Chapter 5
ROXIE
Two days after crawling out of the rice, I’ve barely slept, and I’m paranoid as hell. I keep feeling like I’m being followed, convinced I see Caruso’s men everywhere I look.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the mob boss’s face, how utterly unaffected he’d looked when he said the DA’s name. I tried to convince myself that maybe I’d misheard or that “taking out Reed” meant buying him off or taking him out of the proverbial game rather than taking him out of this life.
If movies and rumors are anything to go by, though, mob bosses don’t buy people off, they bury them.
Every dark sedan I see out my window makes my pulse jump. Every guy in a leather jacket looks like he’s coming to finish me off. I’ve stopped going to work and answering phone calls.
A knock at my door startles me so badly I nearly topple off the couch. My whole body shakes until I hear my best friend’s voice through the door. “Rox, I know you’re in there. It’s me. Come on, open up.”
I drag in a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to shake off the fright.
Then I get up and pad across my broom closet of an apartment toward the door.
When I open it, I don’t even look at her.
I just grab her arm and pull her inside before I throw the lock again, sliding the deadbolt into place just in case.
She sighs behind me. “This is no way to live, honey.”
“Tell me about it.” I finally turn to face her, surprised to see a tray holding two coffees in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. “Are you moving in or something?”
She shakes her head, her bright red ponytail swaying with the force of it. “Nope, but you’re moving out.”
“Excuse me?” I scoff, but I accept the coffee she offers me. “Where exactly am I going? I can’t come stay with you. We’ve talked about this. If they do find out who I am, we’d only be putting you in danger, too, if I were at your place.”
“Sure, but you’re not safe here, Rox,” she says, pulling her own coffee from the tray and striding to my bedroom, the duffel still clutched in her manicured hand. “Pack light, pack warm, and pack now.”
“I can’t just disappear.” I bring the cup to my lips to blow through the sip slot. “First, because I’m not James Bond and I have no idea how you even go about disappearing, and second, because people will notice.”
“Who? The guys planning your murder? Trust me, they’ll notice a lot less if you’re not around to testify.”
I glare at her, but she isn’t wrong. “Where would I even go?”
“Montana,” she says as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When I frown at her, she sighs and sits down on the edge of my bed, motioning at the duffel beside her while she settles in with her coffee. “Just pack, would you?”
“Fine.” She has that look on her face that says I’m not winning this argument. As a hairstylist, it’s a look she’d perfected, most recently when I’d told her last night that we ought to dye my hair purple. “I’ve never even been to Montana. What am I supposed to pack?”
“Whatever can fit in that bag,” she says firmly. “Just make sure it’s warm. The bus leaves in a couple of hours, so we need to hurry, and you can’t be bogged down by too much stuff. It’ll make you stand out.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “How many spy movies have you watched in the last forty-eight hours?”
“Enough to know that you need to wear some sort of disguise and that you can’t have anything with you a regular traveler wouldn’t carry.”
“It’s the mob, not the NSA.”
“You’re right, and that should scare the crap out of you.” She leans forward and opens a drawer in my dresser, tossing a beanie at me before going back for a pile of tank tops. “Just pack. You’ve got five minutes before I shave your head and call it a makeover for your disguise.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s assault,” I mutter, but I stuff the tank tops into the duffel on top of whatever she’s already packed in there.
After that, I drop in a handful of bras, a few pairs of jeans, some socks, underwear, and pajamas, and by then the duffel is bulging. Shoving in the only good jacket I own on top of everything else, I prop my knee on the bag to force it all down while she tugs at the zipper.
She looks up at me with worry shining clear as day in her big brown eyes. “Put the beanie on. Between that and the god-awful box dye, not even I would recognize you on security camera footage.”
I groan. “We’ve been over this. When they described me in that kitchen, they referred to me as a blonde girl. I might not know what other information they’ve got about me, but I do know that, so I had to change it.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve come to the salon so I could do it properly, and there are better colors than box brown.”
“Box brown is nondescript,” I remind her, jamming the beanie over my head as instructed.
