The Getaway Car Page 24

  “What’s your name, precious?” Even his voice was frightening.

  I didn’t care to answer him, and I feared if I ignored him, things could go from creepy to felony very quickly. The thought crossed my mind to make something up, except he probably heard Zac call me Mags, and I couldn’t come up with anything close to that without using my real name. So, I kept my gaze straight ahead and muttered, “Umm…Maggie.”

  He leaned closer, and I scooted farther away. Unfortunately, I reached the armrest. My only other option was to stand, and at this point, I was seriously considering it, regardless of how offensive that would be.

  Then he grazed my shoulder with his finger, and I jumped.

  “Hey, calm down, girl. I won’t bite.”

  When I turned to face him, I couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his eyelids or the lazy way he seemed to smile out of only one side of his mouth. Either he was on something, or he was the poster child for men you never want your daughters to date. Scratch that—more like someone you never want anyone you’re remotely acquainted with to come within a hundred feet of.

  “Your boy tells us you’re the sheriff’s little princess. That right?”

  “No.” I decided not to correct him.

  Before anything else could be said, loud voices came from the other room, where Zac and his friend had gone. From my seat on the couch, I could tell it was the kitchen, though I couldn’t see anything beyond that. Either way, Robby jumped up—jumped was an overstatement—and headed their way.

  Being alone should’ve been comforting, and it might’ve been had the voices not grown louder, and deeper, and…meaner. I carefully slipped closer to the wall that divided the two rooms, making sure I stayed quiet and hidden. Honestly, I only tried to ensure that Zac was all right. But what I heard sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? You brought the princess here?” That was Marcus.

  “She’s cool, man. No worries.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. Because I’m not the one he’s gonna kill when he finds out you brought your little girlfriend to the house. Between that and how often you’re sampling his shit, I doubt you’ll last ’til morning. Actually, I don’t care to be dragged down with you, so let’s give him a call. Let’s tell him about all this…the missing coke, bringing her here, and see what he has to say. For your sake, you better pray that sweet thing in there doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.”

  “She won’t, Marcus. Everything will be all right. She doesn’t know anything.”

  A loud, barking laugh erupted, followed by Marcus’s voice again. “I’m willing to bet she’s not stupid. It’ll take her minutes to see how high you are right now. And then what? What’ll happen when she goes to her uncle about it? The fucking captain of the fucking sheriff’s office, you dipshit.”

  “If she hasn’t noticed at this point, I doubt she will. You’re fine. Calm down, dude,” Zac argued.

  My heart thundered so hard it made it difficult to hear the rest. But I didn’t need to. I’d heard enough. It was all I needed to make me slink toward the front door. My sight bounced around the room, wondering where America’s Most Wanted was. I hadn’t heard him talk after he left the room, which worried me the most. He could’ve been anywhere, and I wouldn’t have known until it was too late since I couldn’t hear over the fear beating in my ears.

  As soon as I made it to the front door, I twisted the knob as slowly as I could, not sure if it would make a sound or not. The door would only open part of the way, any more and they’d likely be alerted to my exit by the creak of the hinges, so I shimmied through the narrow space as quickly as I could.

  Before I made it all the way out, a horrible cracking sound from inside startled me. I turned my head, not paying any attention to how close the door was, and clipped the corner on the side of my face. My brow bone immediately started to throb, and the space between my bottom lip and chin burned. As soon as I realized they hadn’t noticed me gone, I ran the rest of the way out, not bothering to close the door behind me.

  I ran.

  I ran until I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Until my throat had closed up so much I couldn’t breathe. And after stumbling a few times, leaning over to slow my heart rate…I ran some more. Through fields, yards, around ponds and between trees. I found roads and took them, clueless where they led. It didn’t matter, just as long as they took me far away from that house, from Zac, from this town. I needed to get away, anywhere, far from here.

  Finally, when I felt thoroughly lost and scared, I stopped and slipped the backpack off my shoulders. I realized halfway into my escape—when I tripped and fell—that I still had the bag, not having a clue what was in it. But I was too scared to stop and take a look. For all I knew, it was filled with drugs, and I definitely didn’t need to be caught with that. So, I unzipped the top and peeked inside. It was hard to see anything with only the moonlight, and I was too scared to stick my hand in there for fear of needles stabbing me.

  My phone was in the front pocket, along with my wallet, and I said a silent “thank you” to anyone listening, grateful that I hadn’t left those two things behind. Using the flashlight on my cell, I was able to see what was in the bag, and my heart stopped beating.

  Bricks of cash that looked nothing like I imagined. They weren’t neat stacks or new bills. They were dirty and old, crumpled. Some were twenties, some were smaller, and they weren’t in any organized fashion.

  The longer I sat crouched over the bag, the colder I became, remembering I’d left my jacket in Zac’s car. I needed to get moving, so I finished checking the bag, making sure there wasn’t anything illegal inside—other than the money I was certain hadn’t been obtained lawfully. When I didn’t find anything else, I zipped it closed.

