The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [97]
Serena and I jump backward, like two high school kids being caught. We’re not nearly fast enough.
My dad stands at the door, frozen.
“We’re not— This isn’t—” I wave my hands, unable to get the words out.
“Lloyd, w-we have a theory on the Book,” Serena says, sounding truly concerned.
My father still hasn’t moved. He stands in the open door, staring at us as the wind and bits of snow dive into the room.
“Dad . . .”
“I’m perfect,” he says flatly. The door slams shut behind him. His eyes are still on us, but his focus has shifted, as if he’s looking at something that’s moved farther away.
On the plane ride here, Serena swore they weren’t together. Otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed her, I tell myself, trying hard to believe it.
My dad takes a deep breath through his nose. His big Adam’s apple moves just slightly. “I have good news about the address,” he blurts.
“Lloyd, I just want you to know . . .” Serena begins.
“Stop. It’s fine. I promise you. It’s fine,” he repeats, revealing an I’m okay grin and approaching the comic strip. He puts a hand on my back and adds a strong, single pat as we turn back to the table. “Now, you wanna hear where we can find 184 King Street or not?”
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Serena’s so excited that I barely notice as she slides up next to me.
My dad smiles even wider.
But every time I turn away, I swear I feel him painting a bull’s-eye on the back of my head.
62
It’s too early. They’re not even open,” Serena says, stuffing her hands in her winter coat (mine, not my dad’s) and running to keep up as we rush through the bottom floor of the parking garage.
“It’s not too early,” my dad insists, leading the way. From the moment we woke up this morning, he hasn’t said a word about last night. I should be thankful. I’m not. We got four Band-Aids to close his wound, and he hasn’t mentioned anything about that, either. As all three of us know, some things can’t be fixed by a Band-Aid.
“C’mon, Calvin—keep up!” he hisses, ignoring all the signs for PATIENT ENTRANCE and PHYSICIAN PARKING. Instead, he heads in the opposite direction of the arrows, cuts between two cars, and takes us outside, where the sun is just up, revealing a baby blue sky, half a dozen American flags, and a red-and-white sign that says, “Happy Holidays to Our Vets!”
The parking garage connects to Cleveland’s largest Veterans Administration hospital. For us, it’s the best and closest place to keep our rental car out of sight. But we’re still not completely safe.
As we reach the end of the block, I glance over my shoulder. The only one there is Serena.
“What?” she asks, following my gaze and looking over her own shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
“Trusting in the universe,” I say as I study the parking garage and check each level. Then I check again.
“No one’s there,” my dad insists.
I check the garage a third time. Maybe it’s just nerves, but ever since we left the motel—
“If Naomi were here, we’d already be in handcuffs,” my dad points out.
He’s right. But Serena wasn’t wrong yesterday. The human body can sense when danger’s nearby. It knows it. Just like I know when I’m being followed.
“Let’s just get inside,” Serena says, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. “Do we know which building it is?” she asks my dad.
As we turn the corner, my dad doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. There’s only one building in sight: the spare 1960s-ugly structure that’s home to Ohio’s oldest and largest historical society.
“You sure they have it?” Serena asks as we dart across the street and head for the building’s wide glass doors.
“According to their online catalog, it’s in here,” my father says.
A small sign out front tells us the building doesn’t open for another hour. But inside, a young janitor with a mop bucket and music earbuds proves otherwise.
It takes two taps on the glass to get his attention.
“We open at nine!” he calls back.
“No. You don’t,” I tell him, pulling out the federal ID Timothy gave me and slapping it against the