Stan nodded and Jason pulled Angela far enough away so he couldn’t overhear. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like? You don’t need or want my help. Besides, you can’t exactly throw me over your shoulder and take me back to the car now, can you? I would scream so long and loud, a dozen cops would be on your tail within five minutes.”
“I want you to turn around and take a good hard look at the man you’re thinking of hooking up with.”
She glanced at the truck driver. Jason did too. The top of Stan’s shaved head was blinding in the sun. He was big and brawny and didn’t need to smile for Jason to see he only had a few teeth left. He could smell the guy’s body odor from here.
“What about him?” Angela asked.
“He’s going to give you a ride all right, but he’s not going to take you anywhere you want to go. He could be a serial killer for all you know.”
“That’s calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”
“Listen. I know you don’t trust me. And there’s not a lot I can do to convince you of my innocence, but you’re not thinking this through. If you’re going to go with the truck driver, that’s your decision. I’m not going to try and stop you again. But I want you to know that once I drive out of here, you’re on your own.”
She crossed her arms. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I haven’t given you any reason to be afraid of me. I haven’t touched you in-appropriately or—”
“You took advantage of me just last night.”
“You kissed me. You’re lucky it stopped there.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Why? I thought I wasn’t your type.”
He was this close to telling her the truth…that he had hardly gotten any sleep last night. That she was a beautiful woman and her douche of a boyfriend was a fool for letting her go. But reality set in and he kept his mouth shut. His freedom was on the line. This was his chance to prove his innocence, and here he was trying to convince a woman he’d known for less than forty-eight hours that she should pick him instead of some toothless truck driver. The notion made his jaw hurt. “I need to get going,” he said. “You do what you need to do.”
And then he walked off.
***
Angela watched him walk away. She tried to tell herself it was for the best.
He was a convicted felon who had spent the last eight years in prison. He’d kidnapped her and was keeping her against her will. And yet he hadn’t taken advantage of her last night, she thought, as she turned back toward the truck and its driver.
The trucker grinned as he watched her walk toward him. “My name’s Stan,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Angela,” she said.
He licked his cracked lips before he said in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting voice, “You’re doing the right thing.”
He helped her into the truck, both hands squeezing her ass as he pushed her high enough so she could easily climb inside. She’d never been inside an eighteen-wheeler before. And she didn’t like it one bit.
The inside of his truck smelled worse than Stan himself. Dirty boots, empty water bottles, half-eaten food and trash littered the floor. A filthy curtain separated the back of the truck from the front. When she moved the curtain aside, something skittered to the rear of the vehicle. Then her gaze fell on a pile of used condoms in one of the cup holders. The smell of rotted meat and body odor grabbed her by the throat and shook her.
What was she doing? Had she completely lost her mind?
The driver’s door creaked open just as she was reaching for the handle on her side. The door was heavy, though, and she had to use her legs to push it all the way open. She jumped out—half fell—onto the hard ground. Her knee hit the pavement first.
Before she could get to her feet, she watched her car pull out of its parking space and move toward the exit. “Don’t leave me,” she called out. Scrambling to her feet, she limped hurriedly toward her abductor, Chris Patterson, waving her arms above her head, praying he would see her. She didn’t have a phone or a dime to her name.
But it was too late.
She watched her car roll out onto the long road and then merge onto the highway.
She had done what she said she would do. She had escaped a convicted felon. And yet she felt nothing but dread. Taking in a deep breath, she headed for the benches lined up near the restrooms. Both knees ached. She stopped at an old payphone to search for quarters.
No such luck.
She picked up the receiver, then saw the “out of service” sign.
A car she hadn’t noticed before, parked at the other side of the rest stop, backed out of a parking spot. She waved her hands in the air, hoping they would stop but the car never slowed before merging onto the freeway.
Overwhelmed by her predicament, and needing a moment of clarity, she took a seat at a wooden picnic table, folded her arms in front of her, and let her head drop.
“Come on, girlie girl. It’s okay. We’ll take good care of you, I promise.”