I hand her the keys and her eyes widen, gleaming golden in the sunlight. Her face offers a tentative smile, then as she takes them from my hand—no backsies—she beams.
“Does this mean I get to choose the route we take?”
I snort, my head shaking before she finishes the question. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Motueka, you said. I know exactly where to go.” She points towards the east coast; almost directly back the way we came.
“Good try, Scout.” I take her by the shoulders and turn her until she’s facing north. “Although, perhaps head in this direction instead.”
“Fine. You navigate. I’ll drive.” She scampers away to clamber into the driver’s seat before I can change my mind.
For a split second, I realise my mistake. She’s in the car, she has the keys, and I’m standing near the rear door, still near the thick forest. Nadia could plant her foot down and be gone before I have the chance to climb into the front beside her.
But she adjusts the rearview mirror then fiddles with the button that controls the sides. No hint of her even thinking of ditching me by the side of the road and leaving me to my fate.
“You’ll need a hat, too,” I say, gifting her my baseball cap and adding the purchase of a new one to the list of things we’ll need for the rest of the trip. “If you can get us safely to Richmond, we’ll also try to pick up a new car.”
“Bags I drive that one, too,” she says with glee, before pulling on her seat belt and motioning for me to do the same.
I have another twinge that I’ve just made a mistake, but she pulls onto the track, grumbling when she can’t reach the stereo with her short arms, concentrating more on her seat adjustment than the path stretching in front of her.
“If you’re driving, I’m in charge of tunes,” I tell her, pushing her hand away from the console. “And no complaints.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
NADIA
We pullinto town as it nears dusk. The trip by road would’ve taken just a few hours but going across country, ditching the tarmac, and following rivers, four-wheel-drive tracks, farmland routes, means we’ve been in the car for nearly eight hours. My tailbone hates me, and my eyes want relief from constantly looking ahead.
Not that I’d relinquish control of the vehicle. Not at all. Malakai can count himself lucky if he ever gets near the keys again.
Right now, he’s lying flat in the back seat, two carefully arranged rugs hiding any part of him from view.
Anyone listening to the news will look for him or for him and me, not me alone. Under cover of darkness, he can emerge from hiding. Not before.
The cash he shoved at me is mostly twenties, near enough to three hundred so a room for the night won’t be too much of an ask. It they want a credit card to secure it, too, that’s dicier. I can’t use mine and the ones Malakai’s dead mate gave to him could be just as risky. Hopefully, they’ll take an extra twenty or two slid across the counter to forget they don’t hold one on file.
And if the receptionist gives me the wrong vibes, we’ll spend an uncomfortable night in the car.
“Drop me near the workingmen’s club,” he instructs me after surfacing for a risky glance. “I’ll try to turn these packets into a replacement car and cash. Otherwise, we’ll need to find a vehicle that looks like it’s parked up for a while.”
I pull around the back of the venue and when I try to return his cap, he waves it away. “Keep it. You’ll need it for the motel check-in.”
“Should I leave the Jeep here?”
He cocks his head, eyes resting on the ground as he thinks through the possibilities. “No, take it with you. If we need to bring it back, it won’t cost us much in time.”
I head for the motel, pulling into the farthest park from the office and resting for a second as I let the tension of the drive fall from my shoulders. The past two days have been so extraordinary I find it difficult to know how to feel.
Relieved that Josh might survive, despite my derailed attempt to follow instructions. Alarmed that I’m on the run with a murderer. Guilt that I contributed to the killing of his latest victim.
Not much guilt, the pig was a bunch of inadequacies masquerading as a man, but still… Not killing someone would obviously have been better.
I wonder how much blame the police and courts will ascribe to me once they know.
There’s another sensation building under these thoughts. Anticipation. We’ll be sharing a room again tonight. Presumably sharing a bed.
The memories of last night turn my skin pink as sunburn and twice as warm.
