In the meantime, he'd been working between the car and his bike, loading up the bottles of water, which due to size, were uncased and being stored in the bottom of his panniers. Room that would prevent me from having an explanded wardrobe. I was hoping to grab another couple of outfits from my other suitcase.
"Hey," I yelled from my place by the trunk and saw his eyes drag back to mine as his massive hands continued to load water into his leather saddlebags seated on either side of the large motorcycle. "More clothes, less water."
"No," he said, holding my gaze. "Less excess."
"I don't do excess," I chuffed, emboldened more by the distance between us than anything else.
"Yes, you do," he said and his eyes dropped again to his leather satchels.
I raised my eyes in order to roll them at his stubbornness but got caught on the billowing dark clouds that seemed to be churning towards us quickly and resolutely.
"Uhm…" I began. "Mister?"
It might have been my tone, or even my words, but the man on the other side of the road lifted his head, then followed my eyesight. He quickly completed his task before zooming across the asphalt to slam the trunk closed and led me quickly to the passenger side of my own vehicle, my backpack bumping heavily as we moved.
The panic, which always shimmered underneath my skin, the panic I'd been fighting every step of this journey, bloomed full up inside when he sat in the driver's seat next to me. The pinching of the scared-sweat was back due not only to the impeding storm but mainly due to being enclosed in the small space with a man. In the best of times, I didn't trust males any further than I could throw them. Shoved into a confined space with one of them during a disaster?
No. Oh hell, no.
I copied his movements though as he quickly cranked the windows up, cutting off the ever strengthening wind that began to buffet the car. At the first sway that caused the vehicle to rock, I looked at the sky, the zigzag pattern of lightening embedding itself enough that I could still see it after I'd squeezed my eyes shut at its brightness.
The first wave hit with sheets of rain and a wind so strong that I felt my small automobile start to move. I'd turned the tires, right? It wasn't gonna slide off into that deep canal with the wheels pointed a different direction. But I couldn't be certain and that alone sent my heart again into overdrive.
But it was when the hail began then increased in both intensity and size, I lost it. I'd never seen or been in weather like this.
Sure, I'd ran to the tornado shelter on more than a few occasions back home and tornados are scary. But I'd never been out in one above ground. I hadn't ever been exposed to nature's raw power like this. It was like something you read about, something you'd see in a movie where the heroine could get killed or maimed.
Which, in this case, could be, like, me.
My breath was hitching and every muscle in my body was on lockdown, my heart exploding in my chest. I was covered again in the thick, sticky scared-sweat, but it was the strange low volume keening coming out of my mouth, which fueled the severity of my panic attack.
Almost as if it knew a human was about to lose it, the storm kicked up a notch and my eyes darted to the windshield as dints and tiny cracks appeared.
Holy crap!
The windshield was breaking!
What would happen when it went all the way in?
And, at that thought, I lost my hold on any shred of composure I might have had.
I screamed and cried, scrambling as I tried to get into the tiny backseat. To get anywhere away from where I was.
So, was it any wonder that as the storm passed over us, I found myself jammed in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, both of my hands shoved between our bodies, one of his fists holding my wrists tight?
"I have you," he muttered at one point as I felt his arm tighten around me, the hand on my hair that kept my head close to his chest flexed as he spoke. "You are safe."
The pounding on the roof seemed to be the only sound in the world other than the heartbeat I was hearing underneath my ear.
"Do not be concerned. It will be over soon," he offered again as the storm still raged around us, shaking my tiny car, although with perhaps a touch less force. I held to my position even though the steering wheel was starting to hurt since it was pressed into my spine. I didn't want to think about the bruise on my hip from the emergency brake handle.
"Fuck," I heard him complain against my place against his chest. "North by northwest."
"Is that bad?" I asked, hardly recognizing the small, shaky voice coming from my mouth. I knew who the decision maker was in this scenario, and it so totally wasn't me.
"It is moving towards the direction I am heading. Because it has many miles to travel, it is possible we will see it again, and it may be angrier than when it hit us here," he said, his voice still coolly calm. "Or it could be joined by others. Storms are unpredictable in this part of the country." Something was weird about the way he used his words and even more so the words that contained a 'r' sound.
"Will we still be able to use your bike?" I asked, though my voice sounded more like a demand, as I struggled for something to say to disconnect from the feel of him holding me tight and safe. While I may have needed that illusion of shelter, I definitely didn't want to accept it. Experience had taught me that depending on other people, especially men, was the wrong thing to do in any situation.
"What is your name?" He asked after a long length of quiet, ignoring my question.
"Renee," I said after my own considered length of time. "Yours?"
"Bayco," he said slowly, almost uncomfortably.
"Bay-coh," I repeated, trying to sear the syllables into my brain. He had tried to come to my assistance and it seemed important somehow to get his name right. But it wasn't a 'normal' name, a good old American name, so I knew there had to some other one he used. "But what do people actually call you?"
"Uhm, Brand," he said after a short pause.
I could feel the sides of my lips tip at his confession. Okay, he was called 'Brand' but had confessed his real name was 'Bayco' or was it the other way around?