  I tried to access the navigation feature on my phone, but with no service, I couldn’t get anything other than a general map. No blue dot to show where I was or even what direction I was heading in. And anytime I tried to search for something, the wheel just spun endlessly. So I continued my blind escape and prayed I would find shelter somewhere.

  Finally, my phone had enough service to push through text messages. All of which were from Zac—he realized I had left.

  Where are you?

  Why did you leave?

  Please come back? Maggie??

  If you don’t come back, they’ll kill me.

  They’ll kill you.

  The last one was enough to make my chest tighten. But I ignored it and tried the maps again. Still, nothing would load. The service kept going in and out, which only frustrated me to the point of tears. All I needed was to find out where I was, where I was going, so I had some chance of getting help.

  About ten minutes later, my phone vibrated in my hand several times, alerting me to new texts. I didn’t need to unlock the phone to read them. And again, they were all from Zac.

  Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.

  Please, don’t make me tell your uncle that you ran off.

  OMG Maggie come back now! You’re gonna get us both killed!

  I couldn’t take it anymore. It was obvious my navigation app wouldn’t work, so there was no point in keeping the phone on. All his words brought me were fear and anxiety. I was alone in the dark, clueless as to when I’d come across another person. I didn’t need anything else causing me panic. So I shut down the device and returned it to the front pocket of the bag.

  After walking aimlessly for what could’ve been ten hours, I finally reached a main road. Well, I wasn’t sure if it was a main road or not, but it wasn’t made of dirt, and maybe half a mile or so ahead, there were lights. A few cars drove by; thankfully, no one stopped. I just wanted to get to the lights, which as I got closer, I realized came from the parking lot of a gas station. I crossed my arms over my chest, curled my shoulders in, and tried to fight off the chill long enough to get inside the convenience store.

  As I approached the parking lot, I noticed blood on the sleev
e of my shirt and touched the side of my face, freaked out when I realized where it had come from. If I went inside, someone would surely see it, and quite possibly, call for help. I couldn’t risk that—I also couldn’t stay outside much longer without warming up.

  I took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other, telling myself that if I could make it in and out, then I would be all right. I just had to focus on one thing at a time. So I kept my head down and reached for the handle to go inside.

  Part Three

  Talon

  Maggie smiled as she spoke to an elderly couple at a booth in her section. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Even though she wore her uniform with an apron tied around her waist, I could vividly see her as if she stood naked in front of me. I’d worshiped her body a lot over the last four weeks, detailing every line, every curve, every scar and imperfection until there wasn’t a single pore I hadn’t memorized.

  She lived less than an hour away. I saw her almost every day, yet that still wasn’t enough. On Wednesdays, her shifts started early, and then she had dinner at her uncle’s house. I didn’t get to see her afterward, because she’d go straight to bed. Every week I’d offer to come over and sleep at her place, but she was adamant that I not waste my time; she was so tired when she got home, she’d pass out in minutes. So in order to see her, I made a weekly breakfast date at Rosemary’s Diner every Wednesday morning.

  “You’re going to be late.” She set the receipt on the table and laughed. This was our routine. I came in, ate, flirted with the sexy brunette while I imagined her naked, sprawled out beneath me, until she practically kicked me out.

  “Imagine how late I’d be if you met me out in the parking lot?” I teased and watched her cheeks turn bright red. “You know how much I hate leaving. I won’t get to see you until tomorrow, and that might as well be a hundred years from now.”

  She shook her head and sauntered off. One of these days, I’d wear her down.

  I pulled a few bills out of my wallet and set it on top of the receipt, same as I did every week. At first, she fought me on it, telling me she wouldn’t accept my tips. Nonetheless, this was the only way she’d let me help her pay down the money she owed her uncle. She couldn’t move away until she repaid him every penny she’d borrowed for college, so if I had any chance of getting her out of Billings—even if it was just to Fleetwood—I’d do whatever I had to…including decent tips every Wednesday morning.

  Leaving the cash on the table, I met her near the counter to say goodbye. I wasn’t allowed to kiss her in front of customers—for someone so brazen in the bedroom, she was shy in front of others—so every week, I had to settle for a smile. With my hand on her neck, my thumb against her smooth cheek, I said, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

  “You too, Talon.” And every week, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and stared up at me with the brightest pair of blue eyes.

  It gutted me to walk away from that.

  But I didn’t have much of a choice. I was fairly certain she’d lose her job if I bent her over one of the booths and said goodbye. Hell, she probably would’ve let me—if the light in her eyes and glow in her cheeks were any indication—though she settled with a hand against my chest and a smile on her lips.

  I was maybe two feet from the truck of Jarrod’s I still drove when I heard Maggie chase out after me. She called my name with tears in her voice, causing my heart to cease. When I spun on my heel to face her, I caught her running toward me. Disbelief riddled her expression, and all I could do was stand there and wait the few seconds before she came to a screeching halt in front of me.

  “Is this…did you mean this?” she asked, out of breath with a twenty-dollar bill in her hand.

  Confused, I glanced quickly at the weathered cash, then met her stare. Every week I left her forty dollars—that was the most she’d allow me to tip without slipping the rest into my pocket later—so I wasn’t sure why she’d be surprised this time. “Yeah…why?”

