Chapter 5
Chapter Five
LOLA
There's no word on a kidnapped girl on the TV in the motel, in the papers, or even online.
I need to get out of here, hitchhike to my new destination.
I've paid up to tomorrow, but I'm leaving in an hour, and I keep smoothing out the piece of paper I dropped in my bag.
Silas's number.
I didn't program it in because I don't want to accidentally call that one. Even having Ruby's number is a risk because I could see myself calling. But that one I can hold off on.
She'll have a million questions. And she's connected to Enzo.
So is Silas.
But the risk with him is he has real answers, and the questions throb in me.
What happened with Lyndall is my fault, and what might be happening is also my fault.
I know the name Marino can make men tremble, so I'm hoping she's okay. And it's clear the man wasn't after her.
Even if he said she was interested...
I close my eyes and pull on the baseball cap, gather my things, and head out, dropping the keys in the overnight slot.
There's a gas station on the edge of town, and I buy a burner there.
The sun is getting a little low, but it's not close to sunset, just late afternoon.
I get some soup and coffee at a hole-in-the-wall diner, smooth the paper out, pull the phone from its wrapping, and fire it up.
Then I pocket it, scoop up the saltines, and pay. I leave, making sure to tip.
I decide to walk a little further along the highway, and I call Silas.
"Yeah?"
There's no hello or proper greeting, and it hollows me out, especially the terseness in his voice.
I'm gripped by ice, and I stumble to a stop, pushing out the words. "Silas, i-it's Lola."
"Lola." His tone changes. "Where are you? Is everything okay? You need to let us get you—"
"No." I suck in a deep breath. "I-is Lyndall okay? I keep looking in the news, but there's nothing. Did...did I help?"
"You mean after you got her kidnapped?" But there's no sting in his words. "She's fine."
"Fine how? Is—"
"You'll have to ask Enzo, or even Lyndall herself."
"Well, I can't. I have you. I don't want to speak to your creepy stalker friend."
"I'll give him idiot, but not creepy. Talk to him. Where are you? Just because we got her back doesn't mean you're safe."
I dig my heels in. "Enzo is the danger. Enzo."
"And the man with the gun?"
His words slap at me.
He's not wrong. At all.
The man with the gun wasn't Enzo. And Enzo wouldn't kidnap his sister, and he certainly wouldn't throw her around, either.
"I don't know him. And I'm sorry that happened. I didn't mean..." I stop. "I wish I could trust Enzo, but I can't. He violated my trust."
"Lola, please. It's not safe."
"I'm glad Lyndall's okay. Tell Enzo I never meant harm to his sister." I look down the highway.
There are some trucks coming along, and I know I have to hang up and lose the phone.
I don't think he can track the burner, but I don't want to call anyone associated with Enzo on the burner I have, the one in my backpack.
"Lola, I refuse to be the middleman between you and Enzo. You can sort that other shit out later, but safety is paramount."
"I can look after myself."
"Yeah, well, kid, if you want to know anything else, call Enzo, okay?"
I hang up on him.
Crushing my hand around the phone, I put my thumb out.
Four trucks go by.
I'm not reaching out to Enzo. I'm not spending time with him or speaking to him. I don't even want to see a photo of him.
Not now.
Not for a very long time.
The sixth truck pulls over, and the female driver pushes open the door. "Get in, honey, I'll take you as far as I can."
"Thanks. I'm Kate."
"Penny." She winks at me. "You don't mind punk, do ya?"
Conversation with Penny, when we can fit words around the loud old-school punk, is nice.
She doesn't ask me about me, just tells me where she is heading and offers three spots to drop me off. She also tells me if I want to talk about anything, she is there for me, and if I don't, we have the music.
The sun is setting when she pulls up in front of the motel.
"Damn cheap, no questions. Cash. No ID." That's what Penny tells me before bidding me goodbye and good luck.
And she was right.
After a cheap fast-food burger dinner I take back to the room, I lie down on the bed.
Silas's words turn in circles in my head.
There's a small part of me, very small, that wants to contact Alex. Contacting him would, of course, be contacting Enzo. And I can't.
Maybe down the road, in a few days, or weeks, or decades, I might be confident I could talk to him without blowing up everything. Maybe I could finally be cool, calm, rational.
But right now, no.
Right now, I'm doing all I can do.
I feel bad for asking Lyndall to come with me because, looking back, I can see how wrong I was. No way would he hurt his sister.
"No," I whisper, "just me."
With a small growl, I get up and go to the bathroom, checking all the spaces I can for any kind of hidden camera.
No way has Enzo bugged this motel. He's good, but he can't read the future, and I really doubt he's got time to go and wire up every hotel and motel in the country.
But if he does it, maybe others do?
A wave of nausea passes through me.
When I'm satisfied, I grab my panties and the T-shirt I bought, and I hurry into the bathroom to take a lukewarm shower with the kind of water pressure that'd please a gnat.
I take the quickest shower possible, trying to wash the dirt of the day off me, and then I dry off and dress so fast I should win a medal.
With nothing more to do, I pack up my meager belongings and climb into bed.