I glanced up at the sharp jut of his jaw from my place of safety on his chest.
"So you call yourself Renee now. But what is your real name?" he asked and I found my hands were yet again sweaty. I'd known him all of about ten minutes, and he had already unraveled that I was on the run. That I was alone and that I was terrified of stuff like loud windshield destroying, cow-country type of storms. And now, he'd just determined I was lying about my name. I was hoping he was a hell of a lot smarter than most people in figuring all that out.
I could hear the pounding on the roof begin to ease and yanked myself back into the passenger seat as I strained to look out of the wet side window as my shaky hands smoothed my skirt.
"Can I call you Bayco?" I asked my voice still a bit breathy from my fear of both him and the storm. Yeah, he'd been a gentleman so far, almost a hero if I was willing to let it go that far. But he was still male and I knew they could turn on you faster than you could spit. But then again, there was no telling how I would've handled being in that squall, with that kind of violence, all by my lonesome. "Or do you want me to call you the other name? Brand, was it?"
When he didn't respond, I turned back to look at him over my shoulder. And got caught up in his eyes. I'd never seen eyes that color or with such long, thick lashes. Nor did I recognize the look within them. It wasn't cold or calculating, trying to determine what benefit I could be to him. There was, if I read it right, kindness and compassion in his scrutiny. Along with the promise of his protection.
I quickly slid my head back towards the window, knowing I couldn't be right in my assessment. He was the enemy, albeit maybe the best of them, but I didn't want or need neither him or his protection. I needed stick to my original plan.
A plan that had gone a little off track, but wasn't unsalvageable.
"You will need to wear pants and a jacket when
we ride," I heard him say from behind me. "The worst of it has seemed to have passed, but I do not know what we will encounter on the road. I will give you the privacy to change."
I heard the heavy creak as the driver door opened and I was left in the car to put on my jacket and slip my jeans underneath my dress. I wasn't comfortable doing a full-on outfit change with him just outside, the only separation between us being a rain-spattered window.
As I dug through my heavy backpack, my hand brushed the metal of the small gun and knocked against the box of shells which steadied me.
Those items, much like the stacks of green which cradled and surrounded them, helped to firm my resolve in getting through this minor detour and back to my original goal.
He was wiping down the motorcycle when I exited the car and only gave me a once over as I stepped closer.
"Have you ever ridden one of these?"
"No," I answered, looping the straps of my purse cross-wise across my body as I dragged the shoulder straps of my heavy backpack in place. He swung a leg over and braced his feet before he turned back to me with a hand out. "Sit firm. Grip tight and keep your head down."
I didn't look at him as I arranged myself on the damp seat but I did take his words to heart, knowing that they were words which would see me safe in a lot of unexpected situations.
Chapter Four
Brand pulled the motorcycle into the huge truck stop, angling it next to a gas pump. They needed gas, food and a toilet and this complex, just off Interstate 70, met all their requirements. With any luck, he might be able to find another helmet. The goggles he'd donned after giving her the only secure head covering, had to be cleaned every twenty miles or so. But that's what you get when you traveled the back roads… bug carcasses over any exposed part of your body.
He dropped the kickstand and eased off the seat, his ass protesting with every movement.
Glancing around the huge forecourt, he made a point of seeing who was or wasn't paying attention to him. Or more importantly, to Renee.
He'd been surprised how little fuss she created in his haste to get her some place where she could arrange for her car to be towed and repaired. She'd done as he'd asked by holding him tightly and only once signaled that she needed to stop for a bathroom break about two hours before.
As she pulled the heavy helmet off, he moved to her backpack and opened the pocket he'd seen her tuck the hat in.
"Hey!" she barked, whipping her head around to glower at him. "Get your mitts off my stuff, Bayco!"
He leaned down and put his mouth against her ear. "I want you to pack all your beautiful hair underneath your hat and put your sunglasses back on," he instructed softly but firmly. "Otherwise, keep the helmet on and the visor closed."
Her response was simply two deep blinks before she did as he had demanded. He acted like he was digging in one of the panniers as she did so, blocking the view of her between his torso and the large gas pump. Once her face and hair were hidden, he filled up the tank, his body still on alert with so many others around. When he was done, he started up the bike and took it out into a space adjacent to the bathrooms before shutting off the motor for a second time.
He got off the seat again but stayed right next to her.
"Here is what we will do. You go into the Ladies room and do not come out until you hear my knock, understand? You will stay inside for however long it takes me to get food and use the facilities myself. I will double knock three times. Do not come out until you hear them," he said. His voice was again very firm, not allowing for any argument or negotiation.
She nodded jerkily, her eyes very wide.
"No, Renee. I need you to repeat it back to me so I know you will do as I ask," Brand commanded.
"I'm going to the ladies and stay until I hear three double-knocks," she replied, her wide eyes glued to his, and he saw her lower lip quiver when she was finished speaking.
"Good," he said. "I will not be long."
