Twenty minutes later we were back on the road. Callie sat silently watching the scenery pass; lush green fields broken by deep forests of oak and elm and birch. We passed through small villages, no more than a main street with two or three stores and a café. Miles drifted by in silence. We passed to the east of Bordeaux, still heading south.I had no plan yet. I wanted distance from Paris. Being on the road may have been riskier than hiding namelessly in a city, but I found comfort in the constant movement, running - action being better than inaction when threatened.Clouds gathered in the distance and rolled towards us. As a spring rain shower hit, I finally spoke.“Did your father tell you he was in danger when he visited?”Callie shook her head.“Did he tell you anything? Give you instructions in case something happened?”She shook her head again.“When you were alone with him, what did you talk about?”I thought she was going to ignore me, her pause so long. The car tires hummed on a. It worked. I was inside and out of sight long before I heard a siren, or other sound of activity. No one came around, knocking on doors to ask if I’d seen anything, and keeping my mouth shut seemed to end anything that might point towards me. Besides, my wrist got a little sore from hurling the first idiot into the second one so hard... The second event that should have warned me came about a week later.It was late February and the winter still held Gatlinburg in its claws. My daily trips to the sensei were one thing I was reluctant to skip, so I was staying in my suite for a few nights to avoid the icy roads. The suite came with a wonderful gas fireplace, and I loved to stay in, curl up, and fall asleep on the comfortable sofa facing the fire.Eventually hunger trumped comfort, and I set out to destroy a steak and sweet potato, like any good American male would. The cold air bit into my skin as I hurried to the four-wheel- drive pick-up, I bought when I traded in the one that came.
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