Finally, I close my eyes and rest my head against the old orange and green geometric wallpaper that's faded in spots. Tension seeps out of me a little, and I no longer feel like I'm wound up tighter than some kind of jack-in-the-box.
Lyndall's okay. She's fine.
If anything had happened to that sweet, innocent girl with more guts than most grown men I know, I'd never have forgiven myself. Ever.
But she's good.
I'm good.
As for that albatross second burner? I tossed the phone when I got out of the truck, so it's almost like freedom is teasing me like a sweet treat on the wind.
I open my eyes, the lamp light adds a sort of softness to this horrible room. And if I squint, it could be downright homey.
But Penny was right. No questions at the front, the gum-snapping middle-aged woman there was more interested in watching TV and doing a find-a-word than asking me questions.
The room might be ugly and threadbare, but it's clean, and the place even boasts an ice machine and a vending machine.
There are a couple of trucks and a handful of travel-worn cars in the lot.
All I care about is that it's clean and cheap and there's a bed.
I probably should get up early in the morning and hit the road. Maybe move along on foot until I come to the turn.
I pull out the map, the bed squeaking as I do, and it both sags and bounces as I turn, which is quite a feat.
But I get the map and spread it out on the red bedspread with pink and blue paisley on it.
I find where I am and eye my next destination, choosing the best place to get a lift.
It'll be a bit of a walk, but I can do it.
I just want to get out of Dodge as soon as I can.
With a sigh, I fold up the map and decide to be Penny tomorrow.
Then I switch off the light, thump the thin, lumpy pillows, and close my eyes, the bed squeaking and the springs poking at me.
But the wave of exhaustion that hits me makes me heavy, uncaring of comfort. And I close my eyes, trying to give in to the call of sleep.
But though I'm tired, sleep refuses to settle over me.
I open my eyes, and I catalogue the voices that pass by, the shadows that filter through the too-thin curtains, and the rumble of motors, both in the lot and passing by on the highway.
It's almost hypnotic.
I'm not sure when I fall asleep, but a noise that doesn't belong snaps me awake.
I listen, but no voices are around right now, just the rumble from the traffic.
And then I hear it.
A soft scrape.
Coming, it seems, from my door.
My heart thuds hard.
Maybe a drunk thinks this is their room.
I take a breath as something clicks and scrapes again, and I reach for the lamp, adrenaline pumping hard.
I push back the covers, grab the lamp, and the door bursts open, and the light explodes on, bathing everything.
I scream as Enzo bursts in.
Time stops, and we stare at each other. For that moment, as he looks at me in what seems to be wild-eyed relief, the lamp slips because he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
But then time starts to tick back again, and the moment vanishes.
He's wild with fury, a clouded storm. He stalks over to me, grabs the lamp before it hits the worn carpet, and tosses it on the bed.
Enzo turns and wraps his hand around my arm. "Get the fuck moving. You're coming with me."
All it does is rile me to the same storm levels as his.
I pull my arm free. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You are, Lola. Get your ass moving, or I'll make you."
"So, make me, because I'm not spending another second more than I have to in your presence. Get out, or I'll call the police."
He smirks. "With what? I've blocked all cell reception. You're shit out of luck, Lola."
But I curl my toes against the carpet. "No. Why would I go with a liar?"
"I didn't lie to you."
My eyes bug out. "And what do you call Alex?"
He shoves his face near mine. "An absence of certain details that got out of hand."
"You've been playing me all along. And pretending to be someone called Alex to get into my pants is a lie."
"That just happened. And it's all hearsay. You can't prove a thing."
I want to scream. "You just admitted it. And I hacked you, so I can prove a lot."
He grabs my arm again. "You wouldn't have known if you hadn't gone snooping when you shouldn't have. You just admitted you hacked me. That's a fucking crime."
I'm so shocked I let him pull me to the door.
Then I dig in my heels. "Excuse me?"
"No. I don't think I'll do that."
"Don't think you'll do what?"
He opens his mouth, rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, and blows out air.
Then, like he's had some kind of epiphany about either how wrong he is or how stupid this fight is with the door wide open, he drops his voice.
"Look, Lola, I really am trying to help you, believe it or not."
"Not."
His lips press together, and this time his release of air is almost a hiss. "You could've come to me with questions you had—"
"When?"
"—and I'd have answered."
"When?" I repeat.
It's like he's not listening. "I could've explained it all to you."
I stare at him and laugh. "I didn't come to you earlier because I didn't think there was a problem, and you knew it. You also knew I didn't trust you because of the falling out our dads had. You know why you knew?"
"Lola—"
"I'll tell you. Because you were pretending to be Alex. The man I ended up forming a bond with."
"It's still there."
"No. Alex is a lie."
"Look—"
"At what? The fact that when I thought about trusting you, Enzo, I found out you were lying to me?
And now? Now?" I shake my head and try to get free, but he doesn't release me.
"Now I know you've been lying to me, manipulating me about everything in my life.
Now that I know you've been spying on me, how can I ever trust you to tell the truth again? "