As I turn to pick up the duffel, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and I barely recognized myself. The beanie, the hair, and the oversized navy hoodie that completely hides my curves work together to make me look like an entirely different person.
That’s the point, I suppose. I don’t have to like it, though.
“Okay.” I turn away from my reflection with a very deliberate spin and sling the bag over my shoulder. “Where exactly am I going?”
“My family has a cabin just outside of Silver Ridge. You’re lucky my uncle never convinced my dad to sell it. The place has power, running water, and enough canned food to survive an apocalypse. We haven’t been out there for years, so you might have to clean up a bit, but you’ll be safe there.”
“In Montana,” I say flatly. “With the bears, and the nature, and stuff.”
She gives me a look. “You said you wished you could just go somewhere nobody could find you, including DoorDash. The cabin is that place.”
I sigh, drop the duffel next to my front door, and walk over to the freezer to pull out a wad of cash. My life savings. “I don’t even own hiking boots.”
“I packed you some that used to belong to my cousin’s ex,” she says. “They’re a size five and they probably smell like divorce, but she only wore them once and they’re sturdy. He splurged on them the first time he took her out there.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I slide the money into the front pocket of my jeans, quickly covering the bulge with the hoodie.
My stomach is a tight knot of dread and cheap coffee as it finally sinks in that this is really happening.
Madison digs into her purse and pulls out a sheet of paper.
“Your bus ticket. I paid cash, so there’s nothing tying it back to me, but keep your head down anyway. Just blend in as well as you can.”
My eyes are suddenly burning, but I don’t let the tears fall.
I just inhale another long, deep breath, fling my arms around my friend, and pull her close, hugging her tight for as long as I can before she finally swats at me.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. This isn’t forever, though.
I’ll see you again soon, but we really need to get going. ”
I finally release her, picking up the duffel bag as she opens the door and walks out into the hallway, but I hesitate, taking one last look at my tiny apartment. It isn’t much, but for the last few years, it’s been mine.
After a quick, quiet goodbye to the four walls that have served me so well despite the chipping paint and the creeping damp, I follow Madison out and let the door swing shut behind me.
She’s already waiting at the staircase, and together, we hurry to the street, keeping our heads down as we walk to her car.
When we get to the bus station, she parks across from the Greyhound terminal and kills the engine. For once, she’s quiet. Then she reaches into her purse again and pulls out a small, cheap phone still in its plastic.
“Leave your phone. I’ll dump it. This is a burner. Text me when you’re safe and be careful. Don’t give your last name to just anyone, and don’t make friends.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” I smile weakly. “Who would want to be friends with a paranoid fugitive in a beanie anyway?”
“Some weirdo in Montana, probably,” she says, winking at me. “Let’s just hope he’s cute.”
I roll my eyes and lean over to pull her into another firm hug.
She squeezes me back. “You’ll be okay, Rox. Somehow, you always manage to land on your feet.”
“Yeah,” I say as I reach for the door handle. “As long as I don’t get them dipped in concrete, right?”
I climb out of the car before she can respond and don’t look back, too afraid that if I do, I’ll lose the nerve to leave. When I reach my bus, I find my seat and don’t relax until the doors hiss shut behind the very last passenger to board.
Three long, tiring days later, we finally wheeze to a stop in a town that looks like it has two speeds: slow and slower. The sign outside the depot reads Welcome to Silver Ridge, Montana in faded paint.
I stumble out of my home of the last sixty-something hours along with the rest of the passengers, grab my duffel, and blink into the bright sunshine.
Even the air tastes different here, cleaner, probably, but I’ve lived in New York my entire life, and orphans like me don’t get many opportunities to travel.
After taking a moment to adjust, I follow the faded sign that points me in the direction of the parking lot.
Madison had said there would be a car waiting for me, and it turns out to be an old blue Trailblazer that looks like it had survived more winters than me and maybe even an encounter with a moose or two.
The keys are under the driver’s seat, just like Madison had said they would be.
I briefly wonder how it could be safe to just leave them there, but obviously, I’m not in Manhattan anymore.
