They were in luck. Wherever the police were now, she couldn’t see them, and she pulled back onto the road, driving back to the highway they’d turned off. They sat at the stop sign for a long time, engine rumbling comfortably.
“So where to, Boss?” she finally asked.
Abby pointed left, away from the city. “We’ll have to backtrack a little, I guess, try to get north some other way.”
“Don’t you think they’ll have road blocks? I mean, no matter where we go?”
Abby nodded. “Yes. But maybe there’s another, smaller road somewhere. I don’t know. Maybe something they didn’t bother with. They can’t cover them all.”
“We won’t have much time. They’ll probably figure out we stole this truck pretty soon. Within the day, at best.”
Abby nodded, her expression grave. “Then we’ll have to get out of here before then.”
Gwen lifted her shoulders and pulled back onto the highway, driving south and west, away from the city. She knew not to continue what was clearly a pointless conversation. Abby could think whatever she wanted, but Gwen knew better. If the police had one road blocked, they’d have them all. Abby was trapped now, no matter how much she hoped differently.
And Gwen was trapped with her.
Chapter Four
While it was blissfully cool in here, almost cold, the room was disgusting. If someone were in the mood to be generous, the motel might have been described as grungy, but it hovered near filthy. Musty with old cigarette smoke, the odor reminded Gwen of a bar on a Sunday morning. The beds didn’t seem to have any bugs, but Gwen couldn’t be sure the carpet didn’t have fleas. Once or twice, she thought she saw something moving on the floor—a scurrying, furtive something that disappeared when she looked directly at it. The bedspreads had cigarette burns, and dust covered every surface. The carpet was stained a mysterious brown in several places, including one entire corner of the little room. Gwen wondered how many people had bled there. You got what you paid for in a place that took cash and didn’t ask questions.
“You take me to such lovely places,” she said to Abby.
Abby didn’t reply, still standing at the window, peering outside through the partially closed curtain. She had angled herself in such a way that she could watch outside and still see Gwen with her peripheral vision. She was clearly smart enough not to turn her back to her. Still, Gwen thought she might be able to rush her if she moved quickly enough.
The afternoon had been long and hot. They’d traded the truck for a smaller, even older car almost immediately. Abby had hoped that getting a new car would throw the police off the scent. Gwen didn’t bother explaining that keeping the truck longer might have been the smarter move. If an everyday person realized their car had been stolen, they were much more likely to call the police quicker than a business, like the warehouse where they’d gotten the truck. No one had been there, after all, so who knew how long it would take before someone called it in. Most likely, someone had already reported the little car missing. Abby had made her switch license plates a while ago, but someone would eventually figure it out.
Despite driving for hours, they were almost back where they’d started. Every single road into the city they’d tried had been blocked. They’d even attempted to go south instead of north, Abby hoping they could head east for a while and then north some other way, but those roads had been blocked, too. El Paso was effectively surrounded.
This kind of surveillance couldn’t last very long. Eventually some of these blockades would have to be called off, and then all of them, but that didn’t mean Gwen knew which ones would be taken down first or when. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d tell Abby. She shivered and pulled her jacket out of her leather bag, slipping it on. That was the thing about air-conditioning. It was almost always either dysfunctional or too much.
“Christ, Abby, give it a rest,” she finally said, her patience so thin she almost shouted.
Abby frowned at her, letting the curtain drop closed. “I’m just looking.”
“Why? What good does it do?”
“We might have a minute or two to leave if the cops decide to check this place out.”
“You’re fooling yourself. If they stop here, you’re as good as caught. That piece-of-shit car couldn’t do 50 miles an hour on a good day, even if we managed to get in and drive away.” She gestured at the other bed. “Anyway, you’re defeating the purpose of stopping. Take a load off so we can make some kind of plan.”
Abby hesitated and then approached the second bed, grimacing at it before sitting down, perching on the absolute edge of the dirty duvet.
“You have any ideas?” she asked.
“We need some kind of farm road—something that wouldn’t be on a ninety-nine-cent map from the gas station.”
“How are we supposed to find that?”
Gwen held up her hands. “Exactly—we can’t.”
Abby’s frown deepened. “So why bring it up?”
“I’m telling you the reality here. Maybe we could ask someone, pay someone for that information, but this isn’t my town. It’s yours. Don’t you know someone you could ask?”
Abby started to shake her head and then stopped, her brows lowering. “Well, maybe. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“Can you call them?”
“Is there a phone book?”
“Yes. With the Bible.”
Abby scooted over, apparently forgetting the filth, and pulled out the thick set of White Pages from the little drawer between the beds.
“I’m gonna take a shower. I stink,” Gwen said, standing up and grabbing her leather bag.
“Leave that,” Abby said, gesturing with her gun.
Gwen looked down at the bag as if surprised to see it in her hand, and set it down without arguing. It had been worth a try.
The bathroom was grim, much worse than the bedroom. Clots of dark hair surrounded the drain in the tub, wiry tufts of it on the floor. The bathmat was moldy, dark instead of what might have once been yellow, and the towels weren’t much better. Gwen’s gorge rose a little, and she swallowed against it, disgusted with herself for being so squeamish. She’d seen worse.
