around; she soldiers on, and I can feel my back muscles tense increasingly as she carries me down a line of conversation that I have yet to tread with anyone.
"I know that Flynn Carter disappeared," she corrects me. "And that there was a media shitstorm for almost a year about you before it tapered off with the next big thing. You were the CEO of Green Star, for Pete's sake! You were young and handsome and completely self-made; you went to work in a T-shirt and jeans and dated underwear models. You were going to save the world! Everyone loved you!"
"Not everyone." The words pass my lips before I can stop myself. "There were people who wanted my company to thrive, but not in the direction I was taking it. They wanted me out of the picture. And they were willing to do anything to get what they wanted."
The memories come flooding back before I can stop them, forming a snapshot slideshow of that night, three years ago, that my life simultaneously ended and began anew. I try to drown them out with thoughts of the road stretched out before me, but for maybe the first time, ever, I find that it isn't working.
I force them to cycle by rapidly. I see the party; the riverbank at midnight; three of my most trusted friends moving toward me; the glint of moonlight off the handgun dangling at Halligan's side. A crack, and then the darkness is complete.
"Flint?"
I blink myself back into the present, and realize we're about to collide with the car in front of us. A subtle maneuver and we're out of danger. Ana's voice in my ear was surprisingly calm despite the close shave. She almost sounds concerned.
"What is it?" I grunt.
"Phew." I hear the woman gust a sigh into her helmet. "I thought you passed out for a minute there. I can't imagine you got much sleep last night…not after your little come-on."
"Keep imagining, sweetheart." I execute another quick maneuver, just to hear that sexy, breathless intake from my passenger. The thought of hearing those breaths in quick succession, growing ever more strained, turns me on like I can't even begin to describe. Maybe I have my libidinous thoughts to blame for the next words out of my mouth. "If I was coming onto you, believe me when I say that you would know it."
"I…oh."
My innuendo registers, and I feel her grip on my stomach start to loosen uncertainly. My hand comes up, and I cement it firmly back in place. This is starting to become a reoccurring dance between us. If I'm going to be forced to take her with me for the indeterminate future, the least I can do is try and break her of this habit. It only ends with that cute little ass of hers busted on the road.
"And to answer your earlier question about my forced retirement, I mean that I was ousted from my own company. I was betrayed by the very men I trusted to help in the formation of Green Star. They traded the ideals we shared for the promise of more money. They reneged on their contracts to me, and their moral obligations to the world, by putting a bullet through me."
I don't know where my impassioned explanation came from, and I'm not sure I care. It feels good to get the history off my chest, if only for a moment. Hopefully what I have in mind for the future will close it permanently behind me.
And this woman. Ana. She has no idea what she's gotten herself into by hitching a ride with me. I need her continued silence on the matter of my true identity, but I also need to ditch her for her own good.
As we churn the rain-washed road beneath my tires, I wonder how much of her posturing back at the motel was a bluff. And not just any bluff—one that I fell for wholesale. This woman was clearly on the run from something—going to the media, or even the police, about the fact that I'm still alive and kicking will bring her unwanted publicity as well. If she's as