“I’d rather take 40,” she said.
Scott entered the freeway and got the rattling van up to speed. “We run the risk of hitting snow or freezing rain between Albuquerque and Little Rock that way.”
“Yeah, but we’d skip most of Texas.”
He almost smiled at her grouchy tone. “You got something against Texas in particular, or did you desperately want to see Oklahoma City?”
Her lips didn’t even twitch. “I havea lotof things against Texas in particular.”
“Like what?”
She stared out her window. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice flat. “I’ll deal.”
“Okay.” She didn’t want to share? Fine with him. The less tangled up he got with her the better. Even if he couldn’t stop imagining being tangled up with her naked.
Getting to know her meant developing a relationship, and he didn’t do relationships.
When he didn’t press for details, she closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was sound asleep, her head against the glass, lips parted. He hadn’t seen her that relaxed…ever. He pounded his sweet caffeine and tried not to be mesmerized by the nearly empty road as lane markings flashed by in rhythm.
Ninety minutes later, while they were skimming along the northern edge of Los Angeles on I-210, Scott turned in to a gas station.
Valerie stirred, blinking against the bright overhead lighting as she stretched her arms up and back, pulling her cotton T-shirt tight across her breasts. “Where are we?”
He averted his eyes and removed the key from the ignition. “Pasadena. The van needs gas, and I have to hit the head.”
“If that means use the bathroom, then me too.”
He opened his door, keeping his face down, out of direct line of sight from any overhead cameras. “Hang tight while I pump gas. I think we should go inside together.”
She glanced at the mini-mart, its windows plastered with cigarette and beer sale signs. “Okay.”
Five minutes later, Valerie exited the bathroom at the far corner of the dingy shop and wrinkled her nose. “It’s not pretty, but the plumbing works and it has TP.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “No more paper towel, though.”
Scott glanced at the cashier with his slicked-back white hair and tattoo-covered arms. He didn’t like the look in the older man’s eyes as his gaze followed her movements. “I’ll be out in one minute.” Or less. “Do you want to pick out snacks? I’m easy.”
She nodded.
“Stay alert.”
“I’ll be fine.” Adjusting the fake glasses she’d purchased at the drugstore to sit higher on her nose, she strode past him toward the chips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pasadena, CA
Monday, 3:45 a.m.
WHILE SCOTT WAS IN THE restroom, two men entered the store. Valerie moved out of sight behind the rack of Fritos and beef jerky, peeking between a gap in the shelves. The fewer people who saw her and Scott the better. Plus, these guys gave off a bad vibe.
Or maybe she was being paranoid.
The short man had black hair, light brown skin, and a thin black mustache that traced his upper lip as if drawn with a Sharpie. He scratched his arm, his movements jerky as he started down the first aisle toward the refrigerated drinks, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
Mustache’s partner had stringy blond hair hanging loose to his massive shoulders. He’d stuffed his football-player-gone-soft body into a blue letterman’s jacket with cracked leather sleeves. Hands in pockets, the aging jock strode directly to the counter and whispered tersely to the man wearing a red polo with the gas station logo on the breast.
The cashier’s eyes widened and he shook his head, stepping back. “Dude, I can’t open it. Only the manager.”
Oh, God.Seriously? Adrenaline flooded Valerie’s limbs, making her heart beat fast enough to explode. She bent low and ran on her toes toward the bathroom and around a rack of bug spray and flashlights, out of sight. There had to be a rear exit, right? But she couldn’t abandon Scott to these men. Besides, the van was parked at the pump. They knew someone else was here.