I sling my backpack and the duffel into the back seat and stick the key in the ignition, a little surprised when the engine actually coughs to life as I turn it.
Madison had warned me that the cabin was out of town and a bit of a drive from the grocery store, so before I head to my hideaway, the market would have to be my first stop. Thankfully, it isn’t hard to find.
Just down the block from the station is a store small enough that I can see the entire place from the entrance. A bell jingles when I walk in, and every single person inside looks at me like they are auditioning for a horror movie titled There’s a Stranger in Town.
I grab a basket and pretend not to notice the attention I’m attracting, loading up on the essentials as I move from one aisle to the next. Madison had said the cabin had some supplies, but I wasn’t taking any chances. The less time I spend in town, the better.
When I reach the cashier, a woman, maybe a few years older than me, scans my stuff and gives me a polite smile. “New in town?”
I shake my head. “Just passing through.”
It’s technically true. She smiles again as she hands over my change. “Well, I hope you have a good time. We’ve got some killer hiking trails.”
Let’s hope she doesn’t mean that literally.
I flash her a small smile in return. “Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open for them.”
And never, ever set foot on any of them.
As I leave the store with my bags in hand, I can almost feel the locals’ relief, and I wonder, not for the first time, just what kind of town this is. Since I don’t have much of a choice but to stay put for now, I head back to the Trailblazer and start the long drive to my new home.
It takes almost an hour, the winding road climbing higher and higher into pine country. I half expect to hear banjos when I open my door, but there is only silence. The overwhelming, deafening kind.
Once again wondering just what the hell I’d gotten myself into, I look up at the Morrison family cabin, a small, sturdy structure that sat back from the road, with smoke stains on the stone chimney and a porch swing creaking in the breeze.
I grab my things, juggling as much as I can at one time, and with as much trepidation as relief, I walk up to the front door. The keys are hidden at the top of the frame, just like Madison said, and the lock turns more easily than I’d expected.
Inside, the scent of cedar and dust hangs thick enough to choke me as I run my gaze across a fireplace, a sagging couch, and a kitchen straight out of the seventies. I drop my things at the door, double back for the last of the groceries, and then turn in a slow circle once I’m back inside.
“Home, sweet serial-killer hideout home,” I mutter out loud, not sure I’ve ever heard silence so complete.
There is no traffic even in the distance. No music. No sirens. Just trees whispering in the breeze outside and the occasional crack of a branch.
The groceries don’t take long to unpack, but even by the time I finish, my fingers are cold. Not freezing, but that kind of chill that makes me want a blanket and a hot shower at the same time.
One look outside tells me that it’s getting late, the sun is starting to dip low in the sky. Crap. I’d better figure out how the heat works.
I go looking for the thermostat, checking the walls, the hallway, and even behind a crooked picture of a moose, but there’s nothing.
Moving back to the kitchen, I fill a kettle and set it on an old gas stove, then pull out my burner phone and hit speed dial. She picks up on the second ring. “Tell me you made it.”
“I did,” I say. “Barely. That bus trip is not for the faint of heart, I’ll tell you that much. Question, though, how do I turn on the heat?”
There’s a pause, then she bursts out laughing. “I didn’t tell you? Fire, babe.”
I blink at the stone fireplace. “No, you didn’t tell me. You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. What were you expecting? It’s an old-school cabin. If you’re cold, you build a fire. There’s wood chopped out back and matches in the drawer by the sink.”
“Girl Scouts was a long time ago and I never even got my fire-making patch.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she tells me. “It’s not that hard.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s about to face frostbite if you don’t become the ultimate pioneer woman.”
She laughs again. “It’s not frostbite cold yet, Rox. You’ve got a couple of months before you’ll be in any danger of that. If you’re even there that long. Text me when you’ve got the fire going and don’t burn the place down, okay?”
“Scout’s honor,” I reply dryly. “Just remember how long it’s been since I was a scout.”
She giggles then we say our goodbyes and I stand there, staring at the cold fireplace. I finally sigh, roll up my sleeves, and mutter to the empty room.
“All right, Smokey the Bear. Let’s see what you’ve got.”