The new RV was, to Theo, a beige palace of unwelcome luxury. It certainly beat the rattling coffin Betsy had been, but its sheer size and polished gleam screamed "look at me!" in a way that made Theo's skin crawl. Every mile west deepened his unease. He was a man of precise movements and discreet shadows, not a lumbering target on wheels, even if it came with heated seats. His focus remained laser-sharp on the rearview mirror, but the persistent throb in his ribs was a constant, unwelcome distraction.
His injury was nothing major, a bullet's graze, but it needed tending. He waited until Remy, still marveling at the RV's amenities, had settled into a particularly engrossing podcast on historical knitting patterns. Slipping into the spacious bathroom, Theo locked the door. The pristine porcelain and gleaming chrome were a stark contrast to the grim task at hand. He pulled his shirt off, wincing as the fabric peeled from the dried blood. The wound, a crimson furrow just beneath his right ribs, was angry but superficial.
With practiced efficiency, he found antiseptic wipes and bandages. He worked quickly, his jaw clenched against the sharp sting. He was used to pain, to pushing through it, but this vulnerability grated. His mind raced, replaying the ambush, dissecting every flaw in his security detail, planning retribution. Those bastards would pay. He carefully secured the bandage, his reflection in the mirror showing a grim, determined face. He ran a hand over his dark, short beard, his smoldering dark grey eyes narrowed in thought.
Just as he was pulling his shirt back on, a loud, cheerful rap echoed on the bathroom door. "Theo! Are you in there? I found the really fancy coffee maker, but I can't figure out how to make it not sound like a dying cat!"
Theo froze, a silent string of Italian curses slipping through his teeth. "One moment!" he growled, pulling his shirt down completely. He splashed cold water on his face, forcing his features into their usual hard mask, then unlocked the door. Remy stood there, holding a complicated coffee machine manual upside down. She gave him a curious look.
"You're awfully red," she observed, oblivious. "Is it hot in here, or is that just your natural aura of intense disapproval?"
Theo merely grunted, grabbing the manual from her hand. "It's a coffee machine, Remy. Not a nuclear reactor." He walked past her, the subtle scent of antiseptic trailing in his wake.
Life in the RV was an exercise in Theo's self-control. Remy's energy was relentless. She didn't just enjoy the RV; she occupied it. Her collection of roadside oddities now had more surfaces to colonize, and the king-sized bed, Theo noticed with a rising sense of unease, was rapidly accumulating a collection of her peculiar, mismatched socks. He preferred his spaces clean, uncluttered, and devoid of glitter. Remy provided none of these.
She'd spend hours researching the next obscure point of interest for her bucket list, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she pored over maps and travel blogs. When she wasn't driving, she was often in the kitchen, experimenting with ingredients she found in small-town stores, whipping up surprisingly complex dishes on the RV's high-end stove. The smells, he had to admit, were often intoxicating, though he'd never tell her that.
"Theo, try this!" she'd demand, shoving a spoon laden with a bizarre, but undeniably delicious, concoction in his face. He'd take a bite, his expression carefully neutral, even as his internal thoughts cursed her ability to make him enjoy something so utterly unrefined. "It's a green bean casserole, but with a surprising hint of artisanal cheddar and emotional turmoil!"
He'd mostly ignore her, or respond with a curt grunt, but he noticed things. Her intense focus, her quick wit, the way her blue eyes sparkened when she discovered a new flavor or solved a puzzle. She was undeniably… captivating, in a completely illogical, deeply irritating way. His Italian expletives became a more frequent, muttered commentary on her existence. "Dio mio, Remy, what fresh chaos have you found now?"
He also noticed the phone. Her personal cell, which continued to buzz with calls from "Unknown Number." She still ignored them, her face taking on a subtly guarded expression each time. He found himself studying her, trying to decipher the secrets behind the cheerful, sarcastic facade. Was she running from something, too? Something other than a metaphorical clock? He suppressed the urge to snatch the phone again, waiting for a more opportune moment to truly investigate. This woman was a conundrum, a beautiful, chaotic disruption to the perfectly ordered life he desperately needed to regain.
The vastness of the desert, where they were now truly headed, offered no easy hiding places. Theo's mind was already a strategic map, plotting routes, anticipating ambushes. He mentally marked secluded spots where they could lay low if needed, assessing the RV's capabilities. He was a predator in unfamiliar territory, but he still held the cards. He just had to ensure Remy didn't accidentally discard them with a rogue joke or a sudden urge to commune with a cactus. He found himself constantly calculating, weighing her unpredictable nature against his own meticulous planning. She was either his greatest liability or his most unexpected weapon. He still hadn't decided which.