“Their people know my car. They might be out looking for it when these two don’t check in or something. We’re better off taking this and dumping it, then getting a rental car.”
Lacey’s eyes contain distant pinpricks of awareness. She nods slowly, pulling her knees up under her chin, hugging her bent legs to her chest. I drive into the night, speeding away from my house and the bodies of the two strangers who came to do us harm.
It turns out it was vital that I grabbed my purse. The gas tank is running on vapors by the time we hit the freeway—who doesn’t fill up the tank if they’re planning on a good ol’ kidnapping? I immediately leave the city limits and find myself on I-5 South without even making the conscious decision. The road stretches out in a never-ending expanse of blacktop now, a vast ribbon of roadway that will carry us for roughly seventeen hours in the same direction until we hit upon Los Angeles. I could have gone to the hospital. I could have gone to Pip, too, but the thought of dragging trouble to her doorstep is one I can’t entertain. Same with my workplace. All I know is that the only person capable of keeping us safe now is probably going to be annoyed at our presence. And I literally have no idea how to find him once we reach L.A.
Lacey eventually falls asleep after we stop at a gas station and I grab her an overly sweet soda and a couple of power bars. Once dawn hits, weak and bleary, a pale pink color washing over the cloudy sky, I find a Wal-Mart off the freeway and wait for it to open. Lacey remains asleep in the car as I go inside and grab us each a couple of changes of clothing. The cashier glances down at the fresh, purple bruising on my forearm where the guy grabbed me earlier and shakes her head, as though the state I’m in, the early hour, and my hastily grabbed stash of jeans, T-shirts and shoes tells a story all of their own. She clearly thinks I’m on the run from an abusive boyfriend or something.
It’s amazing the difference a pair of jeans and some ballet flats can make to a flight of escape. I certainly feel less vulnerable than I did in my PJs, either way. Lacey wakes a solid eight hours later, is conscious long enough to tell me that she doesn’t know how to drive, before I decide enough is enough and we need to dump the car. We stop in Jackson County, Oregon, and abandon the vehicle in a liquor store parking lot with the keys still in the ignition—someone’s bound to steal it given the neighborhood—and then we traipse five blocks over to a Rest Eezy Motel, where I promptly check us in under a false name and then pass the fuck out.
*****
“What the fuck do you mean, the place was empty?”
Callum, one of my boys, cautiously words the information he needs to tell me, knowing full well how much shit he’s in. I set him the task of checking in on Sloane’s place through the night and the unbelievable little motherfucker is only calling me now, at eleven fucking a.m., to tell me that the house was empty when he got there. “When did you last go by the place?” I demand.
He’s silent for a long time. And then, “Midnight.” I can hear the wince in his voice.
I hope he can hear the murder in mine. “Say again? Because I swear you just said midnight, when I told you to go by every two hours.”
“I know, Zee. But the place is miles from anything, man! Took me an hour just to find it. I figured no one else was gonna be headed up that sketchy road in the dark. It’s fucking dangerous!”
“You know what’s fucking dangerous?” I growl in a low voice. “Me. I’m fucking dangerous, and right now I’m close to flying back to Seattle so I can personally fuck you up. You feel me?”
“I’m sorry, Zee! Seriously, I’m gonna find them, I swear.”
“No you’re not. You’re gonna tell me what you found when you went up there.” My voice grows quieter and lower with each and every word; anyone who knows me well enough knows this is not a good thing.
“There were deep tire tracks. Not from the doc’s car, though. That was all fucked up, still parked by the house. And there were a lot of footprints and skid marks in the mud. Guess it looked like something had been dragged or some shit.”
“Dragged or some shit? You’re really filling me with pleasant thoughts right now, Callum. Do you know what it feels like to have your fingers broken one by one? ’Cause the prospect of showing you is sounding more and more enjoyable by the second. Where. Are. They?”
“I don’t know, boss. I’m gonna find out, though. Right now!”
The phone goes dead. I grit my teeth together, screwing my eyes shut and clasping my hands around the thing until it creaks under the pressure. I take a moment. Swallow hard. Inhale a deep breath.
Today has not started off well.