Beautiful Collision
Page 4
According to the paperwork Sara Harper had graduated from F. Hunter High with excellent results. To me the forged papers looked fine. And I just had to pray the registrations office won't call the school to confirm anything.
Yeah, Gray. Just pray.
I use my swiss army knife to jimmy the floorboard free. I head back into the room to empty my backpack onto the bed, and I stare at the three packets. Everything I'd taken is neatly packed inside three bright pink bags that say 'sanitary towels'. The perfect hiding place if a guy is rooting through your drawers. But I know better than anyone that even that wouldn't stop the people who are after me.
I stash the passport and the packets into the hidey-hole under the bookshelf and return the floorboard back to its place. I nod, satisfied that nobody would ever think to look there. Now, there is just one last thing I need to hide, but a hole in the floor wouldn't cut in case I need it in an emergency.
I return to the bedroom and stare at the gun lying on the bed. The revolver is black and compact and gleams in the weak moonlight. The room has darkened and I hadn't even registered it.
Guns have always made me feel strange, somewhere between fear and temptation. And even now, just looking at it, I wonder how I'd mustered the courage to train to shoot one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gray
Where to hide the blasted gun.
That's what I am supposed to be doing, not sitting shivering on the side of the bed like a beached trout.
Where is the best place to hide a gun? Bedside drawer? Under the mattress? Could I take it with me? I shake my head. I don't have a gun license¸ and I hadn't thought to ask Alexei for one. I'm not sure what the State of California's law was regarding concealed weapons but I am pretty sure it wouldn't be good for me to get caught with a gun, with or without the necessary paperwork.
I need to stay off the radar.
I push myself slowly to my feet then take hold of the gun. It feels cold and lifeless but I know its potential only too well. I stiffen my resolve and walk to the kitchen. I'm leaving the apartment soon so when I enter I need to know the gun is within reach, and quick. There is a small hall desk, a thin dark table only wide enough for keys and letters and a few knickknacks.
I tug open the single drawer and it's empty. And the perfect size for the gun. Sliding it inside, I look around for something to lay on top. On the kitchen counter is an old newspaper. Perfect. I grab the paper and place it on the gun to hide its presence, and then I close the drawer, giving it a short nod.
Good. Now I can go to the store. I head back inside the room and rifle through the contents of my backpack. I stifle a cynical laugh. My belongings, including clothing and underwear, are so meager they all fit into a backpack. My entire life on my shoulders, day after day. Week after week.
I sigh and throw the backpack into the closet and shut the door. "I'll buy new clothes and new underwear," I say to myself in a soft whisper. "Something silky and pink or purple, instead of practical, on the run, black." I laugh at the reminder that even my panties had gone incognito.
I grab my money and shove it into my pocket. I'd have to get a wallet and a pocketbook. Something small but sturdy, and with enough space for a gun if I ever need to go out with it. The knowledge that I could be running for my life again soon is a bitter pill but I am in no mood to kid myself. Reality bites and I had to suck it up and keep my eyes and ears open if I want a life for myself.
I lock my door and then I'm bouncing down the stairs when the front door to the hallway opens. A girl is trying to enter but she's not doing a good job what with the bags of groceries already occupying her hands. I have to give her credit for actually managing to open the door in the first place. I would never have been able to pull of such a balancing act. That requires skill.
I hurry forward and hold onto the door for her. I don't grab a bag to help her mainly because I don't know her. What if she goes crazy pyscho-bitch on me because I touched her stuff. Been there, done that, will not attempt again.
A muffled 'thanks' filters through the bags toward me as the girl shuffles over the threshold. Once inside she lays her parcels on the floor and straightens with a smile. She's blond and pretty behind her angular glasses, and her eyes are a bright inquisitive blue. She's sun-kissed and her yellow tank doesn't hide the tan line of bikini straps.
"Hey. Are you the new tenant?" she asks with a pleasant smile. I nod, unsure of how much or how little to say. "Hi, I'm Kate Sandler. I'm just behind you." She points over my shoulder and hurries around me to the door where she rifles through her back jeans pocket for her keys.
