Barely daring to believe this is real, I drag her into my body and smooth a hand down her long, blonde hair. “Did anyone follow you?”
“I don’t think so.”
I want to ask her to walk me through the events that led her here, but paranoia has me pulling away. “Toss anything electronic. Ring, watch—anything.”
“I don’t have anything,” she croaks, wiping her nose.
“Whose jacket are you wearing?”
“D-Dad’s.”
“Off. Now.”
She tries to unzip it, but her hands are too unsteady. I push them aside and yank on the zipper, then pry the waxed canvas jacket off her. My vision narrows when I spot the scarlet web marring her bare arms. May all of it be her asshole father’s.
I’m about to toss the jacket when she says, “Wait. In the p-pocket…”
I fish out a knife—her father’s.
“They’re going to kn-know…” She takes the blood-soaked weapon from me. “They’re going to c-c-come. I just wanted to see you one last time be-before?—”
I close my switchblade and pocket it. “Get in the footwell.” I jerk my head toward the backseat. “And lie flat.”
I consider reversing my car to hitch my camper to it, but I wouldn’t be able to go fast. And I’m going to need to drive fast.
The same urgency rules out unlocking it to grab supplies. I have enough cash to grab the basics from a gas station along the way.
Even though it pains me to abandon my lone connection to Electra, I stash my cell phone in the wheel well of the camper, then vault back inside the Volvo and tear out of the parking lot.
For ten blocks, I don’t speak. I barely dare breathe. Even my heart locks down, minimizing its beats so no outside noise escapes me.
It’s only once we reach the access ramp of I-93 that my pin-straight spine curves into the backrest. Which isn’t to say I’m relaxed. I won’t be until I’ve put a hundred miles between Quinn and the Holy Hunters.
“Hayes? You’re good?” I ask, my voice barely louder than the cold air wheezing out of the AC vents.
“C-Can I sit up?”
“Let’s get a few more miles in first. Are you cold?” I’m already fiddling with the dials to turn the fan down.
“No. J-Just the adrenaline wearing off.”
Gripping the wheel with one hand, I use the other to pull off my hoodie. After readjusting my glasses, I dangle the sweatshirt over the center console. “Put this on.”
“I’m not c-cold, Reeve. I swear.”
“Then ball it up under your head. Just take it.” Once I feel her tug on the sweater, I say, “Now, walk me through what happened.”
The car’s so quiet without the hiss from the vents that I can now hear her teeth chatter.
“The s-supplies you sent me. I used them to escape.”
I glance into my rearview mirror, but she’s lying on the floor, out of my vantage point.
“I m-made a vase with the clay. Then smeared red paint onto my stomach to make myself look injured and sobbed until D-Dad finally stopped yelling at me through the door and came in to see what I’d hurt myself on. I b-bashed his head with the vase, then grabbed that knife he always keeps strapped to his ankle. The one I g-gave him, and I…and…” She stops talking and lets out a muted whimper.
“Don’t you dare shed a single tear for that piece of shit. He didn’t deserve to live. Didn’t deserve a daughter like you.”
“He was my father,” she murmurs.
