A Girl Called Fearless: A Novel (The Girl Called Fearless Series)

by Catherine Linka

  “All right, but the second the sun goes behind the hill, we’re out of there.”

  “Deal.” I sat back as Roik pulled onto the freeway.

  This is really happening. Dear God, please tell me Yates got my message. I’d texted him from day care lab, but I hadn’t heard back.

  We sailed past the Million Mother Wall and Roik touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss. Billboards loomed over the wall, shouting out warnings. My heart pounded faster with each one.

  K-9 Commandos. Keep your home front secure.

  Can’t afford a bodyguard? Our No-Jack titanium ankle bracelet is guaranteed. We retrieve your girl or we pay you $100,000.

  Burning Desire Signing Brokerage. White, black, brown, or Asian. We satisfy your every need.

  I tore my eyes away from the window and focused on Roik’s coffee cup. Yes, I get it. The world’s a dangerous, messed-up place, and I’m insane to make a run for it.

  There was strength inside me and I needed to find it.

  I put in my earphones and pulled up Survival Instincts. Those six angry girls sang to me and I whispered the words along with them. Call me Ninja Warrior Templar Gladiator G.I. Ranger Samurai Terminator.

  Roik pulled into the cemetery and every muscle in my body tensed. I dropped my earphones on the seat. Crime tape ringed Mom’s grave.

  Take the blanket out of the trunk like you always do and walk up the hill. You can do this.

  “Don’t get out yet,” Roik ordered.

  “Why not? The place is empty.”

  “Wait for me to check it out. The cops still haven’t found the driver of the blue van.” I heard a clip snap into his gun, then he climbed out of the car.

  I leaned over the seat. Roik had finished his coffee and his Taser lay on the center console. Always carry backup, he liked to say, so I shoved it into my bag.

  Roik waved to me to come up, so I grabbed my backpack and started up the hill. The yellow crime tape snapped in the breeze.

  I flashed back to the man’s hand on my throat, the gun shoved up against my eye. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

  Keep going. Don’t stop. I kept my eyes on the green grass, and forced one foot in front of the other. Seventy-five steps up the hill to Mom’s grave.

  I stood beside Roik, my knees shaking. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too soon,” he said. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

  I hated what I was going to do. “I need to talk to Mom alone. Could you just leave us?”

  “No, it’s my job to protect you.” He wiped his face.

  “Look around,” I said. “The place is empty.”

  He gave me a look like something awful was going to happen. “Get back in the car.”

  “Why?”

  Roik grabbed me and pushed me ahead of him. “Go. Get in the car.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  And then he doubled over. Vomit spewed from his mouth. “Get—in the—car.”

  “I’m sorry, Roik.”

  And I Tased him. He fell on his back, the volts jerking his body as they coursed through him. I picked up his phone and threw it as hard as I could.

  And then I ran. Past Mom’s grave and over the hill. Behind me, I could hear Roik retch. He could choke to death, lying on his back, but I couldn’t help him now. My shoes pounded the dirt service road as I tore for the gate about a half-mile down.

  Yates wasn’t there.

  I dove behind the work shed and pulled his number up on my phone. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Nothing.

  “Yates, I need you to call me now!”

  I can’t go back. I’ve got to get out of here. I tore off my uniform and pulled on the sweats and baseball cap I’d grabbed from my locker. Ripped out my earrings, rubbed dirt over my face, and threw everything except the phone in the dumpster.

  Outside the cemetery gate was a neighborhood of dried lawns and chain-link fences. A few houses had lights on, but there weren’t any street lamps.

  I could do this. Ms. A ran us five miles every day for four years. Thank you, I sent out to her, and I ran into a maze of streets I’d never seen before.

  The sun dropped behind the hills. Another twenty minutes and it would be pitch-black.

  49

  The neighborhood looked half deserted. Dogs barked and threw themselves at the chain-link fences as I ran by. I veered into the middle of the street. The men who lived here with their kids were probably on their way back from work. I had to get off the streets before one of them spotted me.

