“It is unless someone’s hiding behind a seat in the back,” said the driver.
Jordan looked at Wen. “I’m going in.”
She lowered her weapon while he drew his own. Then he stepped up into the bus.
FORTY-TWO
CARA
Self-made men are successful, driven, and sexy! Broke men? I can’t be bothered.
—@carasloveisgold
“Is Cammie short for Camille?” asked the driver, Jeffrey, as they headed south on Highway 41.
“Yup,” Cara said.
“It’s a beautiful name,” Jeffrey said. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” she said warily.
Never in a million years could Cara have imagined herself approaching a man at a gas station, claiming to have missed her bus to Sacramento, and then asking for a ride. Even from a man who looked suburban and safe in his cargo shorts, On Cloud sneakers, and neatly trimmed beard.
Now she calculated risk differently. After seeing herself on cable news, she knew she couldn’t board a bus where all the riders would be on their phones. And wasn’t the bus exactly the place authorities would look for a fugitive with bad hair and a box dye job?
“I’m divorced,” Jeffrey told her.
Cara considered inventing a partner named Jasmine or Heather but instead decided to keep it simple. “I’m sorry.”
“I just keep moving forward,” he said, obviously fishing for more sympathy.
“That makes two of us.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind being single again. It’s given me the opportunity to try new things and to meet new people.”
Jeffrey’s BMW was at least ten years old and had worn leather seats but seemed well maintained. He was a normal person driving a normal person’s car. And she had asked him for a ride, not the other way around. Still, just in case, Cara kept her bag of snacks on the floor between her feet and her hand on the phone she’d tucked into the waistband of her leggings.
“I really thought Susan and I were forever,” continued Jeffrey. “When we met, I was in the clothing business, and she was in marketing—or so she said. Honestly, the only thing she really marketed was herself. And I was stupid enough to buy what she was selling.”
While he continued chatting as if they’d agreed to meet for coffee after matching on Hinge, Cara concluded that Jeffrey was desperately lonely. She could certainly relate.
“I really loved her until I realized she was just after me for the money,” he went on. “The money I used to have, that is, before Covid forced me to shutter my business...”
Fifteen increasingly excruciating minutes passed, during which Jeffrey reassured her he’d learned his life lessons and was evolving. There would be no more blonds or bimbos, or any relationships that weren’t based on mutual respect. It was the kind of conversation that might have ended with her giving him a list of red flags to watch out for, if only he were a little less needy and she wasn’t pretending to be the opposite of who she was.
But who was she now?
Up ahead on the highway, Cara spotted a white shuttle bus with tinted windows idling on the gravel shoulder.MCCwas written on the side in big blue letters.
Jeffrey tapped his brakes as Cara sank in her seat. “Is that your bus?”
“It must have gotten a flat tire or something.”
“I can drop you off if you want,” he said, sounding a little sad about it.
As they passed, she saw a Madera County Sheriff’s cruiser parked in front with its lights flashing. Passengers were filing off, watched by an Asian woman with a drawn gun and—was that Sheriff Burke?
Jeffrey laughed. “Whoops!Someoneis sweating it out right now. It looks like that bus might not be going anywhere for a while.”
