The Getaway Car Read online

  The Getaway Car

  Leddy Harper

  Copyright © 2018 by Leddy Harper

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my mom…

  As silly as it sounds, I’m proud of you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  The Truth About

  Part II

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  The Truth About

  Part III

  Talon

  Maggie

  Talon

  Maggie

  The Truth About

  Epilogue

  Hey You!!

  About the Author

  Also by Leddy Harper

  Prologue

  Talon

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No—I refused to believe it. It couldn’t be true, because that would mean Maggie hadn’t been honest with me. Not that I’d been completely straightforward with her, either, but at least I hadn’t taken advantage of her and left her with nothing. Which was exactly what she’d done to me—left me emptyhanded.

  Sitting in the back corner of the dimly lit motel bar, I stared over the tabletop at an empty, cracked, red-patent leather bench and tried to understand how I could’ve possibly missed the signs. How she could’ve done this. And more importantly, how I never saw it coming.

  I pictured her hooded, sapphire eyes, wondering if they had mesmerized me, obscured the ugly truth that lived within her. Then I recalled how they’d transformed into a hypnotic, powder-blue color when she laughed, and how they squinted more than normal when she smiled. If it wasn’t her eyes that had cast a spell on me, then it was the prominent Cupid’s bow in her top lip, the deep V that came to two sharp points before sloping down on both sides and settling into the corners. Glossy, bare, colored…it didn’t matter. Her mouth had a way of stealing my attention…and every thought from my head.

  The one part of her that didn’t scream angelic innocence were her eyebrows. They were perfectly arched, radiating deviousness, like she was up to no good. When she looked at me, sadness filling her eyes, they’d begged for safety. Safety I thought I could provide. When she was excited, they rose high on her forehead as if in celebration. Although, they were the most telling when she slept. Sometimes, they’d knit together, protecting her from whatever nightmare played in her mind. And other times, such as when she was asleep in my arms, they were relaxed, almost smiling.

  That’s what gutted me most. How even then, while asleep, she’d managed to fool me.

  Maggie was like a shot of heroin—offering the promise of better things, yet full of lies.

  Not only was she addictive, I would’ve done anything for her. Anything. It’d taken one taste and I was hooked. In two days, she’d become my drug of choice and turned me into a junkie. And now, as I stared at an empty seat, alone and betrayed, I understood what addicts must’ve felt like when they woke up and realized their stash was gone.

  Anger.

  I was so pissed I could’ve punched a wall. In fact, I had to fist my trembling hands under the table to keep from following through with those overwhelming desires. My brows were pulled so tightly together that my forehead ached, and I clenched my jaw with enough force I could’ve broken a molar. In the last two days, Maggie had saved me from this all-consuming, fiery rage. And now…she was the cause of it.

  Desperation.

  No matter how ticked I was, a large part of me was desperate to find out why. Why she did this to me. Why she’d leave tonight of all nights. Why she didn’t feel like she could be honest when all I’d done was show her support—regardless of what I had learned about her. The answers wouldn’t make it right, but at least I’d stop questioning every aspect of our time together. Right now, I’d make a deal with the devil just to hear her explanation—no matter what she had to say or how it’d make me feel.

  Anxiety.

  Sitting idle only ensured she’d get even farther away. I should’ve jumped up and gone after her the moment I noticed my keys and phone were no longer on the table. Except I couldn’t move. At first, I worried if she was okay. Then the reality of the situation hit me, and apprehension set in. She’d stolen my car, my phone, and left me with nothing other than a motel room and a nearly empty wallet. And thanks to her, I was in an unfamiliar town with no way to get home. My hands shook the longer I stayed seated, and I had no idea what to do next.

  Physical pain.

  I had so many thoughts, fears, and questions running through my mind at lightning speed that my head pounded. My shoulders were stiff, and my forearms burned from the tightly coiled muscles. Mindlessly, I’d bounced my knees so much that my thighs were on fire, as if I’d just run a marathon. And my palms stung from the edges of my nails digging into the flesh of my balled, hard fists.

  And still, nothing hurt as bad as my chest.

  The punch of her betrayal had knocked the air from my lungs and left me winded. And her departure felt like a shotgun had gone off and obliterated my heart, filling me with holes.

  I grabbed her phone off the table and slid out of the booth, slipping the cell into my pocket. Even though it was pointless, I took one last look at the bench she’d occupied before she headed for the bathroom to wash up. I knew her backpack wouldn’t be there, but I had to be certain. Once I realized the seat was completely empty, I ducked to check below the table in the event it’d fallen to the floor. And just like my brain tried to tell me, it wasn’t there, either.

  She seriously left me with nothing.

  Again, hope kept me moving. It took me outside toward the parking lot, whispering words of encouragement in my ear that Maggie had just gone to the room to change, or had to get something out of the trunk. It sang promises against my chest that I’d get out there and find my car exactly where I’d left it, and all this would be something Maggie and I would laugh at in a few minutes.

