You know, get right with the world.
To the elderly gentleman who’d offered them a ride, she’d tell him exactly where they’d left his car. After Knox had kicked the man out at a crossroads, they’d proceeded north until the old sedan had run out of gas. Knox had coasted the vehicle off the country lane into a stand of trees. Chances were, it would remain hidden there unless someone happened upon it.
She could make whole the roadside cafe where she and Knox had dined and dashed—well, Knox had dined. She’d only dashed because she’d been too sick with terror and grief to keep anything down. Neither of them had had cash or credit cards on them. But even if she’d had her Visa, Knox would not have allowed her to use it.
No paper trail.
That was rule number one when going on the lam.
Ha!Her snort, even though it existed only in her head, was tinged with hysteria.Look at me! Acting like I know the rules of being a fugitive.
Scenes fromThelma and Louiseran through her head. Then she decided that wasn’t a good comparison since Knox was a guy.
We’re more like Bonnie and Clyde, she decided. Then she felt light-headed because Thelma, Louise, Bonnie, and Clyde all died.
Are thereanymovies where two people on the run from the law both make it out alive?
None sprung to mind, which made the sick sensation in the bottom of her stomach start swirling.
She forced her attention back to her list of injured parties. Recounting her sins was better than contemplating her potential demise.
There’d been the truck driver who’d taken them through Kentucky. Knox had stolen forty dollars from the guy’s glovebox when they’d stopped for gas. There was the convenience store clerk she’d distracted with inane conversation so Knox could pocket two Snickers bars without getting caught. And last but not least, there was the truck stop that was missing one cheap, plastic rain jacket.
It’d been nearly eighty degrees the night they left Charleston.
Ha again!LeftCharleston? It's more like we ran for our lives.
But she’d bet it was in the fifties here in Chicago. And the wind had a definite bite, a cold, sharp-fanged warning of what would come in the next few months.
She concentrated on that, on herphysicaldiscomfort, as they waited for Knox’s brother to exit the large, three-story factory building that sat like an insolent, brick-faced king behind the tall iron gate. If she focused on how much her head hurt and how every subtle gust of wind tried to cut her to the bone, she could forget the horror and grief that turned a knife in her heart and slashed relentlessly at her gut.
My god, Cooper…
She didn’t dare close her eyes. If she did, she knew what she’d see playing against the backs of her eyelids. Her brother’s last moments, his last act—one of stupidity and heroism.
If she pictured that, she’d give in to her heaving stomach and throw up the partial Snickers she’d eaten because Knox had threatened to shove it down her throat if she didn’t put it there herself.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
It had been her refrain since Charleston.
Don’t think about the abuse you suffered at the hands of that man.
Don’t think about the awful way your brother died.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
She staredhardat the factory building, so hard without blinking that by the time the front door opened, her eyeballs burned like her tears had turned to kerosene and someone had lit a match.
“Breathe.” Knox pushed away from the guardhouse’s window to throw an arm over her shoulders. “We made it. Britt will help us.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded, never taking her eyes off the handsome, fit fellow who strode toward them with purpose. She noted the scuffed biker boots, the black leather jacket, and the T-shirt beneath that sported an image of Wolverine and Deadpool with their arms thrown around each other. Printed below the image was one word: Besties.
In any other circumstance, she would’ve smiled. Inthiscircumstance, she knew if she allowed her face the freedom to move, it would crumble, and then she’d be done for.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Britt Rollins resembled Knox in many ways. The brothers had the same lean, muscular build, the same mop of wavy, messy hair, and the same eyes—icy blue, so light they were almost eerie. But that’s where the similarities ended.
