And not burn through any cash.
I’m on the run now. I have to be strategic.
It’s not like I can just keep working my remote job, like nothing has changed.Wait, should I quit? Do I just desert? How does that work?
My head spins with so many stupid freaking questions. As I step up to the warm food counter, my eyes zone out of the bacon, egg, and cheese croissants.
“Can I get you something, hon?” the woman from behind the counter peers across at me, her voice tinged with the rasp of years’ worth of cigarettes.
“Um…” My voice trails off. “Yeah. Maybe… Um.”Why can I not speak?
She raises her brows at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, shaking my head and forcing out a laugh. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”
“Looks like it,” she eyes me, and then opens the class on the back of the case. “So, what will it be?”
“A couple of those,” I point to the sandwiches. “And then maybe a large coffee.”
Should I get something for Noah?
No. My instinct immediately kicks in. If I get two drinks, and someone pulls up video footage, it could be questionable. A spare sandwich could just be for the dog.
Wait, the dog.
“Actually, can I get three of those?” I point to the sandwiches. “My dog is basically a vacuum.” I make the joke with a light laugh, but the lady is too busy ringing it all up.
“Thomas Peterson, an escaped inmate from the North Willard Penitentiary, has stillnotbeen located as of early this morning,” a news anchor’s voice says brightly from the TV, hanging above the tobacco case.“U.S. Marshals are considering the possibility that the convicted murderer made it out of Moccasin Lake.”
I swallow hard, forcing my eyes not to look away from the sixteen-dollar total on the register screen. I swipe my credit card as the woman behind the counter makes the large coffee.
“You want any creamer?”
“Yes, please. Vanilla,” I answer her, my eyes finally taking a moment to dart up to the TV above her, the sight of the lake and search crews spanning the shores.
“We have a lot of confidence in our ability to locate Mr. Peterson,”a U.S. Marshal pops up on the screen, his dark eyes riddled with fatigue.“And while we’re considering the possibility that he made it out of the water, we’re going to continue to focus our efforts on the lake. We know he was severely injured when he went into the water, and the probability of him making it out is slim.”
“Crazy story, huh?” the clerk shakes her head, sliding the coffee across to me.
“Yeah, it’s something,” I say, gathering up the sandwiches and coffee. “I hope they find him.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
She nods, staring up at the TV. “Suppose so.”
With that, I slip out of the store, making a mad dash for the SUV. There’s an influx of vehicles at the pumps. I keep my head down, my shoes still squeaking lightly from water. When I reach the SUV, I put the nozzle away, click out of the receipt option, and then climb into the car.
I set the food in the passenger seat, the coffee in the cupholder, and then glance back at Noah and Bullet.
Noah’s sound asleep with his head resting on the duffle bag, his body covered mostly with the olive-green blanket. Bullet lifts his head when I shut the driver’s door, and I meet his gaze.
“I’ll take you to the bathroom away from cameras,” I say, my mouth feeling dry suddenly. I start the car and pull forward, making my way to a grassy median on the far side of the parking lot.
I pull up and stop, putting it in park. I grab for the leash and pat the console. “Come on, Bullet.” I glance around. “Let’s go out this way.”
He happily obeys, bounding off Noah and landing on the console, then consequently on my lap. Noah doesn’t even stir, his snoring continuing steadily. I take in the lines on his face, my heart squeezing at the sight.
“Come on,” I say, clipping the leash to Bullet’s collar.
We slip out of the car, and head for the grassy area. I once again keep my head down, thankful that Bullet does his business quickly. I clean up after him and then give him a pat on the head.
