Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She crawled. It took forever, the kitchen floor spreading away in all directions like a desert plain. Her hands smacked against linoleum, the copper smell of blood filled her nose, and she heard the awful chilling little gurgle—
“Rowan. Wake up.”
She crawled on the kitchen floor. Daddy was bleeding, and Hilary screamed.
“Wake up, angel. Wake up.”
Rowan leapt into full consciousness, her heart pounding. His hand was on her shoulder. The car had stopped.
She must have fallen asleep again after lunch, because it was dark now. Streetlights bathed a parking lot with a yellowing glare. She blinked, and looked up at Delgado. “Hotel,” he explained. “I’ll go get us a room. Stay in the car, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Rowan nodded. He looked like he might say more, but he just nodded and opened his door. She watched him walk across the parking lot and into the huge white hotel.
This looked like a city. The sky was orange with reflected light, and she’d smelled winter air and car exhaust when he’d opened his door. Rowan found she was clutching the purse he’d bought her, and she made her fingers loosen by the simple expedient of taking a deep breath.
How had this happened?
She could open up the car door and bolt, she supposed. There was a street with a bus shelter, and beyond that, another well-lit street where she could see cars going past, even at this hour. A 7-11 sign was just visible, not far away. She could call the police. She probably should call the police.
She unlocked the car door. He’d told her that the police were on their side, but of course he would tell her that.
He hasn’t lied about anything yet. Her fingers played with the doorhandle. He’d left her alone out here—and left her alone in the bookstore, too. She could have asked to make a phone call, or even used his cell. She could have dialed 911, faked an epileptic fit, done anything.
The touch told her he was serious. He wanted to keep her safe.
He obviously thought the other people were a threat, and unless he was a sociopath or delusional, he wouldn’t be able to fool her.
He honestly believed she was in danger, and his actions made sense in that context. Or at least, most of them did.
She sighed, frustrated, and moved in the car seat. I want to run. She would never be able to go to the track again, never feel the weightlessness of an hour without worry ever again.
She wondered if anyone had found her father’s body yet. Had the neighbors called the police? What about Hilary?
Another more awful thought struck her. Suppose the police thought Rowan had killed them?
That’s ridiculous. The evidence wouldn’t hold up in court.
But logic dictated that one of the simplest ways to catch her would be having the police look for her. And the easiest way to get the police to do so would be to accuse her of murder.
Murdering her father and best friend.
Rowan flinched. Sometimes her brain worked too well. She settled back into the car seat, biting at a fingernail, trying to find a hole in her logic. A flaw in her reasoning.
None came to mind.
I’ll bet he knows how to avoid police. A warm flush of embarrassment crept to her cheeks. He seemed so competent, so endlessly efficient.
She was still brooding when Delgado came back and opened her car door. “I had to get us one room,” he said, and offered his hand. “There’s two beds, though.”
She nodded, sliding her feet out of the car. It felt good to stretch, good to get out of the blasted car. Chill night air washed over her, and she suddenly wished for a coat.
He kept talking. “It’ll be warmer inside. Let’s get you under cover, you can take a shower or something. Hot bath. We’ll get room service. There’s a laundromat attached—see, over there—so we can get your clothes washed. How about that?”
“I just want to sleep,” Her throat hurt. The soda she’d had at lunchtime had stung as it went down.
“Okay.” He guided her to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. She started to shiver. Halloween’s coming. It made tears rise to her eyes again. Dad had loved to feed trick-or-treaters. He stocked candy all year and gave it out by the double handful.
She blinked back the tears and swallowed them. Denied them.
When Delgado opened the hotel room door, she saw deep maroon carpeting and a mirror. An awful tasteless painting of a mallard hung over the small table between the beds. “A security nightmare. But it’s okay for now. Look, do you want to take a shower or something? A bath?”
She went to the bed farthest from the door, stripped back the covers and kicked off the sandals.
She dropped into the bed’s embrace, then yanked the covers up and spent a few moments wriggling out of the borrowed jeans.
Then she turned over, kicking the jeans out from under the covers, and picked up a pillow, jamming it over her head as she curled away from the light.
Delgado moved around for a while. “I’m turning the dampers on, Rowan.
It’ll feel a little strange.” Something electric hummed into life, and Rowan felt the same awful feeling of nakedness that she’d felt at the Victorian house.
He retreated into the bathroom and came out after a brief time.
Plastic rustled—he was getting the new clothes out.
After another while of hearing him move, he sighed. “I’m going to put this stuff in the washer. It feels awful to wear clothes when they haven’t been washed.”
She didn’t say anything.
He left the room, and Rowan curled even tighter around the hard knot of misery in her chest. Before she fell asleep, she had one more logical, terrifying thought.
If they’re chasing us and they corner us, it might not be a bad idea for him to leave me on my own so he can escape.
Or if there’s a chance of them catching me, what’s to say he won’t kill me to keep me out of their hands?
He could convince himself that’s the best thing to do for me, and he’s efficient enough to do it.
Ridiculous. He’d come this far with her, hadn’t he?
Rowan fell into a thin troubled sleep before he came back.