She doesn't seem to need me anymore and I'm feeling a little stupid just standing there so I step over the threshold when I see eggs and shampoo in the bags. Two things I'd kill for right now.
I clear my throat and see that she's already walking toward me, the sway of her hips gentle and subdued-sexy. She was the type that had natural poise but I don't hate her for it. Instead I drop to a crouch and grab a bag as she picks up the other one.
My one good deed for the day.
"Thanks," she sings as she spins on her heel and hurries into her place. I hesitate at the door then follow her slowly to her kitchen counter. She's already spinning around her kitchen packing stuff away when I set the bag down. I give her a shy smile and then start backing out, rubbing my hands on the seat of my jeans.
Just as I get to the door I remember the eggs and shampoo. "Um, could you point me in the direction of the nearest grocery store?" I ask but she's already talking.
"Oh, what's you name?" she asks with a grin.
I clear my throat again and say, "It's Gray. Gray McAllister."
"What a gorgeous name," she gushes as she grins as me. "And that voice. It's drop dead sexy you know?"
I shrug, feeling my cheeks go hot. So, my voice is unusual. One of the reasons I tend to keep my mouth shut. Even if I can make my appearance change there is little I can do to change my voice.
"Oh," she says. "There's a grocery store just up the road from here. It's a bit dark out for you to be going shopping you know." Then she gives me an odd look and asks, "I can take you if you like. I don't mind. You're new here right?"
I smile, not sure which question to answer. But I'd managed well enough on my own. I didn't need a brand new not-yet friend to hold my hand while I did my shopping. "Thanks for offering but I'll be fine. I'd better be going."
I give her a small wave and backpedal towards the door.
Her eyes narrow as she watches me then she says, "No way. I'm not going to let you go out there on your own. What if you get kidnapped by a serial killer? I'd live my life forever regretting that I didn't take you."
I shake my head and laugh. "Okay. I guess I owe it to you to let you take me, then."
"Yes you do," she giggles as she grabs her keys and walks me. She locks up and soon we're hurrying down the steps to a little bight red VW Volkswagen. I let out a loud laugh and Kate glanced at me as she opened her door. "What?" she asks as she slips into her seat and reaches over to open the passenger side door.
"You sure you aren't a serial killer?" I'm snorting because I think it's so funny but Kate doesn't look amused. She's frowning in confusion. "I'm sorry. V-dubs are a serial-killers vehicle of choice."
I'm sobered now, worried that I'd offended her but she stares at me, wide-eyed then burst out laughing. "Oh my god, if that's not the funniest thing I've ever heard." She giggles as she starts the car and guns the engine. "I'm so going to use that."
I allow myself to laugh with her. The ride to the store is so short we barely get a chance to say two word. We reach a large grocery store, its parking lot almost empty. It is late and I'm more than glad Kate had offered to drive me. I'm not sure I'd have had the courage to walk back to the apartment in the dark.
We enter the store and I grab a small trolley. Kate points in the direction of the magazines and cut-price paperbacks at the other end of the store and I appreciate that she doesn't hover. I'm no
t planning on buying too much but as I go through the aisles I figure I need a whole lot more than eggs and shampoo before I can get really settled. I decide on toiletries and something easy for dinner. And I'm grinning to see towels and pajamas.
Then I stiffen as I realize I hadn't thought to check the kitchen for pots and pans. Now I'm staring at a row of frying pans, from ones the size of a single fried egg to ones so big if you made scrambled eggs in it you'd be able to feed three dozen mouths. Or so I assume.
I choose a frying pan large enough to fry two eggs at the same time only because I like two eggs for breakfast and I like to save time and cook them both in one go. As I lay the pan in the basket of the trolley I feel a little light-headed. I'd bought shampoo and conditioner, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, a bath soap that smelled heavenly, and a loofah for washing.
A face towel and bath-towel soon followed to join a basket now half-filled with stuff I've not needed in the last few months. I also make certain to get a pack of envelopes for making my old-fashioned rent payments.