  The roads didn’t go straight. They curved back and forth like a folded-up electric cord, and I ran, wondering how in the hell was I going to get out of there. I punched an intersection into my phone, but it refused to give me a map.

  Damn. I’ve got to get out of here.

  I tapped Yates number again. Oh, please be there. Pick up. Pick up.

  “Avie?”

  “Yates! I did it! I got away!”

  “You did? Where are you?”

  “In the neighborhood behind the cemetery. Can you come get me?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen. Find someplace to wait.”

  Hazy light outlined two boys shooting hoops in a driveway up ahead. I tore across the street as a deep voice called out, “Hey, baby. What you doin’ here?”

  Chain link chinged like he’d jumped the fence, and suddenly a boy built like a football player was right behind me.

  “I can’t stop,” I told Yates. “Someone’s chasing me.”

  “You know where you are?”

  Street sign up ahead. “Just a sec. Jacaranda and Arroyo.”

  “Slow down, sweet cheeks.” The guy chasing me was closing in, so I ran faster, hoping that his size meant he wasn’t a distance runner.

  “Okay, I got it,” Yates said. I heard his motorcycle rev.

  Yates told me he’d be there in fifteen, but if Roik got to the car and hit the panic button, the cops would be there in ten.

  Footsteps pounded behind me, and I ran flat out. The streets kept curving, and I had no idea if I’d end up back at the cemetery.

  Headlights roared right at me and I dodged. A truck passed me, and then braked, and I heard it whine and rumble like it was turning around. I didn’t know if the teenage guy was still after me, because I couldn’t see or hear him.

  I dove into an overgrown hedge. My heart banged as loud as the muffler.

  The truck passed.

  I waited.

  The driver went about a hundred feet. Threw the truck into reverse.

  I held the phone against me to dim the screen, and sent Yates the address of the house across the street.

  The truck backed up until it was a couple houses away. It idled in the street, high beams lighting up the yards on either side.

  A motorcycle roared behind me. Yates? It tore off in another direction. No, don’t go away. I’m here. Over here.

  The truck driver got out and prowled the yard across the street, waving a flashlight into the bushes. He had a big beer gut, so I knew I could outrun him if I could get past him.

  Come on, Yates. Where are you?

  The driver moved down to the next house, and a dog started barking and carrying on. The front door banged open. “What the hell you doing in my yard?” yelled a man.

  The driver’s hands flew up as he backed away. “Nothing, buddy. Looking for my dog. She jumped out of my truck. That’s all.”

  Then he turned toward me like he sensed exactly where I was. I forced myself to breathe. Remember. Go for the instep. The groin. Get him down, then run like hell.

  I heard a motorcycle coming toward us. I had to get out in the open, because if I didn’t, Yates would fly right past me.

  The guy hunting me barreled across the lawn.

  I jumped out from the hedge and sprinted for the street, trying to make it to the truck’s headlight beams so Yates would see me.

  The guy saw where I was heading and tried to cut me off, but I dodged him. The motorcycle screamed rig
ht for us, but the guy was only ten feet behind me.

  I charged into the light. Hurry, Yates! I pumped faster and heard the bike slow. I wheeled around, just as Yates knocked the man off his feet.

  He fell on his side. “Son of a b—, you broke my arm!”

  The bike braked in front of me, and Yates reached for my hand, I leaped onto the bike and we tore out of the neighborhood.

  50

  I pressed my body into Yates’ as we soared through backstreets. He dodged streetlights, and I kept my head down and my face out of sight.

  My heart revved as the bike swept me away from Hawkins and into my future.

  Yates pulled into the dark alley behind Dr. Prandip’s office. He cut the engine and tore off his helmet. I slid off the bike. “I can’t believe we made it,” I said.

  Yates threw his arm around my waist and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “You’re fearless.”

