She jumped guiltily at the sound of Greywolf's voice. "Yes," she said and passed him her empty bottle. Where only moments before she had felt laggardly, her mind was now alert, whirring with plans for ways to distract him.
"Give me some money," he said, holding out his hand, palm up.
Eager to please him for the moment, she fished in her purse and came up with a twenty-dollar bill. "That should cover it."
He folded the money and tucked it under an ashtray on the counter. "There are facilities in the back," he said. "Do you need them?"
Yes, she did, but she deliberated on her next course of action. She could lie and say she didn't need the rest room, encouraging him to go ahead while she waited for him. But that would seem unlikely and would arouse his suspicions. Better to go along, get him to think that she no longer sought to escape.
"Yes, please," she said meekly. Without a word, he led her out the door and around the corner of the building to the two doors appropriately marked. She dreaded what awaited her inside as Greywolf pushed open the door of the women's rest room. The odor was overpowering, but she stepped inside and switched on the feeble light.
It was better than she had expected, though still bad. Now that she was reminded of how long it had been, she needed very badly to use the facility no matter how offensive it was. When she was finished, she rinsed her face and hands in the rusty sink. Even the tepid water felt cool against her sun- and wind-chafed skin.
Opting to let it air-dry, she went to the door, unlatched it, and tried to push it open. It wouldn't budge.
At first she thought she was pushing the wrong way and tried drawing it toward her, but to no avail. She pushed on it with all her might. It didn't move. Panic welling inside her, she threw herself against it.
"Greywolf!" she cried frantically. "Greywolf!"
"What is it, Aislinn?"
"I can't get the door open."
"That's right."
Her mouth dropped open in dismay. He had locked her in!
"Open this door," she screamed, banging on it with her fists.
"I will as soon as I return."
"Return? Return? Where are you going? Don't you dare leave me locked up in here."
"I have to. I don't want you using that telephone you made such a point of not noticing. I'll let you out as soon as I get back."
"Where are you going?" she repeated, desperate over the thought of being cooped up in the rest room for an unspecified period of time.
"Back to the car. As soon as I get that busted water hose replaced, I'll be back to pick you up."
"The car? You're going back to the car? How will you get there?"
"I'll run."
"Run." She mouthed the word, but little sound came out. Then a thought occurred to her and she wanted to flaunt her cleverness in his face. "As soon as the owners of this dump reopen at four, they'll find me. I'll scream the place down."
"I'll be back well before four."
"You bastard. Let me out of here." She pushed against the door with her full weight behind her, and still it wouldn't give. "It's stifling. I'll die cooped up in here."
"You'll sweat, but you won't die. I suggest you rest."
"Go to hell!"
He made no reply. Her words echoed off the walls of the public rest room. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened but could hear nothing. "Greywolf?" she called tentatively. Then loudly, "Greywolf!"
Nothing. She was alone.
Slumping against the door, she covered her face with her hands and submitted to the luxury of tears again. A woman like herself wasn't prepared to cope with adversity of this sort. Life-and-death situations were beyond the realm of her sheltered environment. She had grown up in a gilded ghetto guarded by parents who wanted "the best" for their child.
She had never even attended a public school because of the "undesirable elements of society" she would encounter there. She hadn't been trained in survival tactics at the exclusive women's college she had attended. Situations like this made great movie scripts, but no one really believed that they actually happened. But this was happening—to her.
For the first time in her twenty-six years, Aislinn Andrews was confronted with real fear. It was tangible. She could breathe it. She could taste it.
What if Greywolf never came back for her? What guarantee did she have that the service station would reopen at four o'clock? That sign could have been posted on the door months ago and forgotten when the owners decided that keeping the business open wasn't worth their effort.
She could die of thirst.
No, the rest room had water. Not the purest, she was certain, but it was wet.
She could die of starvation.
Actually that would take a long time, and surely someone would drive into the place before then. She'd have to keep alert for the sound of a motor and start pounding on the door and shouting when she heard one.
She could die of suffocation.
But there was a window, a small one, located high on the wall just under the ceiling. It was open several inches. The air might be arid and hot, but there was plenty of it.
She could die of rage.
Now that was a very real possibility, Aislinn thought. How dare Greywolf desert her in this disgusting place? Calling him every vile name she could think of, she paced the small rest room.
Finally it was that very anger which fueled her mind and sparked her imagination. Even he had said she was resourceful. She could get out of this rest room if only she would put her mind to it. She knew it! But how? Again and again, she threw herself against the door, but it wouldn't budge. Whatever he had used to brace it shut wasn't going to give, and she was only wasting her strength trying to move it. Sweat ran down her body in steady streams. She could feel it trickling along her scalp beneath her hair, which was heavy and hot.
Despairing over her futility and weakness, she raised her eyes imploringly toward heaven. And therein lay the answer to her dilemma. The window! If she had some way to—
There was a metal barrel standing in one corner of the rest room. Apparently it had served as a trash can for as long as the rest room had been in use. Steeling herself against thinking of its stinking contents, she struggled to upend it. The thing was monstrously heavy and bulky, but she finally succeeded in turning it bottom side up and scooted it beneath the window.
By standing on the barrel, she was able to grasp the bottom of the windowsill. For several minutes she labored, pulling herself up with the strength of her arms alone, searching for nonexistent footholds in the concrete block walls, until finally she levered herself up over the sill. Poking her head through the open window, she hauled in great gulps of air and welcomed the wind against her face. She hung there for several minutes, giving her arms, which trembled with fatigue, a much-needed rest.
Then she used her shoulders to raise the window as high as it would go. The opening was narrow, but she thought that with some effort and good luck, she could get through it. Pulling one knee up and bracing it against the sill, she tried turning herself so she could go feet first out the window.
It was when she raised her other knee to the sill that she lost her balance. Deliberately, she propelled herself toward the outside. With that much momentum behind it, her body slipped through the open window. As she fell, her arm caught on a nail on the sill. It ripped a seam in her flesh from wrist to armpit.
Miraculously, she landed on her feet below, but the ground was uneven. Grasping her arm in pain, she reeled backward and went toppling down a slope, rolling, somersaulting, only to bump her head on a rock at the bottom.
For a few blinding seconds, she stared up at the fiery orb of the sun, which seemed to be mocking her. Then all went black.
* * *