Suddenly I pause, staring at my haul. Maybe this is a mistake. This much means I'm settling down and I haven't even established that Santa Barbara is safe enough to settle down in. I glance up, my face worried as I stare unseeing down the aisle. My eyes focus on a guy passing my aisle on the far end. He's dressed all in black and at that moment he turns to meet my gaze. I can't see his eyes behind the dark glasses but he seems to be looking beyond me.
When I look over my shoulder, the aisle is empty except for man inspecting a tea strainer. He looks like he has no idea what it's meant for and I hide a grin. I push my cart past him and it's hard not to notice how bulky he is. Must work out a whole lot.
I head for the cashiers and begin to drop my stuff on the slowly moving conveyor belt as I stand on my toes to get a glimpse of Kate. I catch her eye and give her a wave then turn to the cashier who is blank-faced and indifferent. His shoulders are bouncing, telling me that he's a leg-shaker. Either nervous or just a little hyperactive, he seems far too jittery for this job. I wait as he rings the sale up, and when I pull out notes instead of a card his eyes widen.
Good job Gray, another way to ensure the attention focuses on you.
Who the hell uses cash anymore? I give him a sheepish grin and shrug. "Babysitting money," I say, wanting to bite my tongue the moment the words are out of my stupid mouth.
Make it worse why don't you, Gray.
But the cashier, his tag says 'Jake', nods and grins and says, "Like lawn-mowing money. Ain't nobody paid me by direct deposit yet." He nods again, then hands me the change and begins to pack my bags for me.
Kate is hovering at the exit and I can't wait to leave the store. I feel like all eyes are on me and as I turn to put my money in my back pocket, I scan the store for onlookers. I'm glad to see that not a single person is paying me any attention. I let out the breath I'm holding then reach to grab my bags and stagger out of the store cursing myself for buying way too much.
Kate holds out her hands for a couple of bags and raises her eyebrows. "I could have waited five more minutes you know?" she asks, keeping a straight face.
"What for?" I ask as we reach the car and she pops the hood.
She rounds the car and heads to the front end. "So you could buy the rest of the store," she says then giggles. As she giggles she snorts which sets her off into a second round of giggles.
Her hilarity is infection and my mood lightens as we get into the car and drive off. Kate parks at the curb again, and says "Thank goodness I got my spot again. I hate parking far from the house."
"Don't like walking in the dark? Is it that dangerous around here?" I ask, getting little worried about my choice of living area.
She pops the trunk and pushes out of the low seat. "Nope. It's just that I don't like having my baby out of sight."
Before I can think, the words spill from my mouth. "This thing must be like a gazillion years old." I'm tense, waiting again to see if I'd offended her.
"It is. But I love it. Used to be my Dad's so its special." She grins as she hands me bags and grabs a couple of her own before slamming the trunk shut.
When we reach the front door, Kate is already jingling her keys so I step aside. She manages to juggle the bags and open the door and I'm all admiration for the girl. She follows me up the stairs, her sandals tapping across the wood floor.
"Thanks for taking me. You're a lifesaver," I say, truly grateful.
"No problem." She smiles and tilts her head to study me as I jiggle my key in my lock. Then I'm inside and dumping bags on the kitchen counter. Kate is two steps behind me and sighs as she relieves herself of her bags. "Damn woman, I didn't know they had a sale on gold bars." Then she laughs her eyes glittering with humor.
"I can't thank you enough, you know."
She waves me off. "Don't worry about it. I'm really happy to help out and welcome my new neighbor." She's heading for the door and I follow her. When she reaches the threshold she says, "If you need anything just yell, okay?"
"Sure," I say, smiling at her. She's like a ray of summer sunshine. "Thanks."
"You going out tomorrow?"
I shake my head as I lean against the doorjamb. I'd decided to have the evening to myself without having to think about registrations or about the possibility of people tailing me. "I'm registering tomorrow morning, actually," I say. "I'll be back in the afternoon."
"Okay, that's perfect then. I'll drop by after I get my stuff sorted. Then we can chat." She nods then skips down the stairs to her apartment.
