by Ellie Danes
One cop car rounded the corner in front of us.
Nathan whipped the old sedan around as fast as he could crank the steering wheel. Lights were flashing down a side street but we sped by before a second squad car could cut us off.
"Hang on," Nathan cried.
I grabbed the door handle and locked the doors as Nathan bumped the car up onto the dead lawn of the foreclosed house. He ripped across the overgrown gravel driveway and bounced into the alley. Then he burst through another open yard and onto the next block.
Another cop car waited on the corner, the officer out with his gun drawn. When he saw us, he started waving his hands and yelling.
Nathan's window was open as we sped by, and we both heard the police officer calling, "Nathan, stop! Nathan Walker!"
We barreled past him and the police officer aimed his gun but never fired. I watched in the rearview mirror as the cop holstered his weapon and threw his hands up in the air.
Nathan laid on the gas pedal, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He'd heard the police officer but he didn't look back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nathan
I checked the rearview mirror for the eightieth time. The street was bright and sunny, and I couldn't see any place that a police squad car could hide. There weren't even any people acting suspiciously. Springer, New Mexico was a normal town.
We were the ones who didn't fit in.
"What are we going to do?" Bree asked. Her hand still clung to the handle on the passenger side door.
"We've got to get off the streets before someone notices us," I said.
She nodded, her jaw tense. "This old, rusted sedan is pretty easy to spot."
"We've got to get our stuff from the motel. I'll park in the back." I aimed us toward the little roadside motel.
Bree stiffened as we drove into the parking lot but everything was quiet there, too. We sat for a second after I'd turned the car off but neither of us heard police sirens or any other reason to panic.
Except that police officer's voice echoed in my head. He had recognized me and called my name. My full name.
"I'll get our stuff," Bree said.
"Meet you around back."
Bree made a show of entering our motel room and then shimmied out of the bathroom window minutes later. She was starting to make it look easy after I had made her practice.
I helped her to the ground and then couldn't let go of her hips. "Bree," I said.
She hugged me tightly but shook her head against my shoulder. "Let's just get somewhere safe."
We changed clothes in the shadow of the small motel and then headed down a side street. Using back alleys and parking lots, we made our way at least three miles.
"The Rolling Hills Motel looks good," Bree said. "There's no one suspicious staying there."
I knew she was kidding but I caught her hand and squeezed it anyway. The Rolling Hills Motel looked like something a horror film crew had abandoned on the back lot. Not a single window was unmarred by broken blinds, a ripped screen, or cracked glass.
"The parking lot’s half full," I said. "Busy place must mean no one asks a lot of questions."
Bree cringed as we walked closer but she hung on to my hand and followed me into the motel lobby. Our check-in habit had formed out of necessity. Bree kept her sunglasses on, turned her back on the motel clerk, and studied the rack of local brochures. I gave the clerk a big smile and a wink and said we just wanted a room for one night.
Motel clerks made quick judgment calls but always kept their opinions to themselves. Occasionally, one would lear at Bree, assuming we were there for some kind of infidelity, but no one ever said much.
As soon as I got the room key, I wound my arm around Bree's waist. She'd giggle and off we'd go to the motel room, where no one would question why we were pulling the shades closed tight.
After that, Bree kicked on the radio and sat stiffly at the table.
"You're not going to tell me you're sad to see that rusty old sedan go, are you?" I asked.
She tried to smile but her brown eyes were full of worry. "We're going to have to use more of the money from that safety deposit box."
"No one knows we have it." I hoped it was true.
Bree scrubbed both hands over her face. Then she looked up at me and asked in a small voice, "How did that cop know your name?"
I sat down and caught both Bree's hands in mine. "There could be lots of reasons for that. I've been missing from Cannon long enough that they've reported me. The MPs would eventually have informed the police."
Bree chewed on her lip. "Maybe they know who you are and they are trying to help you?"
"Or maybe those gunmen called in a tip about me in the hopes that I'd get caught up by the local cops," I said. "All we know for sure is the police are after me, too."
Bree slipped her hands out of mine and knotted her fingers together. "Nathan, I think I should call the Topeka sheriff. He's a friend, a regular at the cafe. I can at least ask him if he's heard your name."
I stood up and changed the channel on the radio. "That's not a good idea. If he's a friend, he's going to want to know what's going on with you and if you're okay."
"I'm okay." Bree released her white fingers and leaned back in her chair.
I sat down across from her again. "Are you really? We had a big scare this morning."
"I'm fine, really," Bree said. Then she jumped out of her chair as our burner phone rang.
I picked it up like it was on fire and checked the number. "It's not the Wheeler woman. No one else knows this number."
Bree snatched it out of my hands. "I called Janice, remember?"
She took a deep breath and answered the phone in a calm voice. It turned out to be Janice, just checking up on Bree, but the conversation soon got tense.
"No, really, I'm fine," Bree told Janice again. "I just don't know when I'll make it back. I'm so sorry."
Tears were sliding down her cheeks, and Bree had to take long breaths to keep her voice steady. Janice was obviously not buying her reassurances because Bree repeated the phrase 'no, I'm fine' too many times.