He watched as she carefully swung her leg over the seat and stood up. They had been on the bike a long time, so he wasn't surprised when she stumbled in taking her first step. As he caught her arm, he felt her tremble. "I do not do this to frighten you," he tried to explain. "But to keep you safe."
"I ain't scared," she snapped back, her face lifted to his as she yanked her arm away. "Stop with the grabby hands, all right? My legs just have those pins and needle thingies."
Brand couldn't help his grin as she flashed a bit of temper, but he didn't speak or move until she was securely behind the closed door of the facilities. Quickly making his way to the Men's room, he took care of business as well before he washed his face and combed his hair, catching it in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. All this was done as his mind wandered over the puzzle of her.
He had pieces of information, glimpses of what was true and what wasn't, much like having only certain parts of a complex puzzle. He'd gained more knowledge when they'd stopped to allow her to relieve her bladder in a cornfield at sunset.
When she'd left her backpack behind, propped against the back tire of his bike.
He hadn't been shocked by either the handgun or the stacks of cash as he had rifled through it. They merely added to his curiosity. He'd already tried putting the bits together, but he was still missing too much information for the dissimilar pieces to make cohesive sense.
He'd considered and discarded several different theories of who she was and why she was running.
Drug user had been his first thought until he'd seen the luggage and her mouthiness at his carrying the water, but instructing her to bring only enough clothes for four days. Fashion was not a priority when you had a chemical habit that heavy.
Drug smuggler had been his next choice, especially after the discovery of her firearm and the money, but she would've had a backer. A backer who would've ensured she had a nice run of the mill, working car to do their work. Plus, she would've been traveling the interstate, hurrying to get the money back to whomever.
Someone running from the police?
No, she was dressed too brightly in a way that could be remembered. Most people running from Johnny Law preferred to blend into their environments, even if they were out in the boonies.
So. She was running from someone but didn't really know how to do it. The tired, worn-out car with the Missouri plates spoke volumes about her ignorance and lack of connections in obtaining an untraceable mode of transportation for her journey.
He hadn't meant to get caught up in her business, but as they hit one small town after another, they'd found, on a Sunday afternoon, most places were closed. And, for whatever reason, he felt he had no choice but to get her to safety. As the miles began to pile up behind them, he recognized his interest and curiosity had been engaged.
His mother had called him Bay-co, which was the braying bark of the dogs in their village who could sniff out even the deepest secrets. All his life he'd been the kind of person that once his awareness, his inquisitiveness had been engaged, he couldn't let go of the riddle until he solved it.
As a small boy, the satisfaction in the understanding had been enough.
As a man, he was driven to fix, resolve or correct those curious situations. Especially if they involved women or children.
Why he'd felt the need to give his passenger that old nickname, the name his mother had lovingly used for him, was still a mystery.
Tucking a bag of sandwiches, chips and sodas into the front of his leather jacket and zipping it to his neck, his knuckles hit the metal door adorned with the silhouette of a skirted female, giving the prearranged knocks.
It was time to get more information.
*.*.*.*.*
I hadn't been to a park at night since I was fourteen, but that's where he took me to eat our food. It was the typical kind you find in small towns with its kids play area tucked in one corner and the prerequisite baseball field in the other. The expanse of grass, not specified for any certain purpose, was dotted with the aging picnic tabl
es and waste receptacles.
"Looks like we're chasing the storm," I announced just for something to say. Our damp, weathered bench and table just caught the edge of the lights beaming from the area where two teams were battling it out on the scoreboard in the twilight of late evening.
"Yes," he said simply, his limpid eyes meeting mine as he shifted the pile of our jackets further down the table. He'd already polished off two sandwiches and two bags of chips. I was still working on just my one. "We need to discuss your situation."
When it came to plain speaking, I was thinking that my new friend Bayco was the world-champion. "I don't have a situation. Just drop me off at the nearest motel and I can take it from there."
His eyes narrowed as I spoke.
"Shall I tell you what I know?" he asked, low and slow. For whatever reason, I braced myself even though I nodded as I took another bite of my sandwich. I had a definite suspicion I wasn't going to like what I was going to hear.
"You are running from someone. More than likely a man. But you do not know how to run, to escape, properly," he said flatly. "You have tried this before and each time you have done so, you have learned a new skill, a new way of hiding from him. However, he always finds you."
Fuck! My stomach clenched and my jaw seized mid-chew.
"This time, though, is different. You have alluded either him or the men he has sent after you and have gotten further away than you ever have before. But you know that he and his men are still searching."
Goddamn! How had he… what had I said or done… how did he…
"Stop. You need to keep a clear head and you must tell me of this situation," he said, making a small hand movement, probably in response to whatever expression my face held, or the lack thereof. Ice was now running through my veins. I needed to think and think quickly, but my brain had turned to sludge at his words.
"You're imagining things, Dude," I replied, breaking the laser beam of his eyes before turning away and upending the last of the soda can into my extremely dry mouth. "My car broke down and I just need to get to a motel so I can rest up and get my peeps to, you know, come and take care of things."
Hiding in Plain Sight Page 3
