Chapter 10
RUE
I stall at the red light, eyeing the truck stop on the left. It feels risky. Any kind of stopping feels risky, actually.
But the car only runs when there’s fuel in it.
Right before the left turn arrow changes to green, I glance back at Noah, sound asleep under the blanket, Bullet lying in the crook of his knees. It’s peaceful, seeing the two of them back there. However, as I start the turn, I feel nothing close to peace in myself.
I tap the steering wheel with my finger as I navigate the fuel pumps, my eyes flickering between where cameras could be. I don’t know why it matters. They’re going to have me on video no matter where I choose.
Still, everything in my body feels tense.
Just act natural. You’d be taking this exact same route if you were headed for Los Angeles. I remind myself of that, as I put my car in park at the pump furthest from the convenience store.
I take a deep breath, cut the engine, and then reach for my wallet. I fish out my credit card. It should be fine to use it, right? I mean, as far as the world knows, there’s no fugitive in my backseat.
Using my still-soaked tennis shoe, I push the door open, keeping my eyes focused on my feet. I swipe my card and quickly punch through the prompts on the screen.
Maybe Bullet needs to use the bathroom.
I know I do. I clench my thighs together as my bladder cramps, and then grab the nozzle, get it situated, and click the lever into place. I glance around the area, and most of the pumps are empty, save for a few utility and work trucks.
And they’re not going to be paying attention to me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I shove the credit card in the front of my pants with the car key, and then lock the doors to the car. I’d ask Noah if he’d like something, but he needs sleep—and it would be better if the camera didn’t catch me talking to someone inside.
My legs feel stiff and sore as I head for the convenience store, acutely aware of that my pants are still damp on my ass and inner thighs. I tug my sweater lower and then pull the door open, stepping inside the dank place.
“Good morning,” a woman says from behind the counter.
I glance at her, force a smile, and then head straight for the bathroom. I push through the heavy gray door and make my way to the first stall. As I go to drop my sweatpants, I become acutely aware of just how disgusting they are.
Shit. Noah was right. I should’ve changed.
There’s mud and grime all over them from the last twelve hours. I brush them off to the best of my ability, and then relieve myself fully, hoping I won’t have to go again until much later.
We need to be as discreet as possible until we get to… My thought trails off. I still don’t even know where the fuck we’re going. And I don’t like that.
But Noah knows. He has to know where we’re going.
I exit the stall, my gut knotting up as I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is tangled and disheveled. My face is piqued with fatigue. I look almost as bad as Noah did when I first found him.
And I haven’t taken a bullet.
I kick on the water and wait until it’s warm. I wash my hands, then my face, raking my wet fingers through my hair. Maybe I just look like a tired long-distance solo traveler. Maybe I just feel like I stand out like a sore thumb.
I shove my hands in the front of my jacket pocket and then slip out of the bathroom. Part of me wants to go straight back to the car, but the other part knows this is my chance to buy food with my credit card.
And not burn through any cash.
I’m on the run now. I have to be strategic.
It’s not like I can just keep working my remote job, like nothing has changed. Wait, should I quit? Do I just desert? How does that work?
My head spins with so many stupid freaking questions. As I step up to the warm food counter, my eyes zone out of the bacon, egg, and cheese croissants.
“Can I get you something, hon?” the woman from behind the counter peers across at me, her voice tinged with the rasp of years’ worth of cigarettes.
“Um…” My voice trails off. “Yeah. Maybe… Um.” Why can I not speak?
She raises her brows at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, shaking my head and forcing out a laugh. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”
“Looks like it,” she eyes me, and then opens the class on the back of the case. “So, what will it be?”
“A couple of those,” I point to the sandwiches. “And then maybe a large coffee.”
Should I get something for Noah?
No. My instinct immediately kicks in. If I get two drinks, and someone pulls up video footage, it could be questionable. A spare sandwich could just be for the dog.
Wait, the dog.
“Actually, can I get three of those?” I point to the sandwiches. “My dog is basically a vacuum.” I make the joke with a light laugh, but the lady is too busy ringing it all up.
“Thomas Peterson, an escaped inmate from the North Willard Penitentiary, has still not been located as of early this morning,” a news anchor’s voice says brightly from the TV, hanging above the tobacco case.
“U.S. Marshals are considering the possibility that the convicted murderer made it out of Moccasin Lake.”
I swallow hard, forcing my eyes not to look away from the sixteen-dollar total on the register screen. I swipe my credit card as the woman behind the counter makes the large coffee.
“You want any creamer?”
“Yes, please. Vanilla,” I answer her, my eyes finally taking a moment to dart up to the TV above her, the sight of the lake and search crews spanning the shores.
“We have a lot of confidence in our ability to locate Mr. Peterson,” a U.S.
Marshal pops up on the screen, his dark eyes riddled with fatigue.
“And while we’re considering the possibility that he made it out of the water, we’re going to continue to focus our efforts on the lake.
We know he was severely injured when he went into the water, and the probability of him making it out is slim. ”
“Crazy story, huh?” the clerk shakes her head, sliding the coffee across to me.
“Yeah, it’s something,” I say, gathering up the sandwiches and coffee. “I hope they find him.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
She nods, staring up at the TV. “Suppose so.”
With that, I slip out of the store, making a mad dash for the SUV. There’s an influx of vehicles at the pumps. I keep my head down, my shoes still squeaking lightly from water. When I reach the SUV, I put the nozzle away, click out of the receipt option, and then climb into the car.
I set the food in the passenger seat, the coffee in the cupholder, and then glance back at Noah and Bullet.
Noah’s sound asleep with his head resting on the duffle bag, his body covered mostly with the olive-green blanket. Bullet lifts his head when I shut the driver’s door, and I meet his gaze.
“I’ll take you to the bathroom away from cameras,” I say, my mouth feeling dry suddenly. I start the car and pull forward, making my way to a grassy median on the far side of the parking lot.
I pull up and stop, putting it in park. I grab for the leash and pat the console. “Come on, Bullet.” I glance around. “Let’s go out this way.”
He happily obeys, bounding off Noah and landing on the console, then consequently on my lap. Noah doesn’t even stir, his snoring continuing steadily. I take in the lines on his face, my heart squeezing at the sight.
“Come on,” I say, clipping the leash to Bullet’s collar.
We slip out of the car, and head for the grassy area. I once again keep my head down, thankful that Bullet does his business quickly. I clean up after him and then give him a pat on the head.
“I have no idea what our future looks like anymore,” I tell him, finding comfort in his warm brown eyes as my chest tightens with a new wave of anxiety.
He wags his tail, bounding around on the leash. I let him walk around and sniff for another ten minutes, making a note that we’ll have to find a dog park or someplace to let him off to run.
I glance back at the car, a sense of unease washing over my body.
Nothing about this is going to be easy.
And I wish I could undo all of this for Noah, but I can’t. All I can do is try to right my wrongs and love him anyway.
Because I do love him… Well, the Noah I think I know.