  She took a step closer, almost eliminating the space between us. When she did, my gaze fell onto the bill again. However, this time, I noted the words written in blue marker across the front, covering the face of the dead president. “I love you” was scrawled in a man’s handwriting, which was not mine. I met her stare, ready to correct her, but my denial refused to come.

  A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Rather than wipe it away, she launched herself into my chest, one arm around my waist and the other gripping the side of my sweatshirt. She buried her face into the material and held onto me as if her life depended on it.

  “Maggie?” I barely got her name out, forcing it past the lump in my throat.

  She released the fabric of my shirt and slid her hand to my neck, pulling her face to my shoulder without once letting me see her eyes. She held me so close it caused panic to spread throughout my body until I practically shook with fear. Although, I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of—Maggie didn’t appear to be frightened by the idea of me loving her. The only reason that would explain my reaction, was the realization that the sentiment was real. Just because I hadn’t written it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

  Then again, I’d never experienced love before, so I could’ve been wrong.

  Regardless, Maggie meant more to me than anyone ever had. Whether that meant I loved her, or that I eventually would, it didn’t matter. Nothing about us had ever been conventional, so there was no reason to try to make sense of this. I’d met her at a gas station and picked her up off the side of the road, knowing nothing other than her name and age. And even still, after a four-year separation, we managed to find one another again. Somehow, I had to accept that this was the way it had always been planned—that had we done anything differently, none of this would’ve been possible.

  The heat of her breath swarmed my neck when she said, “You smell so good.”

  I held her tighter, never wanting to let go, and dropped my mouth close to her ear. “You smell good, too.”

  As much as I hated leaving after our moment—and my realization—in the parking lot of the diner, I had to get to the shop. I’d been working on the 442 for a month. It’d taken that long to return it to pristine condition after Maggie nearly destroyed it. The guys had a good laugh after I had the clutch disc pulled out, and they really found it funny when they saw how badly she’d grinded the gears. It was a miracle she’d even made it to Florida. Needless to say, I was almost done with it, and at some point, I’d have to actually work with the guys instead of using them as my own personal assistants.

  When I made it back, Jarrod was in the office with the door closed. I wasn’t sure what he was doing—or who he had with him—so I bypassed it and headed up to my apartment to change. One step through the door and I could smell Maggie lingering in the space. It amazed me how long her scent remained after she visited, and it amped up my need to make it more permanent.

  After changing into my blue, oil-stained jumper, I sat on the bed to tie my boots. With one shoe on, I felt around beneath the blankets that had slipped halfway off the mattress onto the floor in search of the other, only to find something else instead.

  My fingers came in contact with a plastic bag, and when I pulled it out, I recognized it immediately. That particular color orange wasn’t one I’d soon forget, no matter how long I’d been deemed a free man. There hadn’t been anything of value in it after my release—my clothes no longer fit, and aside from my wallet, everything else was trash—so I hadn’t given it a second thought after bringing it upstairs.

  I pulled out the jeans and T-shirt, for no other reason than to look at them. But before I could recall the first memory from that night, something fell to the floor. It was a phone, though not mine. It wasn’t mine, because Maggie had taken off with it…and left hers behind. I’d forgotten all about having it, not once remembering that I had the answers to so many questions.

  Such as: who she’d stolen the money from.

  And now, after finding out
the asshole had been the one who had attacked her in Florida, there was a chance I’d find out his name. Not that it really mattered anymore, since he was already dead. But that never erased the natural need to learn something about him.

  I finally gave up when I couldn’t get into the phone. I’d managed to get it charged enough to power it on, only to get stuck on the passcode, and if I tried too many times, it would lock me out completely. And if that happened, I’d never see the messages.

  By the time I made it downstairs, Jarrod was out of his meeting. He was now alone in the office—my office, yet he used it far more than I did. So, I stepped inside and took a seat on the corner of the desk. “I need a favor.”

  Jarrod smiled without once glancing away from the paperwork in front of him. “You ran out of favors yesterday. Sorry. Order your own damn parts. And if this has to do with your girl, figure it out on your own. I can’t in good conscience continue to give you advice.”

  “Good, because you suck at it, anyway.”

  He reclined in his chair, his laughter filling the small room. “What can I do for you?”

  I handed him the phone, which sobered him rather quickly. Instead of taking it, he stared at it and then at me, repeatedly, as if an answer would magically appear.

  Most of the original crew who’d worked for Tony were troubled—some more than others. Between the lot of us, we struggled with drugs, stealing, fighting, or were on the cusp of falling into one of those categories. Jarrod, however, had a different, more unique issue, one Tony saw a silver lining in. If it involved a computer, Jarrod could figure it out. We’d all grown up relatively the same—poor. Yet for whatever reason, he had the ability to understand machines better than anyone I’d ever met.

  And after getting tossed into juvie for taking a prank at school a little too far, he’d found his way into Tony’s shop. Ever since, he’d limited his talent to car computers, and only with the purpose of fixing them. I had no doubt he had mixed feelings about this right now.