Black Canyon Conspiracy. Cindi Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ had been nothing but stress these past months, and she had no more routine—no job or real home or any certainty about the future.

      “Maybe...maybe I should call my doctor.” She looked at the clothes piled on the bed and the open suitcase. “I took my medication,” she said softly. “I always do, even though, sometimes, I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

      “Maybe the medication just needs...adjusting.”

      She nodded. “Right. I...I’ll call him.”

      He waited in the bedroom while she went into the living room. He wondered if he should remove the clothes from the bed—pack for her. But no. That was too personal. Too patronizing, even.

      He backed out of the room and rejoined her as she was hanging up the phone. “I talked to the nurse,” she said. “She suggested I take more of one of my pills, and she’s calling in another prescription I can take if I need to.”

      He nodded. “Do you need anything from me? Help with packing? Something to eat?”

      “No, I’m good. I’ll just, uh, finish up back here.”

      “I’ll keep an eye on our friend.”

      “Friend?”

      He nodded toward the parking lot. “The bird-watcher.”

      She laughed again, and the sound continued all the way down the hall. The sound worried him a little, but it also made him angry. Why did such a beautiful, vibrant woman have to be plagued with emotions that veered so easily out of control? Why was she at the mercy of a disease she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want? He’d spent his life fighting off physical enemies, first in a street gang, then the military, now as a law enforcement officer. But what could he do to help her?

      * * *

      THE MEDICATION BEGAN to work quickly, a numbing fog slipping over the anxiety and agitation that were the first signs of a climb toward mania. Lauren hated this lethargy and not feeling as much as she dreaded the extreme highs or lows of her disease. Why couldn’t she just be normal?

      She finished packing her suitcase, stuffing in clothes without care, putting off having to go back into the living room and face Marco. This hadn’t been a bad episode. She hadn’t burst into song or taken off her clothes or made a pass at him—all things she’d done before her diagnosis had provided an explanation for her bizarre behavior. But she’d waved her underwear around in front of him, and laughed at the idea of a man stalking her.

      He was so solemn and unemotional. What must he think of a woman who, even on her best days, tended to feel things too deeply?

      In the end, she didn’t have to go to him; he came to her. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “We can stop and get some lunch on the way.”

      “Sure.” She zipped the suitcase closed and looked at the disarray of the room.

      “It’s all right,” he said. “You can clean this up later.” He picked up the suitcase. “Do you have everything you need?”

      “Yes.” She grabbed the two pill bottles from the top of the dresser and cradled them to her chest. “I’m ready.”

      She put the pill bottles in her purse and followed him to the door. Sophie had rented the apartment when she’d decided to relocate to Montrose to be with Rand, and Lauren only stayed there because she had no place else to go. She couldn’t claim to be attached to the place, but still, it felt bad to be leaving so soon, to face more uncertainty.

      Deep breath. Center. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, the way the therapist at the psychiatric hospital had shown her. She could deal with this.

      When she opened her eyes, Marco was watching her. She saw no judgment in his calm brown eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

      She nodded. “Is the bird-watcher still out there?”

      “He left a few minutes ago. I guess he’d done his job.”

      “What was his job, do you think? Besides delivering the package.”

      “He was sending the message that you were being watched. His job was to intimidate you.”

      “The note did that.”

      “I guess Prentice likes to cover all the bases.”

      “What about the package?” She looked around for the creepy gift. “I don’t want Sophie finding it when she comes back.”

      “I’ve got it.” He indicated the shopping bag he must have found in the pantry. “I’ll have someone check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and learn something useful. Come on.” He opened the front door and started across the lot, toward the black-and-white FJ Cruiser he’d parked closest to her apartment.

      “I’ll follow you in my car,” she said.

      His frown told her he didn’t think much of that idea. “You should ride with me.”

      “I can’t just leave my car. I can’t be stuck way out at your duplex with no transportation.” The idea ramped up her anxiety again, like something clawing at the back of her throat.

      “Then, we’ll take your car and I’ll send someone back later for mine.”

      “All right.” Relief made her weak. When they reached the car she hesitated, then handed him the keys. “You’d better drive. Sometimes the pills make me sleepy.”

      He nodded and unlocked the trunk and stowed her suitcase and the shopping bag, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “What pharmacy do you use?”

      Her prescription was ready. Once they’d collected it, he swung by a sandwich shop for lunch. She wasn’t hungry—another side effect of the medication—but she ordered to avoid explaining this to him. Finally they were on the highway headed to his place. She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Maybe when they got to his place she’d take a nap. But she’d need to unpack, and she still had to call her lawyer, Shawn...

      “Have you had any trouble with your car lately?”

      She opened her eyes and sat up straight. “No. What kind of trouble?”

      “The brakes.” He pumped the brake pedal, but the car only sped up, down a long incline that curved sharply at the bottom.

      “What’s wrong with the brakes?” She leaned over to study the speedometer, the needle creeping up past seventy miles an hour. “Why are we going so fast?”

      “I think someone may have tampered with your car.” His voice remained calm, but the fine lines around his eyes deepened, and his knuckles on the steering wheel were white with strain.

      She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the highway hurtling toward them with ever-increasing speed. At the bottom of the hill was a curve, and beyond the curve, a deep canyon. If their car went over the edge, they would never survive.

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