I grabbed the phone away from Bree. "Is this Janice? It's nice of you to check up on Bree but I've got to borrow her right now. All this family business is a real mess."
"What's going on?" Janice asked. The older waitress could smell bullshit from states away. "Who are you?"
"Family friend. Bree's stressed out but I promise things are going to be fine. She'll call again when she can." I hung up the phone, turned it over, and popped out the battery.
"Great," Bree said. "She's never going to believe you're a family friend."
"Then let's hope she knows it’s me from the diner and still thinks I've whisked you away for a fling." I tossed the phone parts on the bed. "That's not a total lie."
Bree tried to smile but failed. "I can't ever go back, can I? I'm never going to see Janice or the diner again."
I wanted to gather her up in my arms and hug her tight but Bree looked fragile, untouchable. "You can still get out of this. If you want to go back, we'll get you back."
Bree paced across the small motel room. "How? The police have already spotted me with you. That woman, whoever she was, can give them a full description. If I go back, I'll spend all my time in questioning. How is that going to help you?"
I caught her by the shoulders and fought the urge to shake her. "Stop worrying about me. This is all my problem, and I shouldn't have gotten you tangled up in it. If you want out, just say so."
Bree clung to my shoulders, the tears spilling over to slide down her cheeks. "I can't leave you. Not now. I know it's crazy but I… I care for you, Nathan. I really do."
"And that's why I need to get you somewhere safe," I said.
She shook her head. "You can't do this alone."
"This?" I asked. "We don't even know what 'this' is. I have no idea what to do next. I have no idea what I've done."
Bree's tears flowed faster, and
she wrapped me in a tight hug. "Maybe it's time to let it all go. Maybe the best thing you can do now is try to get as far away from all this as you can and start over."
I buried my head in between her neck and her shoulder. "Just find a remote beach somewhere and put our toes in the sand," I suggested.
Bree gave a watery laugh. "We don't even have to speak the language."
I took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh. "I can't ever go back to my life. By now they've reported me AWOL. And god knows what I did besides screw everything up. My life as I knew it is gone. Why not end up somewhere with cheap beer and open beaches?"
The idea stuck me so hard that I let go of Bree. She watched, worried, as I paced the motel room back and forth. I glanced at her worried face, paced again, and tried to figure out a way to tell her about our next possible move.
Bree crossed her arms in front of her and gave me a direct look. "You were talking about never being able to go back. Your life is over. Now you've got some sort of plan. What is it?"
I stopped in front of her. "Tell me the truth. How do you see this ending?"
She hesitated and then sighed. "With us answering a thousand questions from the police, the FBI maybe. That's a lot better than thinking about what might happen if those armed men find us again."
"Not to mention the military police," I reminded her.
"So, it might not end in the best way. That doesn't mean we should give up," Bree said.
I stepped forward and kissed her cheek. "You'll be fine after all the questions. You're innocent in all this. But we both agree that no matter what happens, there isn't anything good waiting for me at the end of this mystery."
"There's still a chance we could figure it all out," Bree said.
"There's a chance," I agreed, "but our chances would be a lot better if the police and those gunmen weren't looking for us anymore."
Bree leaned back. "What do you mean 'anymore?'"
I laid my hands lightly on her shoulders. "I mean, they won't keep looking for us if they think we're dead."
It took a minute for my idea to sink into Bree's mind. Then she brushed my hands off her shoulders and curled up in a motel chair again. I let her sit and think about it for a minute before I knelt in front of her.
"Just think about it, Bree. If everyone thinks we're dead then no one will be chasing us anymore. We can take our time and really try to figure out what happened. Maybe we'll even figure out where Maggie went and if she's okay."
She swatted me away. "What are you even saying? You want us to fake our deaths?"
I caught her hands and held on tight. "It's a good way to get to that sunny beach. It might be the only way. Just think about it. After everyone thinks we're dead, we'll be able to build the lives that we really want."
"What if I want to go back?" Bree asked.
I waited and studied her face. "Is that what you really want?"
Bree squeezed her eyes tight. "Everyone would think I was dead. My sister would think I was dead and gone. I'd never be able to see her again."
"You can't see her right now but, if we did this, maybe you could see her again in the future," I said.
Bree pulled her hands away from me and wrapped her arms around her stomach. I stood up to give her a little space. It was hard not to pace back and forth and talk it through, but I knew that Bree needed to think it over. It's not every day that someone suggests you end your life in order to start another one.
"My life hasn't really turned out the way I hoped," Bree admitted. "I didn't want to be at the diner. I didn't want to be alone. And my sister…"
"My life's a mess, too. At least it was until I met you," I said.
Bree swiped away her tears and stood up. "Fine. But after this is all over, you better know how to make a damned good margarita."
Chapter Thirty
Bree
The early evening light was right in the salesman's eyes as he waved at us from across the small used car lot. We'd hiked all the way from the motel and just made it before they closed. Nathan headed straight for another old junker. I stopped in my tracks.
"We shouldn't let him think we're together. The cops are going to be looking for a couple," I said.