The two washrags and towels were so threadbare and starched, they might have been made from bedsheets. She found two tiny bars of soap—both of them wrapped with labels from other hotels—and used one of them to give the bottom of the tub a quick scrub and rinsed it with one of the plastic cups.
She could hear the murmur of Abby’s voice in the bedroom, so she stood up and put her ear to the door. The door was so flimsy she could have punched a hole through it, so she was able to hear the tail end of the conversation clearly.
“No. I haven’t talked to him since his last visit,” Abby said. A long pause. “I’m not sure it’s safe to call him. I wasn’t even sure I should call you. I’d have to try to catch him in person.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll think about it. What do you think I should do about her?”
Gwen put her ear flush with the door.
“I can’t do that. I won’t,” Abby finally said. Another long pause. “You can’t ask me to do that, so stop suggesting it. Maybe I can…leave her here.” Silence. “Stop saying that. I won’t, do you hear me? I won’t do it!”
Gwen flung the door open and ran toward Abby. Abby had her back to the door, so Gwen had a couple of extra, crucial seconds, long enough to launch herself at her and tackle her. She pinned Abby to the floor between the beds, her knees on Abby’s elbows. Abby had managed to continue holding the gun, and Gwen smashed at the back of her right hand with a fist until she screamed and let go. She continued to try to buck Gwen off her back until Gwen put the gun to the back of her head. She stilled.
Gwen picked up the phone with her other hand.
“Hello? Hello?” a woman was saying.
Gwen hung up on her. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. Killing her was not the right move.
“Listen to me, Abby, and listen carefully.” She k
ept her voice low and uninflected. “I’m going to stand up and sit down on the bed. Once I do that, I want you to stand and then sit across from me on the other bed. Don’t try anything—just do as I say. Do you understand?”
Abby was still a moment longer, and then she nodded.
“Good.”
Gwen got up and sat down, keeping the gun on Abby as she clambered up onto her hands and knees and then rose. She sat across from Gwen, her face pale and her eyes brimming with tears.
Gwen continued to stare at her, so angry her body thrummed with suppressed rage. “The only reason, and I mean only reason you’re alive right now, is because of what I heard.” She lifted her chin at the phone. “That woman told you to kill me, right?”
Abby was crying now, quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks. She nodded.
“But you refused?”
She nodded again.
“Why?”
Abby seemed taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you refuse to kill me?”
“Because I’m not a murderer.”
“But she is? The woman on the phone?”
Abby hesitated and then nodded once more.
“So if you’re not a murderer, what are you? Why is half the state of Texas out looking for you?”
Abby opened her mouth to reply and then closed it, licking her lips. “Turn on the TV. You’ll see soon enough.”
Gwen frowned, seeing, for the first time, the little clunky set sitting in the corner of the room. She gestured at it with the gun. “You turn it on. Stand over there by the set so I can keep an eye on you.”
After a pause, Abby obeyed, keeping her hands slightly raised and away from her sides. She approached the set and then knelt next to it to switch the little knob. It took a few seconds for the TV to warm up, showing snow, and Abby turned the little knob for the channels until something finally appeared on the screen. A commercial was on, and Abby almost switched channels before the programming resumed. A male and female anchor dominated the screen, their faces grim.
The man spoke first. “Welcome back. We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special report. The El Paso County Sheriff’s Office is working with the Texas Department of Public Safety to apprehend an at-large convict. Anne Pierce escaped from the Cornudas Federal Correctional Institution this morning.”
Several pictures of Abby—Anne—appeared on screen. Other pictures of her followed her mug shot at various times, smiling and laughing, the other people in those photos blocked or cut out. The screen then went to half screen, one side a speaking reporter, the other Abby/Anne’s mugshot. A bright-yellow phone number for the sheriff’s department dominated the bottom of the screen. The woman spoke next.
“Details regarding her escape have not been shared with us at this time, but there is some speculation about inside collusion with various members of the prison staff.”
The man’s face replaced the female reporter’s. “Anne Pierce was the ringleader of a criminal organization convicted of bank fraud here in El Paso. At the time of their trial, it was revealed that they had defrauded the El Paso Credit Union of millions of dollars.”
The woman again: “As the bank manager of one branch of the credit union, Anne created several false accounts for her co-conspirators and authorized loans for hundreds of thousands of dollars in their accounts. The money was then transferred offshore and never repaid. An audit by the IRS and a sting with the FBI finally caught up with most of the criminals, including Ms. Pierce, though it was believed then and now that others were involved that have yet to be caught. Police officials suspect they might have aided in today’s breakout.”
The man: “Anne Pierce is believed to be armed, and after a theft at the prison by a female staff member last week, the sheriff’s department believes that she has obtained street clothing that might make it difficult to recognize her. Anne is five foot two, about a hundred pounds, blond, with light-colored green eyes.”