That puts an end to any plans to wriggle out of the agreement. I don't want to spoil a budding friendship, especially one that has barely gotten off the ground. I decide to go with the flow. It's been years since I've had anything close to a friend so maybe it's time I give myself the privilege.
I lock up and head back to the kitchen to attend to my waiting packages. Soon I'm all unpacked, the groceries stacked neatly into the bare cupboards. When I find a well used frying pan in a lower shelf, I smile. I guess one can never have too many frying pans.
I'm grinning stupidly as I set about making myself a late dinner. I have no idea where that burger had gone, but my stomach was being a drama queen demanding food. I fry eggs and bacon and toast bread, which I slather with butter. It feels like a king's meal and my mouth waters like crazy. I hurry to grab a plate and dish, already wolfing it down before I get to the dining table.
Before I know it I've wipe the plate clean and I sit back replete. The TV stands in the corner of the living room and I stare at it as if it's some kind of alien contraption. I haven't watched TV in ages either. Tears film my eyes as it strikes me how much of life's pleasures I've missed being on the run. Then I'm up and washing and drying my dishes. With the kitchen spotless I'm looking forward to a long hot shower.
I take my bag of toiletries and set them all out in the little bathroom attached to my bedroom. The place is tiny and I can barely move around in it but I don't care because I love it. It's perfect to me. I jump into the closed glassed-in shower and take my time scrubbing and then washing my hair. I rub the shampoo through thrice to get the oily buildup out, then find myself shampooing a fourth time because I can't remember when I'd last washed my hair.
At last I'm clean, and dressed in a pair of new pj's. I sit in front of the small dresser and dry my hair with a real hairdryer. I'm experiencing all the things I'd used before without really having any appreciation of them. I still my movements and stare into the mirror wondering if it has all been worth it. The girl staring back has hope in her eyes.
Hope and a little fear.
CHAPTER NINE
Gray
The bed feels amazing and I fall asleep in no time.
The next morning, I'm up early. I stretch out and notice there's no cramp in my leg or my back, the luxury of being able to sleep with my legs stretched out. I sigh and wriggle some more. At last I drag myself from the bed and head into the kitchen, my attention honing in
on the coffee machine. It's basic but it will do. I throw in some coffee grounds, fill it with water and wait while it brews. The smell of coffee in the morning is nothing short of magical.
A few minutes later, I take my mug to the couch, which is soft and comfortable despite its obvious age. Once, long ago, it used to be a deep green with a tiny white daisy pattern, but today it's faded and the fabric is so worn that in places it's torn, with the stuffing threatening to spill out. I adore it anyway.
Sinking into the sofa, I flick the switch on the remote and watch cartoons while I guzzle two cups of coffee, before I realize with a start that I hadn't left the deposit under the old man's door. His name is Marcus, I remind myself.
I decide to slip the payment under his door on the way out, then drag myself off the sofa to hurry and get myself ready. All those months ago, when I'd left school I'd made certain that I'd gotten copies of every single bit of paperwork I'd ever need. And now I hope that persistence would pay off. The university would need my school records and I have everything they would need in my little folder. I prayed too that they wouldn't just turn me away because I hadn't processed the applications within the required time frame.
Something told me I am kidding myself about studying. But, even if they turn me away today, I'm determined to wait and try again. If I think it's safe I'll try again next year. I had enough money to pay for a years rent. And maybe I could find a job to tide me over.
My mind is filled with plans and possibilities as I shower and dress, donning my pink dress. It's the most decent garment I have. I leave my hair down, glad blond roots are easy to cover with a touch of mascara. My sandals are strappy and they had been the only extravagance I'd allowed myself at a thrift store in San Francisco. Them and the goth boots, but I kinda liked them both so they won't get thrown out any time soon.
Ready, I gather my papers and head to my hiding place where I'd also kept Marcus's money. I count out his bills, both deposit and first month's rent then slip them into one of my new envelopes. I smile when I recall Marcus' grumpy comments about on-line payments. He has no idea I prefer cash just as much as he does, but for very different reasons. Cash can't be traced. As far as I know anyway. And I'm not playing around with marked bills. Or at least I hope I'm not.