Fifteen minutes later.

  “Jeff will meet you at the sheriff’s station when he’s done with the press conference.” Justine said from the backseat. Malcolm nodded at her words as he swung the Tahoe into the hotel parking lot and headed toward the large, black recreational vehicle. “After all,” she couldn’t believe her next words. “He’s just there for moral support.”

  “Sure, he is.” Malcolm quipped as he dropped them off by the lab’s entrance. Letting the engine idle, the undercover assassin waited until they made it inside. Foster paused by the door to regard the man’s placid face watching them from the driver’s seat. Thoroughly unnerved, he continued onto the bus and hurried toward the conference room’s window to see him and the SUV slowly pulling away.

  Safely inside, Justine quickly saw Barbara taking a cat nap on the pullout couch while Mosley indulged himself with a large cup of coffee from the lab’s fully stocked kitchen. “What are you two doing back here so soon? I would have guessed our great leader would have kept you knee deep in dead bodies until late this afternoon.”

  “Not all afternoon, Dr. Mosley. But that’s a good question,” She plopped down in one of the comfy conference room chairs and watched her companion rummage inside his satchel. “Why are we back here so early?”

  Without taking it out, Foster tapped on the old Blackberry in his pocket and sighed.

  “He’s just made a right onto the main highway. Give him another ten minutes before placing your,” the A.I. had a hard time finishing the rest of his sentence, “ill-advised call.”

  “Just a reprieve, Agent Rushing.’ Foster stood up from his seat by the window and made a beeline for the small, fully stocked fridge near the mobile lab’s supply room. “Let’s call it a quick ten-minute break.”

  Pulling open the door, he saw a row of cold cokes placed haphazardly on the top shelf. He grabbed one, popped it open, and pointed at the fridge to ask Justine if she was thirsty. She shook her head.

  “Ten minutes, Agent Rushing.” Foster returned to his chair and propped his feet up on the large desk in the middle of the room. “Then, I can make a phone call, and you can make a choice.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Mosley and Justine asked in unison.

  “I’m not going to tell.” Foster said in a sing song voice. “Remember, patience is a virtue.”

  Patience? They were both on the verge of a verbal attack when suddenly, he closed his eyes. Suddenly, the absolute ridiculousness of the scene before them seemed to diffuse the tension in the room. Then, ten minutes later, Foster opened his eyes, stood up and threw his empty can away. He asked, “Could you guys give me a few minutes alone?”

  In response to the request, Mosley and Barbara looked up from whatever inane bullshit they were killing time with but didn’t protest his request. They had spent the last eight hours trapped in that RV working on a seemingly unsolvable problem and were both dying for a break. So, with little fanfare, they both headed for the exit.

  “You know what the director called you before we left?” Mosely said as he stopped at the door long enough to catch Foster’s eye.

  “I’m sure he called me a lot of things before we left, Dr. Mosely. Probably called me a lot of things after too.”

  “True, but there was one thing he said that I think applies to our current situation perfectly. He called you the Evers’s Conjecture.”

  “Conjecture?” Foster pondered the words carefully and their possible meaning before responding. “You mean like a theory to a problem that has no actual proof?”

  With tired eyes, Samuel nodded grimly at his question.

  “Well, that can’t be right, Dr. Mosely.” Foster flashed a quick smile. “Because my theory has plenty of proof backing it up. He was just too narrow minded to see it.”

  “And he’ll see it now?” Mosely asked as he threw on his coat.

  “One can only hope.”

  “Hope’s not a plan, Foster.” With that, Samuel and Barbara exited the RV without another word.

  “You know,” Hoover said once they had gone. “I think that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard him say.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that, Hoover.” Foster turned to Justine and motioned toward the door. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind?” Justine stood still in the RV, trying desperately to control her growing anger. She didn’t want to leave. She wasn’t going to leave, not if she could help it.

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  “Foster,” her words teetered on the edge of a shout. “I’ve done everything you asked of me since becoming your babysitter. Haven’t I? I’ve waded through blood, bodies, disobeyed orders, even kept your weird secrets from Jeff. All because you asked me to. I think that entitles me to hear what you’re going to tell the director.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Foster said it like a parent announcing it was bedtime. He grasped the door to the conference room and began sliding shut. “And to be honest, I don’t even want to make this phone call, Agent Rushing. Plus, right now, you need plausible deniability more than answers.”

  “Probable deniability?” What the hell was he talking about, she wondered.

  “Just trust me, Agent Rushing.”

  “Yeah,” Hoover said in his best used car salesman voice. “Trust us.”

  “Trust you?”

  Ten minutes later, Justine was still helplessly pacing outside the lab. Angry beyond belief, her interminable exile made her want to commit murder on a particularly smug genius. So much so that by the time Barbara made her way back to the lab with two large cups of coffee, Justine was practically spitting nails.

