He's quiet, and I can see him weighing the options, running scenarios in his head. He overthinks too much sometimes.
"There's another option."
"What?"
"The trucker, the one who saw us at the gas station. He's the most credible witness as he got a good look at both of us, and he's already talked to the cops. If we eliminate him…"
"We can’t do that, they'll know it was us."
"Maybe. But it buys us time. Muddies the investigation and possibly makes them second-guess the witness statements."
Huh, this could work. I think about the risk versus the reward, what it means to actively track someone instead of just reacting to threats as they appear.
This is different from Carl, because it’s not because they have done something wrong, it’s purely for our survival, to protect each other. And the fucked-up thing is, I'm not hesitant about doing this. I'mexcited.
"Where is he?" I ask.
Dom looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time. "You're serious."
"Where is he?"
He pulls up a map on his phone, zooms in on a truck stop about sixty miles east. "He runs a regular route. Phoenix to Albuquerque, he'll be here tonight."
"Then we go tonight."
"This is serious, Roxy."
"I know that, Dom. You said it yourself, we're out of time. So we either run now, or we handle this. Which is it?"
The silence stretches between us, heavy with options. The tape is playing something low and energetic,Blue Mondayby New Order, the bass line pulsing like a heartbeat. The sun has now set, leaving us under the shroud of night except for the glow of the phone screen.
Finally, Dom reaches over and cups the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. The kiss is passionate, his teeth catching my bottom lip as I taste the promise of what’s coming on my tongue.
"We handle it," he says against my mouth. "Together."
"Together."
He releases me and starts the engine, pulling back onto the road. The van smells like coffee and gasoline mixed with my vanilla bodywash and Dom’s woodsy cologne. This is what our home smells like, and it’s comforting. My camera is in my lap, and I run my fingers over the lens, thinking about what I'll photograph tonight. Not the act itself, because that's too riskynow. But the aftermath, the shadows and evidence of what we’re capable of.
"You worried?" Dom asks after a few miles.
"No," I say. "Are you?"
"No."
He reaches over and squeezes my hand, and the touch is as it always is, grounding. A reminder that we're in this together, that whatever happens next, we face it as one. We both know getting caught is not an option, because we will never not be together, whether that’s in this world or not. I’m not leaving him.
As Dom continues to drive, I lean my head against the window, watching the desert blur past. Somewhere behind us, law enforcement are building a case. Somewhere ahead of us, a trucker is driving his regular route, unaware that his life is about to end.
And somewhere in between, we're hurtling toward a point of no return. But I'm not afraid, because I've been waiting my whole life for this, for a purpose and for someone to share it with. Dom's hand tightens on mine, and I squeeze back. We're not running anymore.
We're hunting.
And God help anyone who gets in our way.
Dom pulls off the highway without warning, the van lurching onto a dirt access road that trails into the remote desert. My heart is still racing from the conversation, from the decision we just made and the weight of what's coming.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