  Needless to say, Hope was a hateful, lying bitch.

  The spot I’d parked my blue, 1969 Oldsmobile 442 sat empty—just like the bench across from me at the booth. Other than her phone, it was like Maggie didn’t exist. As if I’d made her up in my head. Like the last two days were a figment of my imagination and I hadn’t just spent the best moments of my life with someone who saw me for me—something I never believed was possible.

  A cool breeze ran over my arms. It reminded me that she’d even taken my jacket. And that thought caused a burning rage to ignite within my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. My ears rang and my face flamed, proof of my blood pressure spiking. Fury clenched my fists even tighter than before and caused my breaths to become ragged, harsh…livid. My boots scuffed along the sidewalk in front of the parking lot as I continued to walk. Blinding hatred filled me until its weight prevented me from taking a step without dragging my feet.

  I couldn’t hear anything around me.

  I couldn’t see past the fear and rage clouding my vision.

  And the moment I was surrounded by the brilliant flashes of blue and red, I couldn’t move.

  I was trapped, and there was no way out of it this time.

  All thanks to Maggie Abrams.

  One thing was for sure—sh
e’d never get away with this.

  Part One

  Maggie

  My fingertips were so numb from the cold that I couldn’t feel the gas station door handle as I pulled it open. I could tell by the number of cars out front that the convenience store was busy, but I was freezing and needed to wash my face, so I couldn’t wait any longer. Not to mention, at this time of night, my options were limited; it was almost eleven—or maybe after, I wasn’t sure. I had no idea how far it was to the next open store with a public restroom, and I wasn’t about to take a chance.

  I kept my head down and moved toward the back corner. Not having a clue where the restroom was, I figured I’d be able to locate it better once I was inside and away from prying eyes. Just as long as I didn’t look at anyone or call attention to myself, I’d be—

  Something hard clipped my shoulder and knocked me off balance. When I went to catch myself, my hand got stuck in the front pocket of my jeans. Thankfully, someone grabbed my arm and steadied me, allowing me the time I needed to find my footing. I didn’t dare look up. The large, scuffed, black boots indicated this was a guy—as if I wasn’t able to guess that by his strong grip or the sweet, sweet smell that wafted off him.

  “You okay?” Oh, God. That voice. So deep and rumbly. It vibrated over my body from head to toe and washed away the chill that had embedded itself in my bones since I’d left the house. It was enough of a shock and a comfort to pull my gaze from his feet to his face. And instantly, his brow furrowed and his gaze hardened. “What the hell…?”

  It took me a moment to break out of the lustful haze his voice had cast over me. And when I did, I quickly remembered the blood on my face. Immediately, I turned away, focusing on the yellowed linoleum tiles. I was stupid to think I could get in and out without anyone noticing. And now that he had, I wasn’t sure I could get away without causing more of a scene. His grip tightened just enough to prevent me from moving past his solid body, yet it wasn’t enough to alarm me.

  “Hey, sweetheart, hold on. What happened? Are you okay?” His words and tone caused my head to spin. Beneath the harsh, nearly unrelenting growl, there was an undercurrent of compassion softening the grit. And to top it off, the way he said “sweetheart” made my knees go weak and my insides melt.

  He carefully guided his free hand over my shoulder and to my neck, preventing me from turning away. At first, it startled me. His gentle touch, his fingers gliding along my throat, skyrocketed my heart and stifled my lungs. Then his heated palm cradled my cheek. When his thumb slid down my jaw to my chin, my anxiety began to wane. He didn’t force me to look at him. He didn’t turn my head or tip my chin. His subtle nudges were enough to tell me he wanted to see my face but wouldn’t force it. It was more of an encouragement.

  And there was something in me that longed to give him what he silently requested. However, nothing good could’ve come from it, so I dismissed the desire to let this beautiful stranger save me. Instead, I attempted to forge ahead on my plight to find the ladies’ room. After all, it wasn’t like he could really save me. The idea of him—or anyone, for that matter—rescuing me was nothing more than a precious lie I yearned to believe…but a lie all the same.

  “Hey, hey, hey…” he soothed as best as he could with such a gravelly tone. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to see that you’re all right.”

  “I have to use the bathroom.” I wasn’t sure if he had heard me. It took a lot of strength to get those words out, yet they barely seeped past my lips, mostly filled with air and a cracked, hoarse voice.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. Please? Can you just…” He huffed a breath of frustration—the first sign of anything other than compassion in the sixty seconds since I ran into him.

  His hand dropped away from my cheek when I tried to move to the left, but his grip on my arm tightened the smallest amount. Now, he shifted to stand completely in front of me and held me by both shoulders. I had nowhere left to look except at his chest. There was nothing to see other than a black pullover jacket, the strings from the hoodie dangling on either side of the center.

