Fathom by L. Standage (spanish books to read .TXT) 📕

had ever seen a person do before. Crouching, I saw the speedometer creep past seventy, eighty, ninety miles per hour. I bent and reached for the cell phone he had dropped.

I redialed the number. Eamon picked up before the first ring was over.

“Calder?”

“Eamon, it’s Olivia. Someone’s following us. Calder’s trying to shake them off!”

“Where are you?”

“Where are we?” I repeated to Calder.

“Heading south on the 5.”

I told Eamon.

“Okay…we’ve got a car at Presidio Park near Old Town, stay on the 5 until you get to the 8. Take the 8 east to Taylor Street and see if you can try to lose them in the neighborhood. Calder will know how to get to Presidio from there.”

I related the message to Calder, who continued to press on the gas pedal. The headlights behind us didn’t fall back. We came off the freeway, sped down the street, and screeched around the corner. I shrieked in fright while Calder remained focused on barreling down the road as fast as the car would go. Horns blared at us as we sliced through traffic.

We came off the highway, turned left and right, circled a block, left, then right again, but the headlights behind us kept coming. Calder increased his speed. I finished gathering all the papers from the file despite the being buffeted with every swerve.

Soon we came to Taylor Street and took another turn, almost taking the corner on two wheels. We had come to Old Town San Diego—a few acres of historical museums and restaurants. It buzzed with people. Calder screeched the car to a stop, unable to go any farther because of the crowds.

“We have to run,” he said, throwing the car into park and getting out. I stuffed the file up my shirt, folded my arms around it, and hurried out of the car just as the other car sped around the corner. We abandoned our car, doors still open, and bolted for the entrance into Old Town. The Spanish-themed shops and old-fashioned buildings rose up around us. Hidden among the crowds, the restaurants, and the merchandise, I couldn’t see any sign of pursuit. I grabbed Calder’s hand, not wanting to lose him in all the chaos. He didn’t pull away.

We slowed to a jog as we departed the northern end of the Old Town square. The streets emptied. The rooftops of the Spanish Mission faded away behind the streets of houses and apartments. We continued uphill. I coughed and swallowed.

“I need to catch my breath,” I said, letting go of Calder’s hand and wiping the sweat off my forehead with my arm. My legs burned from the climb.

“We’re nearly there.”

I sighed, a cramp piercing my lungs like a knife in my ribcage and jogged again. We came to a golf course, then a low hill covered in trees. Then another. I stopped at the summit of the second hill and looked behind us to see if anyone followed. We were alone. I couldn’t take another step.

“Over there,” said Calder, pointing to a beat-up, thirty-year-old Chevy parked in the grass among the bushes and trees. I stumbled toward it. At long last, I heaved myself into the front seat. Calder, sweating but not over exerted, bent below the dashboard and fumbled with some wires.

“You’re not stealing it, are you?” I cried.

“No, it belongs to us. Walter and Uther left it here yesterday.” The engine rumbled to life. I leaned my head back and stared at the car’s saggy ceiling. I couldn’t believe we made it. My body felt like I had jumped out of my skin back at Oceana and had been running without it ever since.

“Thanks,” I said as my breathing slowed and I noticed a stinging twinge in my knees.

“Hm.”

I lifted my head to look at him. “You mean, ‘you’re welcome.’”

He raised a disgruntled eyebrow at me. I glared back.

I had thought this little adventure would have softened him up—even just a little. I wanted to ask him what his problem was, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I remembered the folder I had stuffed in my shirt. I pulled it out when Calder wasn’t looking. It was bent from its wild ride, but intact. I opened it up.

“Don’t look at it yet,” said Calder. “Wait until we’re back. We don’t want anything falling out.”

I rolled my eyes. “If nothing fell out while you were pulling me through that tourist trap, it’s not going to fall out now.”

He didn’t say anything in return, and we lapsed again into gritty silence.

“Oh, well done. Well done, indeed,” said Eamon when Calder and I got back to the house. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, we’re fine,” said Calder, making his way to the kitchen. I, on the other hand, sat on the couch and rolled up my torn and bloodstained jeans to examine my skinned knees.

“Do you need a band aid?” Sam asked me in a quivering voice. Calder returned with a paper towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He knelt down in front of me and tipped some alcohol on the paper towel.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, shrinking away, but he ignored me and placed the paper towel on one of my scrapes. I sucked in my breath as it stung. A lot. He continued to daub at it.

I didn’t get this guy. One minute he’s ignoring me, the next he’s holding my hand, then he’s rude and silent, but patching up my wounds?

“We had to leave the car at Old Town,” he said. “It’s probably been towed by now.”

I stared at him, distracted from the pain as he continued to nurse my knees. Samantha caught my eye with a grin. I looked away.

“That’s all right,” said Eamon, picking up the file where I left it on the couch. “We’ll go get it in the morning. I’m just glad we got this done and you two are okay.”

“Did the hat get lost?” asked Natasha.

“Sorry,” I said, wincing again as Calder cleaned my other knee. “You know, I