The woman: “Police officials believe she will head here, to El Paso, and an incident at a police barricade early this afternoon suggests that she might have arrived already. Be on the lookout for the woman you see here on the right of your screen, and call the number at the bottom of the screen immediately. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to approach or detain her on you own. Simply call this number if you spot her. Information leading to her apprehension will result in a substantial reward.”
“You can turn it off now,” Gwen said, gesturing with the gun.
Anne had watched with her back to Gwen, and she knelt and turned it off. She stood up again and faced Gwen, her cheeks stained with tears. She was clearly terrified, and Gwen remembered that same look in her eyes when she first saw her standing on the side of the road this morning. Had that actually been today? It seemed like ages, now. She remembered something else, then. Some miles before the gas station, she had noticed one of those signs warning drivers not to pick up hitchhikers—something about a prison or federal penitentiary. She’d forgotten all about it until now.
Gwen pointed at the other bed. “Sit down, Anne.”
She came back slowly, her hands slightly up and away from herself again, and sat down across from Gwen.
“It’s Annie,” she said.
“Clever,” Gwen said. It was smart, when taking a false name, to assume one as close to your own as possible. She’d done it herself many times.
“Bank fraud, huh?”
Annie nodded.
“Millions of dollars, they said?”
She nodded again.
“How much time did you get?”
“Thirty to life.”
“Christ! I would have tried to escape, too. But I’d have had a car waiting, at least. Were you on foot the whole time?”
“No. I had a ride at first, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “The woman they paid to get me out got cold feet and left me there on the side of the road. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
Annie had physically collapsed in on herself. Her shoulders were slouched so far down that her arms, crossed tightly over her chest, were almost resting on her lap. She was the picture of misery.
“So what was your plan after that?” Gwen asked. “Why come here? Why not head east, toward Dallas or someplace far away?”
Annie’s eyes, which had been frightened and tearful, suddenly looked hard again. Her posture changed, and she sat up straighter, her arms relaxing at her sides. She didn’t reply.
“Ah,” said Gwen, laughing. “You have something here, don’t you? Some of that money, maybe?”
Again, she didn’t respond.
Gwen frowned at her. “Listen—right now, you’ve given me no motivation to help you. You’ve held me up long enough. What’s to stop me from calling you in right now? That reporter said there would be a ‘substantial reward.’ Can you top that or not?”
Annie still didn’t reply.
Gwen shrugged and reached for the phone, and Annie lashed out, grabbing her wrist to stop her.
“Wait.” She licked her lips. “Yes. There is money. About a million and half. It might have already been found, but I don’t think so. My…business partner, the one I called earlier, has been watching it—the place where I left it. It’s in an old office building downtown.”
Most of this, Gwen knew, was bullshit, but she already was sure Annie was a relatively good liar, so it might be fairly close to the truth, too. She was probably hiding some details and almost certainly lying about the money.
“So your business partner might have taken it, then?”
She shook her head. “No. I have someone watching her, too.”
“Layer and layers,” Gwen said, leaning back on one hand. “I can tell you right now, Annie, it will be a miracle if that money is still there with all these other people involved.”
“I know.”
“What makes you trust them after all this time? The news said it had been what, three years since the conviction? So like four since y
ou worked with them?”
“They helped me escape today.”
“But the person they hired left you on the side of the road.”
“That wasn’t—” Annie shook her head. “That was different.”
Gwen stared at her for a long, silent pause. Annie seemed hopeful now, her eyes pleading, but she was still clearly anxious. Her fists were clenched at her sides, almost punching into the bed, and she appeared rigid and tight. Her clothes, so fresh and crisp this morning, were almost worn, every piece wrinkled and damp. Her hair was mussed, and her makeup, professional and nice this morning, was smeared. All of this, and she was still pretty. Ramsey, you idiot, Gwen told herself, sighing.
“Okay,” she said, setting the gun down on the bed beside her. “I’m going to help you. But I want half—half of whatever is left.”
“I can’t—” Annie said.
“Half. That’s my only offer.”
Annie hesitated and then nodded. “Okay. Half. But it might be half of nothing.”
Gwen held up her hands. “I get it, fine. Half of nothing is still half.”
“What will you do if there’s no money? Will you turn me in?”
Gwen shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“I want your answer now.” Abby’s voice was low, angry. “Either you turn me in right now or not at all. We’re either in this together, or I’m going back to prison. I can’t take this anymore.”
Gwen frowned, her temper rising again. “If you want it that way, then yes, I’ll swear it—I won’t turn you in. But I want you to swear now, too, Annie. Swear to me that when we get the money, you won’t turn on me. You’ll give me half, and we’ll part ways.”
She held out a hand and Annie shook it. She knew, and she knew Annie knew, that they were both lying, but maybe they could relax a little if they pretended they were allies for a while. Holding a gun on someone was tiring.
She grabbed the strap of her leather bag and pulled it closer. Then she rooted around inside, pushing aside the tools, and lifted the bottom to reveal her own gun. She pulled it out, showed it to Annie, and held out Annie’s gun for her.
On the Run Page 4