Nathan tipped his hat at me and kept strolling away. I turned and went over to a more modern coupe with a sunroof.
"Now that's a beauty. You should call your husband over and we can talk deals," the salesman said. He could see me well enough to look down my shirt but he still had to squint again the sunset.
"My husband?" I looked at Nathan over the salesman's shoulder and laughed. "I'm not married. I'm single."
The salesman caught my hand and held it too long after we shook. "Well, then, how about I take you out for a ride in something a little sportier? See if I can't rev up your engine."
Nathan circled closer, one hand clenched in a fist. I flipped my hair in an attempt to wave him away. "Nah, I'm interested in this one," I told the salesman.
"Then I can give you a great price," he said. "Though a hot piece like you should be in something with air conditioning."
The salesman tried to slip his arm around me but I sidestepped him. "I'll take the low price; my brother can fix the air conditioning."
He had the paperwork and his phone number ready for me in no time. There wasn't even a problem with me paying in cash after I'd wriggled a little closer and laughed at his jokes.
I almost ran Nathan over when I pulled out of the used car parking lot. "There you are," I said.
"So, I'm your brother now?" Nathan slammed the passenger side door.
"I had to tell him something. Otherwise, he'd wonder why I was picking the cheapest car on the lot and paying in cash," I said.
"Fine, but you didn't need to let him paw all over you." Nathan flexed and clenched his fist again.
I laughed. "Jealous?"
He unknotted his fist and grabbed my knee. "Nope."
I glanced at him. "You seem awfully sure of yourself."
Nathan leaned back, his hand still stroking my knee. "I am. And I can fix the air conditioning."
I wanted to laugh and keep teasing him, but we pulled up to our old motel. The other car, the ones the cops saw, was tucked in the back parking lot. I took a deep breath and drove in slowly. I pulled into a spot a few cars down from the rusted sedan and shut off the engine.
We waited a full three minutes before Nathan reached for the passenger door handle. He looked out of every window, checked each mirror, and then waited another thirty seconds. Nothing changed, only the light slipping away.
He got out and slipped into the old sedan before the streetlight blinked on over the parking lot. Then he pulled out of the spot and cruised past me, stopping just long enough to blow me a kiss.
We'd fought about who would drive that car. The cops saw it and had to have the license plate numbers. Whoever drove it could be picked up at any time. At first, Nathan wanted me to take it. He figured if the cops got me, it was my last out. Otherwise, we were going ahead with his plan.
I refused.
So, he was driving. We both knew he would risk a high-throttle chase before getting caught, and no one liked speed more than a jet pilot. Every mile we drove, I hoped it wouldn't come to that.
It was a small relief when we hit the small town Nathan had marked on a map. We were high up in the Rocky Mountains, and it was the last place with gas. That meant it was the last place with security cameras. Nathan drove straight in and made sure they saw him.
I, on the other hand, stuffed a hat on my head and put on a pair of large sunglasses.
I couldn't breathe until we were back on the road but my anxiety doubled as soon as we got back on the main route. A state patrol car was snaking through the two-lane traffic. He merged right behind Nathan and rode close to his bumper.
Then Nathan slowed down and the gap closed. I was two cars back and hyperventilating in my humid car. Why wasn't he trying to keep his license plate numbers out of range?
; The state patrol car swerved out from behind Nathan and gunned past him on the left. Nathan had taken a gamble on the patrolman's impatience and had distracted him with his slow driving.
Nathan was smart but I wished he wasn't gambling with the rest of our lives.
I was so tense that the next three towns were a blur. We stopped in places where the sedan and Nathan could be seen, trying to leave a trail for the police to follow. I remembered the tourist trap because Nathan won a stuffed big foot in a crane game. He tossed it in the window of my car before we moved on.
Then there was the shack of a bar. I waited, slumped over in my stifling car, while Nathan went inside and pretended to get drunk. I was just starting to feel jealous when a large man with a spiked black leather belt hauled Nathan outside. He waited, with his tree trunk arms crossed, while Nathan stumbled into the rusted old sedan and drove away.
By the time we got to the last small town, I was starved. "My pick this time," I said.
Nathan and I met up in the middle of Main Street and walked together to the grill I had spotted. "Might want to get your food to go," he said.
I walked straight up to the bar and ordered two meals, while Nathan found a back booth. There was a fine line between getting noticed and getting caught, and I hoped we could walk it long enough. Luckily, the waitress' mind was hundreds of miles away. She kept texting someone and swearing over the time change.
"Did she even noticed we're together or did she really think you were going to eat two fried chicken specials?" Nathan asked.
I swatted his arm. "She'll notice when she delivers the food and we immediately ask for to-go boxes."
"And you're sure this place has a surveillance system?" Nathan looked at the shabby decor with a doubtful sniff.
"Aimed at the parking lot. The sedan should be front and center on the footage," I said.
The food smelled heavenly but it wasn't part of the plan. The waitress did a double-take when we asked for the to-go boxes. She watched us even more carefully when we appeared to panic and got out of there too fast.
