“Chilly out there,” he said. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. Within a few minutes Dekker was snoring softly against his window. My OODA Loop and I kept watch.
About an hour later I heard a rumbling and looked out the back window. A vehicle with its lights off rolled slowly into the empty parking lot, then stopped a distance away. Dekker jumped when I nudged him.
“What’s up?” he said, then yawned and stretched.
I pointed out the back window.
“That’s him,” Dekker said.
“How do you know?” I said.
“Who else is it going to be this time of night with the lights off? Cops don’t drive rag--top Jeeps and sneak up on -people.”
He opened his door and walked across the grass to the edge of the lot where the Jeep sat. I watched out the back window and saw a man with long hair get out of the driver’s side and throw his arms around Dekker. When he let go, the passenger side door opened and a thin figure in a Unabomber hoodie jumped out, ran at Dekker and jumped on his back.
An ambush!
My stomach heaved and I reached for Baby Glock. But then the figure hopped off him and Dekker turned to embrace it. I heard a loud female voice. It was a girl. She walked quickly toward me. My breath quickened and I kept my hand on my gun.
Dekker trotted to catch up and stopped her. He put his arm around her, bent his head and talked for a while, probably explaining about the weird girl in the truck. The long--haired man joined the powwow and listened to Dekker’s monologue.
Then the three of them came at me again, slower this time.
“Come on out here, Petty,” Dekker said. “I want you to meet my Uncle Curt and Cousin Roxanne.”
While I knew I wouldn’t be any safer in the truck, probably less so in fact, I couldn’t make myself open the door. I stared at the two unfamiliar smiling faces for so long their grins started to fade. I blew out hard, trying to steady myself. Dekker opened my door.
“Roxanimal, Uncle Curt, this is Petty,” Dekker said.
“Petty,” Curt said.
I couldn’t look at him.
The girl said, “Hi—-let’s start over. My name is Roxanne—-like the song. Dekker’s the animal.” She had short maraschino cherry–colored hair and smelled like vanilla.
He slugged her, not hard, because I could tell he liked her.
Dekker got closer to me and said, “I’m serious. We’re safe with Uncle Curt.”
I had my blade on my bra and my Glock in my holster, and that was all the safety I truly believed in. But there was something about this man. Maybe it was how different he seemed from Dad—-unguarded, peaceful but strong. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t sad or angry. I wanted to believe the smile in Curt’s bright blue eyes.
Dekker got my suitcase out of the truck and I carried the bag with my treasures over my shoulder.
Curt and Roxanne led us to the Jeep, where two dogs waited, dancing on the backseat. There was a white, chesty bulldog that made sounds like a wet cough and a little fluffy dog that barked beside him. Roxanne never stopped talking, and everything she said was punctuated with exclamation points, although I was so jumbled the words might as well have been in French.
Uncle Curt made sweeping motions at the dogs. “Back up, fellas,” he said. “Make room for Petty and Dekker.”
I couldn’t seem to make myself get in the Jeep. I didn’t know these -people. There were too many of them, too close to me. Dekker got in and scooted over to make room for me by pulling the fluffy dog onto his lap. Curt still stood at the passenger door, waiting for me to get in, his hand on the door frame.
I shifted from foot to foot.
“Dekker told you our girls are all about your age, right?” Curt said. “Chloe’s twenty--four, and Rox and Layla are twenty.”
“Oh,” I said, not looking at him.
“I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, if you want to be safe, be in a car with a man who’s raised three daughters. That’s all I’m saying. You’re safe with us.”
Roxanne stared at me and my face burned.
“Get in, Petty,” Dekker said.
“Yeah. Get in and tell me why you were named Petty,” Curt said. “Which is, by the way, maybe the coolest name I’ve ever heard.” He walked around the Jeep to the driver’s side, got in and closed the door.
My face got hotter. He was asking me about myself, something no one had ever done before. I’d seen -people talk to each other like this in movies and on TV, but I didn’t believe anyone did this in real life. Dekker had asked me questions, but they were more about my circumstances than about me. I couldn’t get my mouth to work.
The bulldog sat on the seat, smiling up at me, panting, waiting for me to get in so he could get acquainted. His face was so funny and full of anticipation—-what I needed to break down my paranoia. I climbed in the back and let him investigate me. He smelled Sarx and Tesla on my pants. I wondered if they were going crazy trying to guard the house without me there.