accounts that somebody tried to kill you. Did you tell anyone about it?”
Abbey hesitated. “Nobody.”
“That’s why you should believe me. I was there on the street with you. I wasn’t in that hotel room. I didn’t shoot Congresswoman Ortiz.”
“Am I supposed to think that this was just a big coincidence? You happened