I have thirty bucks left after buying the phone. I want to spend all of it on cheeseburgers, but the Burger Barn doesn’t open for an hour. Keeping the brim of my hat low, I grab a bag of chips and a turkey sandwich and take them to the front register, doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone in the store. I crack my knuckles and scan the items in the glass cases as the clerk rings me up: leather wallets, switchblades, a bunch of cool silver rings shaped like skulls. I’ve always wanted a ring like that.
The door to the shop trills mechanically, and I resist the urge to whirl around and see who it is. With slightly shaky fingers, I count out the money I owe the clerk and then take my bag and receipt. I carry the food back through the front door of the shop and out into the sun. I saunter around to the back of the parking lot and sit cross-legged against the brick wall of the gas station.
I let out a huge breath and try to relax my back and shoulders. I’ve been on high alert for so long that my entire body is rigid. As I unwrap the sandwich, my stomach rumbles in anticipation. I eagerly bite off a big hunk of meat and bread.
I watch the highway as I chew. I can see everything coming from both directions. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll do if a parade of cop cars appears, but I feel a little better knowing nothing can sneak up on me.
About an hour later, I get a call from an unknown number. Warily, I press the button to connect it, but then don’t say anything.
“Who is this?” Parvati’s voice. She must be calling on her prepaid. Emotion floods through me and I have to choke back a lump in my throat before I can speak. “Hey,” I say finally. “It’s me.”
“Oh my God. Are you all right?” she asks. “Where are you?”
I swallow hard again. “Eagle’s Pass. Some place called the Flaming Engine.”
She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I can almost see her furiously googling. “Damn, that’s like fifteen miles from the cabin. How’d you get there?”
“The river, mostly. I had to leave my car.” And the laptop. And the hard drive. And Preston’s phone. Man, I really messed everything up.
“McGhee and Gonzalez interrupted our family dinner last night. They threatened to charge me with aiding and abetting if I knew where you were but didn’t tell them.” She sighs loudly. “My parents freaked this morning when they found out you had been at the cabin. I had to tell them you must have stolen my set of keys back when we were dating.”
“Great. My alleged crimes just keep adding up.”
“It was either that or end up under house arrest, and you need my help. When we find Preston and everything goes back to normal, I’ll tell them I lied.”
“Sure.” I blink back tears. The lack of sleep combined with the craziness suddenly has me teetering on the edge of hysteria. Inhaling deeply, I lean against the building, watching an eighteen-wheeler swing out to the right in order to make a left turn into the lot.
“Can you find a safe place to hide?” she asks. “I can pick you up tonight, as soon as my parents are asleep.”
“That would mean another ten hours before you can even leave, plus an hour to get here. I’ll just start walking, or hitch a ride with a trucker. If you come, there’s no way you’ll get back in time for school tomorrow.”
“Screw school. Screw truckers. They’ll turn you in,” she says. “And trying to walk all the way to Vegas will take days. Not to mention there’s nowhere to hide out in the desert.”
“But your parents will lose it completely if you disappear.” Even worse than my parents are no doubt losing it at this very moment. Which is probably a lot. They seem laid-back, until something bad happens. Then Darla starts to self-destruct. I wonder what Amanda is thinking, whether she knows I ran away from the FBI.
“Let them lose it. It isn’t like I’m sneaking out of the house to hook up with you. I’m trying to help you find Preston, and not go to prison for something you didn’t do. Getting grounded, even getting shipped off to military school, is kind of worth it.”
I was hoping she would say that, but I don’t want her to feel obligated. “If you’re sure.”
“I’ll call you when I leave, all right?” she says.
“Okay.”
“See you later, Max.”
I disconnect the call without answering. A black-and-white cop car is turning into the lot.
TWENTY
I QUICKLY TURN THE PHONE off and slip it into my pocket. Pulling the brim of my hat even lower, I walk casually toward the corner of the building. My first instinct is to lock myself in one of the bathroom stalls until the cop leaves. I take a couple of deep breaths and realize I need to give myself an escape route. Street Living 101: always give yourself an out.
I change direction, cutting across the parking lot like I’m going to eat at the Burger Barn. When I’m halfway there I glance casually over my shoulder. A policeman dressed all in navy is striding toward the door of the Flaming Engine with a white paper in his hand.
It could be nothing.
Or it could be a flyer with my face on it.
Once the cop is safely inside the truck stop, I head back to the road and plunge into the wooded area along the side of the drainage ditch. If I see more cop cars I can just run farther into the forest. The police might have dogs, but if I find my way back to the river they’ll lose my scent.
I work my way deep inside a grove of evergreens and bend into a crouch. The backs of my legs press against rough bark, and the feathery green needles hide most of my form. Through the tightly woven branches, I can just barely see the front of the truck stop. My heart starts up a drum solo. Even though the day is windy and cool, beads of sweat form on my upper lip. Each time the glass door to the Flaming Engine swings open, I am ready to run.
It’s a lady carrying a toddler and dragging a kid Amanda’s age behind her.
It’s a trucker with a carton of cigarettes and a bucket-sized drink.
It’s the cop.
My heart stops. The breeze stops. I swear I can hear each of his footsteps on the asphalt parking lot. He’s carrying a soda cup and what looks like a sandwich. What he’s not carrying is the piece of white paper he brought into the store.
He’s in his car now. Wheels moving. Backing up. I hold my breath as he turns onto the road. He’s coming toward me. I inch backward, farther into the trees.
He’s five hundred yards away.
Three hundred yards.
If I turn and run, will he see me?
Two hundred yards.
I hold my body completely still. My muscles betray me. My legs threaten to buckle.
One hundred yards.
A drop of sweat falls from my upper lip to the carpet of pine needles below my feet.
Fifty yards.
The black-and-white rolls past without slowing down.
I sink to the ground, exhaling sharply. My legs are shaking so bad that I almost wet my pants. Curling onto my side, I try to slow my rapid breathing. I’m fine. Everything is fine.
No, it’s not fine. Preston is missing and the FBI is acting like I killed him. Everything is completely wrecked.
Still, there’s nothing I can do for the moment except try to calm down and catch up on the sleep I missed last night. Shielded from view by the thick evergreen foliage, I lean back against a tree trunk and let my eyelids fall shut.