30. IVY
30
IVY
The car slowed, the turn signal clicking rhythmically as Grayson veered off the road.
“Why are we stopping?” I asked.
“You said you had to use the restroom,” Grayson replied flatly.
“And you said I should’ve thought of that before I called Detective Mitchell.”
When he smirked, I had to admit it; I didn’t entirely mind the sarcastic banter we’d eventually settled into, as it made the time more bearable.
“Well, lucky for you”—Grayson looked at me pointedly—“now, we need gas.”
He navigated the car into the creepiest gas station I had ever seen. The pumps looked like they’d been installed a thousand years ago, the casings beat to hell so badly, I wondered how this place could pass any kind of safety inspection. And then there was the “roof” overhead that looked like a decaying piece of Swiss cheese, stained with mold.
“Can’t we go to a Shell or a BP?” You know, a gas station that doesn’t look like it’s run by serial killers.
“It’s called staying off the beaten path, Kitten.”
I glared at him for using that pet name.
“Let’s see if you can make it five minutes without causing another problem, shall we?” Grayson challenged, his tone dripping with condescension.
I shoved my car door open, stepped into the bitter air, and scanned the building.
Great. By the looks of it, their bathrooms would come with a side dish of a bladder infection, but seeing as how I couldn’t hold it for even a second longer, I’d have to put my mad hovering skills to the ultimate test.
Grayson stuck to my side like a golden retriever/captor as we walked toward the restroom, which was located on the side of the building. On the way, we passed three flyers for missing women taped to a window. Comforting .
“Don’t take long,” Grayson warned.
I shot him a venomous look, my eyes narrowing as they landed on that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. But I couldn’t hold the stare for long; the urgent pressure in my bladder forced me to hurry into the ladies’ room.
The restroom was a dismal sight with three stalls that had seen better days. I made a beeline for the furthest one, praying it would minimize my chances of contracting some horrible disease.
Holy mother of relief, emptying my bladder was so intense, it was almost euphoric. But that relief lasted all of ten seconds before an eerie chill frosted my skin.
That rustling sound was probably just a giant rat, right? Not that a rat didn’t come with its own wave of panic. I’d lived nearly three decades without contracting the bubonic plague, and I certainly didn’t want to get it now.
It wasn’t until this moment that I appreciated just how dark it was in this bathroom. A single overhead light was down to one bulb, barely providing illumination, so I couldn’t be sure if that was a shadow beneath the stall door.
My mind raced. There was no way a CIA agent could’ve tracked us down so quickly after the call to Detective Mitchell, right? We’d only just arrived, which meant if someone was in here, they’d been here before us.
I yanked my pants up— if I was going to get bitten by a giant rat, let it not be on the ass —and my fingers fumbled on the stall lock as I sucked in a shaky breath. Slowly, I eased the door open, peeking out with one eye?—
The stall door slammed into my forehead, and stars exploded across my vision.