  But that smell…

  I was so close that every breath I took brought in another lungful of that rich, masculine scent. I couldn’t place it, had no clue what the notes were or what it even resembled. All I knew was that when I closed my eyes and inhaled, I could vividly picture this brute of a man standing in a forest, a stream lapping at his feet where an ice chest sat full of fresh trout. A bead of sweat dripping down his defined chest, only stopping at the waistband of his low-slung jeans, all while he stared at me and called me “sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said again, just like he did in my fantasy. “If you don’t answer me, I’m gonna get the clerk to come over here or call someone for help.”

  That was enough of a threat—or promise—to make me pull away and meet his concerned gaze. And, God…I wish I hadn’t. The compassion I’d heard in his voice earlier lined his strong, powerful features. Then, in an instant, it vanished. The worried ripples in his brow hardened into rigid, white creases taut with anger and marred with vengeance.

  “I’m fine. I promise. I just need to use the bathroom.”

  He shook his head, never taking his eyes off my face. “You didn’t sound fine just a second ago. You started to moan or something, and you swayed a little.” He slipped his hands over my shoulders, up along my throat, and held my head still with his thumbs on my cheeks. It was spellbinding the way he examined me with his dark, intense stare. “How’s your head? I’m worried you might have a concussion.”

  Now he was just being dramatic. I hadn’t seen my face, so I had no idea what I even looked like, but there was no way I had a concussion. “No, honestly…I’m fine. You just smell really good.” Okay, so maybe I did have a concussion. It was the only explanation for why I’d admit that aloud.

  One corner of his mouth hitched into a humored smirk, and the anger in his eyes disappeared.

  I needed to get away from this guy before the fire in my cheeks burnt the gas station down. “I swear, I’m okay. I didn’t even hit my head. It just looks worse than it is, which is why I need to go to the restroom to clean up.”

  His mouth twitched the slightest bit, and he narrowed his gaze. “How’d this happen? Were you in an accident?” His heavy baritone hung in the air while his focus shifted over my head toward the glass windows lining the front of the convenience store.

  “I turned too fast and ran into a door.”

  “You sure about that, sweetheart?” His inquisitive tone taunted me, as if accusing me of lying without using the words.

  “It’s my face, isn’t it? Did you see it happen? Were you there?” My bottom lip stung when I fought to restrain my anger. I had to calm down before my pain had a chance to give me away, and knitting my brows only intensified the ache surrounding my temple.

  “No…wait.” His words were soft and pleading, full of sincerity. He dropped his hand from my face, dragging his fingertips along the length of my arm until he had a light hold around my wrist. “That’s not what I meant. I just can’t imagine a door doing…this.”

  “Well, it did.” I grabbed the straps of my backpack near my shoulders, my thumbs hooked beneath them, and straightened my spine. I needed to get out of here before we drew more attention to ourselves than we already had. Two people could only have a private conversation near the nacho cheese rack for so long before someone began to question it. “Now…if you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up.”

  Oddly enough, he didn’t argue. He didn’t fight or try to detain me. Instead, he stepped aside, giving me the opportunity to pass through the narrow space between his large frame and the boiled peanut station. I didn’t smile or show an ounce of gratitude, and as soon as I glanced up and saw the sign for the ladies’ room, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was warmer in the convenience store than it was out. My hands were no longer frozen, which made it impossible to ignore the chill that ran up my arm when I grabbe
d the cold handle to the bathroom. I twisted and pushed at the same time, fully anticipating the door to fly open. That’s what I got for expecting things to go my way. It was locked, so rather than twist, the metal latch bit into my palm as the door rattled against the frame. Someone called out to hold on, that the toilet was occupied, which by that point, I had already figured out.

  I refused to turn around—the nosy stranger would be there and had probably witnessed the entire thing. All I wanted to do was hide. From him, and from the woman on the other side of the door. I may have been young, but I wasn’t stupid. Keeping my head down wouldn’t stop her from seeing my injuries the moment she came out.

  Having one concerned citizen was enough—I didn’t need two.

  And I certainly didn’t need either of them calling the cops.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to turn around. Nor did I have to see the expression on Brawny’s face. I also didn’t have to wait for the ladies’ room to become vacant. Thick fingers wrapped softly around my upper arm and a hand came to rest lightly on my hip from behind. Seriously, I’d make the perfect victim—I didn’t scream, kick, or fight. Hell, I didn’t even gasp. I just went along as he guided me to the right a few steps toward a closed door, and then the grip on my bicep fell away. The door opened, a light came on, and in a blur, I was rushed inside a small space.

  It was no mystery who stood behind me, nor did I have any doubt as to why. But as soon as I heard the sharp click of the latch, I twisted around, my instincts finally kicking in. The sink was behind me, and I grabbed ahold of the wet ledge to steady myself. I wasn’t scared, yet I should’ve been totally freaked out. After all, I was trapped in the men’s room with a very large, very strong frame blocking my only exit. I couldn’t ignore the way he watched me, his concern palpable in every pore on his face, or how it made me feel.