  “Why am I not in there?” Her words sounded like venom. “Three days… three days ago, he was just some nut locked up in a mental hospital spouting all kinds of crazy nonsense. No one cared about what he had to say. Now the son of a bitch is telling me what to do, ordering me where to go. Who does he think he is?”

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Barbara tried to feign concern, though her tone mainly came across as indifferent. “But at least he’s consistent.”

  “What do you mean consistent?” She growled.

  “Consistent…” Barbara took a drink of her coffee while attempting unsuccessfully to wrench open the RV’s locked door. “His address may have changed, but isn’t he still basically doing the same thing? Acting crazy.”

  “Right?!” An electric surge of anger coursed up Justine’s spine and for the briefest moment, she subconsciously saw a bright white light followed by a red hue. Her rage would have fully erupted if her cell phone hadn’t started to ring at that exact moment. Furiously, she yanked the damn thing out of her pocket. The caller ID read a single word: SAUNDERS.

  “What now!” She screamed into the phone without a thought for protocol. “What do you want?”

  “Excuse me?” The voice on the other end of the line was brief and to the point. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Knowing that Jeff hadn’t caused all this frustration, Justine took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was talking to a superior officer, not some unstable asshole locked in a monster Winnebago.

  “Nothing… just feeling a little bit left out in the cold. What’s up with you? Has the sheriff already held his press conference?”

  “No,” he lowered his voice. “Am I on speakerphone or anything?”

  “No,” she said, completely aware that her partner was acting weird. “Why would that matter?”

  “Is Foster still with you?”

  Again, there was another question full of insinuation but little substance. “Yes,” she smacked on the RV door as hard as she could. “He’s in the mobile lab right now… doing something.”

  “Good.” The senior agent sounded relieved to hear her response. “I need you to secure Foster and take him into custody.”

  “Custody?” the breath caught in her throat. “Why would I take Foster into custody?”

  “The director has just revoked his ‘get out of jail free’ card. We are to escort him back to Wilson for immediate remanding.”

  “I don’t understand.” Justine walked to the front of the bus and away from Barbara for some much-needed clarification. “Why now?” she asked, stunned at the turn of events. “I thought he had 48 hours to work the problem.”

  “Not anymore, Justine. Foster’s out of time.”

  The line went silent as Saunders waited for her to respond. They both knew that the two of them had grown close over the last few days. She knew that by the tentative way he was speaking to her.

  And right now, she knew Jeffrey Saunders was wondering if his orders would be followed.

  “I need to know that you understand the instructions I just gave you, Justine. You’re already on thin ice with the director.”

  The thought of what she had been ordered to do twisted her stomach into some unexpected knots. Fuck, she screamed inside her own head. What the fuck was going on? What the hell happened during that phone call with the director?

  “Yes, I understand.” She said through gritted teeth. “I’ll sit on him until you get back here.”

  “Thanks, Justine.” His tone grew more relaxed. “Malcolm’s just pulling into the parking lot now. I’ve got a couple of things to brief the sheriff on and then we’ll be heading back to you. Be careful. I don’t think he’ll give you any real trouble, but…”

  “Jeff,” the thought of Foster giving her any trouble made her laugh out loud. “I think I can handle an out of shape nerd.”

  “Fine, I’ll see you soon.” Saunders hung up, but Justine didn’t put away her phone.

  Instead, she lingered near the front of the bus, thinking about having to send Foster back to that place. They wouldn’t let him keep his Blackberry this time around. And what about Hoover? There was no telling what Fitz Hume would do to that digital smart ass. The knot slowly forming in her stomach began to tighten as she returned to the RV’s door.

  Justine was so consumed with the ramifications of these questions that she didn’t notice the door was open. Or that Foster was standing there waiting for her.

  “Have you made your decision yet?” He stood motionless on the bottom step with his tablet dangling from his left hand. Over the past two days, against her better judgment, they had become friends. And right now, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

  “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue.” He could see her struggling, so he asked his question again. “Have you made your decision?”

  “What decision?” Justine asked meekly.

  “Whether or not you’re going to take me back to Wilson?”

  “What?” She spat out the half angry, half embarrassed question. “How did you know?” Her eyes drifted down to the illuminated tablet resting in his hand. Hoover, she thought. “Were you tapping my phone?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t need to listen in on your conversation with Jeff to know what Fitz Hume had done.”

  “Then how did you know about my orders?”

  “Because,” Foster took the final step off the bus and stood directly in front of her. “After the call I just had with the director, the safe bet would have been for you to rush onto the bus with both barrels blazing.”

  Justine inched closer to the spot where he was standing and for a moment pondered pulling the gun Foster had given her just 24 hours ago. But she didn’t. Instead, she asked him in an unsure voice, “Why does the director want you sent back to Wilson? What did you do?”

  “If you really want to know,” Foster flashed that sly grin. Only this time, there was a hint of regret behind it. “Then step into my parlor, Agent Rushing.”