  Adrenaline roared through me. “I’m not. It was you. You told me I could do it.”

  “Yeah, but you pulled it off.” He reached for his phone, his face illuminated as he read. “Okay, we’ve got your connection out of California.”

  “That’s good,” I said, not quite feeling it. Even though I knew I had to make this connection, now it was real. “So far things are going well.”

  “Yeah, hold that thought.” He opened his saddlebags and pulled on a pair of mechanic’s coveralls with a Mercedes logo. Then, he slapped a baseball cap onto his head. “Time to pick up the doc’s keys.”

  We hopped the wall into the parking garage. Yates walked to the brightly lit lobby while I crouched by the Dumpster. I stayed hidden while men in suits or scrubs got in their cars and drove off.

  Finally, Yates sauntered back through the glass doors. He clicked the keys and a car in the next row blinked its headlights. I was about to stand up when a guy appeared behind Yates. I dropped to the ground and listened hard. Please don’t let it be a cop.

  His steps echoed Yates’ like he was following him. I held still, but my heart thudded so I could barely hear.

  “You’re from Mercedes?”

  “Yes, sir.” Yates sounded completely relaxed.

  “I didn’t know you folks pick up at the office.”

  “It’s a service for preferred customers.”

  I heard first one, then a second door open. I remained out of sight until I heard a car back up and drive away, then I crawled out of hiding.

  Yates waited in the front seat. I dove into the back and crouched on the floor while Yates pulled out and paid the garage attendant. Then he swung out of the lot.

  Twenty minutes later we were cruising north on an old two-lane highway into the mountains, the radio turned to the evening news. Yates pulled onto an overlook and I climbed into the front seat. “Put this on,” he said, handing me the baseball cap.

  “Have they put an Amber Alert out on me?”

  California had installed computerized signs on every freeway to alert drivers when a child was kidnapped.

  “The freeway signs were turned off, so the police must not have a description of my bike or plate number.”

  The police would question Yates after I got away, Roik would see to that. “Do you have an alibi?” I said.

  Yates nodded. “Mrs. Kessler and I are handing out coffee and sandwiches on Skid Row tonight.”

  I thought of her knitting on Father G’s couch so I could be alone with Yates. “Thank her for me?”

  “I will definitely do that.”

  I ducked my head as headlights hurtled toward us. “How long until we get there?”

  “About an hour.” Yates reached for my hand. “I’m proud of you. You really kicked butt back at the cemetery.”

  I wove my fingers into his. “I feel bad about Roik. The Taser must have hurt like hell and I probably got him fired.”

  “You did what you had to do.”

  “I know. I’m just happy I’ll never have to do anything like that again.”

  Yates kept his eyes on the road. Deliberately, it seemed.

  “So where are we going?” I said.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Right. The less I know, the better.” If the cops stopped us and took us into custody, they’d interrogate us. This way I couldn’t betray anyone.

  Yates shrugged and squeezed my hand. “Gabe told you how you’ll be staying in people’s homes, how they’ll get you to your next connection?”

  “Yes. But has that changed now that he’s—” Locked up.

  “No. The plan’s the same.” Yates shook out his shoulders like the weight of my life was pulling them down. “It’s gonna be tough. You’ve got to be ready to go the minute they say go.”

  “All right.”

  “No, I’m serious. You’ve got to take care of yourself. You’ve got to eat and sleep whenever you can.”

  Tension was sewing a line up my back. I wished Yates would lighten up. I didn’t want to think about cops or Retrievers or the six hundred other things that could go horribly wrong. “You sound like Ms. A before regionals.”

  “I’m not joking,” he snapped.

  “Okay. Okay.”

  The news murmured in the background. Traffic backed up on the 210 freeway. Lakers ahead by ten. No mention of an Amber Alert for a missing girl.

  The city lights were behind us and stars were visible through the trees. Yates raised my hand to his lips. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “But girls get over the border every day, right?”

  Yates hesitated for a split second too long before he said, “Yeah, every day.”

