They were following.
But neither of us seemed inclined to try to increase the speed.
“We’re going to need to ditch this car,” Caymen said, mirroring my thoughts. “At least for a while. We can come back to it once we’re sure they’ve moved on.”
“Any ideas?” I asked, taking another turn, trying to get out of sight for long enough to leave the car and make a run for it.
“Yeah, um… take the next left. Then a right at the red house.”
He’d tensed up in his seat, but I had no ideas, so I had to just follow his directions as he had me going further and further away from Miami.
“This is it. Turn in.”
I saw the sign for the trailer park just a second before I saw the first row of them.
This wasn’t one of the nicer parks.
This was the kind of place no one wanted to live, but clearly some people had to.
“This is where you grew up, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said, popping theP. “Park there,” he nodded toward a spot.
“Are we… are we going to your parents’ house?”
“Fuck no,” he said with a scoff as I pulled off and parked, hoping the fence around the place with the cheap green plastic privacy strips might be enough to hide us as we made a quick run for it.
“Where then?” I asked, going into the backseat to grab one of my bags.
Silently, Caymen took the other two, swinging one over his shoulder, then reaching for my hand.
Was this a possible life-or-death situation?
Sure.
Did I still feel an electric sizzle from our palms all the way up to my shoulder?
Absolutely.
His fingers tightened around mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, or if he was just trying to hold onto me as he started to run.
There was no way to ask that sort of thing, so I just forced my tired legs to match his stride as we wove through rows of trailers until we reached the very back of the lot where the only permanent building was set.
“Office?” I asked, hating how I was panting and he wasn’t out of breath at all. Apparently, I needed to add running to my gym rotation.
“Yeah.”
“You have a key?”
“Nope.” He pulled me around the back of the building.
It was a squat stucco structure with ancient windows with spiderweb cracks.
Caymen dropped my hand to reach up to push at the window. But time and disuse had made it stick. So I got to watch the way his muscles did all sorts of delicious flexing as he pushed, punched, and jiggled the window until the sash finally slid up.
He turned to me, offering a hand.
“Am I sure I want to go in first?”
