Chapter 69 Cara
SIXTY-NINE
CARA
Cara scrambled over the passenger-side door and practically fell into the Porsche. “Floor it!”
Stephanie gunned the engine and Cara struggled to fasten her seat belt as the car surged up the hill fast enough to pin her into her seat.
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since Noel sent me to the Porsche Track Experience in Carson,” Stephanie said as she navigated a turn at what had to be eighty miles per hour. “What happened back there?”
“Taylor happened.”
“Holy shit!” Stephanie glanced over. “From the way you look, I’m guessing you pulverized that spoiled little brat.”
Cara couldn’t yet feel any of the new scrapes crisscrossing her already bruised and battered arms and legs. “Thankfully, I didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t even rough her up?”
“When I told her I had Karl’s gun, Taylor pushed the panic button and took off out the front door. I took off out the back. I climbed the chain-link fence and came through the Oddens’ rose bushes.”
“Do you? Have the gun?”
“I left it in the safe. It was too tempting to use it on her.”
Cara knew that was what Stephanie wanted to hear, but she didn’t blame Taylor for being scared. She didn’t even really blame her for believing Cara killed her father. She had established her brand without thinking about its effect on Taylor. She had loved him just as much as Cara did.
“Right or left on Mulholland?” Stephanie asked, as they neared the crest of the hill.
“Left, and then south on the 405.”
Stephanie tossed her phone into Cara’s lap. “Key it into my GPS.”
“It’s better if you don’t know where I’m going. You’re going to need plausible deniability.”
“Too late for that. My phone started blowing up ten minutes before you jumped in the car. Unknown number, so I assume it’s law enforcement. I let it ring through to voicemail.”
“Give me your passcode.”
As Stephanie slowed down just enough to merge onto the 405, Cara unlocked the phone and saw one voicemail followed by five missed calls, all from the same number. She pressed play and held the phone hard against her ear so she could hear over the wind and traffic.
“This is US Marshal AJ Wen calling for Stephanie van der Lind. We’ve received a report that you may have made contact with the fugitive Cara Campbell. It is imperative that you return this call immediately.”
Cara lowered the phone and leaned back against the headrest, staring up at the smoggy blue LA sky. “I never should have dragged you into this.”
“I’m not concerned in the least. Nothing’s going to happen to me because you’re innocent.”
If only that were true.
Stephanie checked her rearview mirror and changed lanes as the traffic slowed. Moments later, the 405 was at a standstill. They hadn’t even reached Santa Monica Boulevard.
Cara kicked the floorboards in frustration. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Just tell me where you’re trying to go,” Stephanie said soothingly.
“Centinela and Washington Boulevard.”
“We’ll take Sawtelle part of the way. I’ll put up the sunroof while we’re in traffic. It does ruin our whole Thelma and Louise vibe, though.”
“Stephanie!”
“Kidding!” She patted Cara on the leg as the sunroof went up and they crawled toward the exit. “But once I drop you off at this unnamed place, how are you going to get around without a car?”
“I have it figured out,” Cara said, more confidently than she felt.
Finally, they reached the STOR-MORE storage facility.
“Over there,” Cara said, pointing.
Stephanie made a sharp turn into the driveway. “You’re not planning to hide in a storage locker, are you?”
“I’m just getting a few things. But that’s actually not the worst idea.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Stephanie said. “I have a much better idea.”
Of course she did.
“It’s a listing in Malibu. The owners relocated to Paris and are selling the house as is—lock, stock, barrel, sheets, towels, and all.
It fell out of contract because there’s a foundation crack.
There’s nothing else scheduled because they want twenty million, and it has to be fixed before anyone else puts an offer on it.
It’s still listed but only to placate the seller. ”
The place sounded better than Cara wanted to admit. “Is it your listing, though?”
“I’m co-listing with Dana Cameron in the Malibu office, but she’s on a cruise until the end of the month. Work doesn’t begin until she gets back. You get whatever it is you need, and I’ll drive you out there.”
Cara shook her head. “I don’t need a ride. And I can’t put you in any more danger than I already have. The US Marshals are going to be looking for you, too.”
Stephanie huffed.
“Honestly, it’s too huge a risk.”
“The authorities will never get anything out of me,” she said testily, but pulled a pen and pad out of her glove compartment. “I’ll write down the address and the alarm code. There’s half a bottle of wine, an apple, and some cheese that needs to be eaten in the fridge.”
Cara got out at the unmanned security gate. Stephanie blew her a kiss as she peeled out of the parking lot.
The gate opened easily with the passcode written below the storage facility’s address. She pushed through and quickly found herself lost in the endless rows of lockers. Karl had never brought her here before. Finally, she located row C and locker 1144.
As she unlocked the big red padlock and rolled up the shutter, she remembered how, in the woods, she’d encouraged herself by treating each new accomplishment as another level achieved in a game.
Unlocking her home, Karl’s safe, and now this large door felt the same way.
But would she ever complete the final level and win?
She rolled back the soft gray tarp to uncover the sleek, black 1969 Mustang.
The untitled car had been given to Karl in trade by a patient. Cara hadn’t wanted him to keep it, but after his death, she kept paying the storage fees, not wanting to deal with whatever issues had kept him from getting it properly licensed in the first place.
While this sketchy trade for services had nothing to do with his potentially sketchier real estate deal, it certainly seemed to reveal a willingness on his part to engage in nontraditional business transactions.
The more urgent question was whether the classic car would still start. If it didn’t, she might well be spending the night in its back seat, in the storage locker.
Cara climbed behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition.
The engine coughed weakly but didn’t start. The battery had to be weak. Tapping the gas pedal, she tried again. This time the engine chugged several times and turned over. She revved it a few times just to be sure.
Then she put the car in gear.