  That split second had the fast, sharp pain of a razor slice. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”

  “Avie…”

  “Come on. Truth. Like it’s harder for girls with big price tags and squads of Retrievers on their heels. Believe me, I noticed: Six Million Dollar Dayla lasted, what? Three days on the run? And I’m worth millions more.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “What then?”

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me. It’ll work out.”

  I took a deep breath and let the steam blow out of me. Yates still wasn’t being completely honest. “The girls you helped, how do you know they made it?” I said.

  “To Canada? Sometimes Father G gets a postcard.”

  I imagined my card, glossy red and white maple leaf on the front. Having a wonderful time. Truly wish you were here.

  Yates rubbed my knuckle like a worry stone. “I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

  I kept pushing. “And the girls tell you they’re fine?”

  “No. The cards are blank.”

  “Oh.” I wished the answer was different. “So there’s no evidence to trace.”

  Yates nodded. Finally, he’d admitted the truth.

  We drove, listening for breaking news as the road climbed the mountains, twisting and turning. The pavement turned glossy black, and snow crusted the dirt under the pines.

  By now Roik would have called the cops. A K-9 unit was probably tracking my scent through the neighborhood. The cops would knock on doors and someone would tell how they saw a guy on a motorcycle pluck a running girl off the street.

  I stared into the darkness. The horror of what I’d done flooded me. “The cops are going to drag you in and question you. I should never have asked you to help me.”

  “Hey.” He jerked my hand. “Look at me.”

  I could barely see him in the half-light.

  “We’re going to make it. I’ve got an airtight alibi in Mrs. Kessler, and in two days, you’ll be safe in Canada.” He nodded ahead of us. “Look.”

  We’d crested the mountains and started down to the desert. Way below, I saw the lights of a small city through the gaps between the trees. I was crossing the border to Underground.

  51

  Yates drove down a side road past a tall fence topped with razor wire and through an open gate. Small private planes lined up along a row of ha
ngars. Floodlights lit up the car, and I tipped my hat to hide my face.

  A woman carrying a clipboard circled a Cessna. White hair in a bowl cut. Khaki vest with a dozen pockets. Her favorite phrase was probably “cut the crap.”

  She waved Yates over and squinted at us through the windshield. “Who you looking for?”

  “Ruby?”

  “Yeah, you found her.” She pointed to the small hangar behind the plane. “We’ve got ten minutes before takeoff. Pull in there and say your good-byes.”

  Yates drove in and Ruby shut the hangar doors behind us. I climbed out of the car. Grey light filtered through the dusty windows. Big red toolboxes hunched in the corner, and my nose tingled from the smell of oil and metal.

  Yates came over as I leaned against the car. My breath caught as he put his hands on my hips and lifted me up on the hood. He smelled like cinnamon and soap and … Yates.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck as he bent down and peeled off my hat. My hair tumbled over my shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, cupping my chin in his hand.

  I was dirty and sweaty, and I didn’t feel beautiful, but I loved that Yates didn’t need me gift-wrapped to think I was.

  His lips met mine, tender and sad, and our kisses whispered good-bye, good-bye.

  I slipped two fingers into my bra and eased out a little triangle of folded paper. Suddenly, I was embarrassed to show it to him. I wrapped my fist around the paper and pressed it to my chest.

  “It kills me to let you go like this,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  “I could come with you.” Yates said it like he was just tossing out the idea, but I knew him too well.

  I pulled away so he’d see my eyes. “No. You hear me. NO.”

  “I can protect you.”

  “Two people traveling together? They’d track us down twice as fast. Besides, you have to return Dr. Prandip’s car.”

  He nodded in surrender. “I hate not knowing where you’re going.”

  And then it hit me, I didn’t have a clue where I was going next. I was relying on faith that I’d make it across the border and we’d be together someday. Faith born from the crazy, irrational feelings I had for Yates.

  I opened my hand. “This is for you.”