gaze to the road. “That’s better.”
“I should have just taken the money and run,” I grumbled. “How did you know I wouldn’t?”
When he glanced at me again, he summed me all up, and it was somehow not smug, just droll. “I don’t know, Gertrude. You tell me.”
Obviously I didn’t have to. I reached up to touch my medal. Symbol or saint, I’d picked her for a reason.
And Carson was right. There’d never been any question what I’d do. It was what I always did. I found lost souls and brought them home. I had to do the same for Alexis, no matter what it took.
15
WE STOPPED ONCE in Wisconsin to switch drivers, then again near Rockford just before the sun came up. I grabbed my Walmart bag and used the restroom of the Starbucks to wash up and change into the clothes I bought.
When I came out and looked for Carson, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was at a table, poking around on the netbook, wearing a T-shirt and hoodie and a pair of rectangular dark-rimmed glasses, his hair spiked and messy with damp. He actually looked like a college student, harmless and sort of adorable.
I set the bag with my stuff in one of the chairs. “If you’re wearing skinny jeans, I refuse to be seen with you.”
He looked up, then had to take off the glasses to see me properly. “You’re one to talk. We both had the same idea.”
Right. I’d gone for hipster camouflage, too—jeans, layered T-shirts, skinny scarf draped around my neck—but I’d kept my studded accessories and skull-covered sneakers.
Carson held up a twenty-dollar bill. “Grab something to eat while I look up directions to the Institute.”
“Don’t look at the flash drive without me,” I warned, and accepted his acknowledging wave as a promise.
I returned to the table with an egg sandwich, a fruit cup, a muffin, and a venti nonfat latte. Carson didn’t comment on my breakfast, just slid over to make room so we could both see the ten-inch computer screen.
“Wait,” I said, putting my hand on his when he went to plug the mummy flash drive into the port. “If whatever is on here sends us straight back to Minnesota, I don’t want you to say I told you so.”
“But I didn’t tell you so,” he said, confused. “I had no problem following your hunch.”
“I know.” I let go of his wrist. “Which is just going to make me feel worse if we’ve crossed state lines in a stolen car for nothing.”
Rather than offer empty reassurance, Carson just plugged in the drive, and I held my breath.
This memory device is password protected.
Crap. I would rather have listened to “I told you so” all the way back to Minneapolis.
Carson reached for his coffee and contemplated the empty password box and flashing cursor. “Any ideas?”
“Does she have a pet? A favorite color? A favorite movie?”
He started typing things in—birth date, favorite actor, mother’s maiden name—with no luck at all. Finally he rubbed his eyes and closed the netbook. “It’s okay,” he said, when he saw my disappointment. “We’re not any further behind than we were before. We can be in Chicago by the time the museum opens.”
Jeez. It really was that early. I felt like I’d lived a week since heading for class yesterday morning.
A few hours later, we left our stolen car in a park-and-ride lot and caught the commuter train into Chicago, then switched to the subway. I played it cool, copying Carson and trying not to look too freaked out by the close quarters in the train car.
“Not a fan of closed spaces?” he asked as we bounced along the underground track. When I cut him a glance, he nodded at my hands, white-knuckled on the metal pole. I guess I wasn’t fooling anyone.
“It’s not the space. It’s the people.” I loosened my death grip, no pun intended. “The psychic baggage gets a little overwhelming, all packed in here like this.”
“Almost there,” he said, sympathetic. Then he hooked his elbow around the pole, took out his wallet, pulled out a card, and handed it to me. “Here. You might need this.”
“A Starbucks gift card?”
I didn’t think that was funny, but he laughed. “Are you always hungry?”
“Dude. It takes a lot of calories to run this much psychic genius.”
“I’m sure it does.” He tapped the card. “Lauren gave me this for you. This looks like whatever the viewer expects it to look like. You might need ID.”
I looked again and found nothing