by KG MacGregor
"That’s all you need? Just a ride to bingo?"
"Well," she hesitated, "once in awhile I need a little help around the house. You know, those things that are easier with two people, like holding a ladder…or picking up something heavy…or giving the dogs a bath."
Ruth gulped noticeably.
"They’re usually pretty good, but they get excited and sometimes I need help holding ‘em still," she explained.
Ruth stood there quietly and looked around. At one-fifty a month, she wouldn’t have to worry about making the rent for a while. If she could get Jessie into a pre-school or daycare, she could start looking for work. Even a low-wage job would be enough for the time being if she lived here.
"Would you mind if I talked it over with my daughter?"
"No, not at all," Viv answered. "I’ll just wait outside."
Ruth had made up her mind, but she wanted Jessie to like it and to feel at home. Kneeling down, she pulled her daughter close.
"So what do you think, punkin? How would you like to have that little room with pretty flowered sheets?"
"It’s dark in here."
"I know, but it won’t be when we open the windows." She walked over and tugged gently on the bottom of the shade. Abruptly, it flew to the top with a snap. "Oops, glad I didn’t have my nose over there," she teased, covering her nose.
That made Jessie laugh, and she covered her own nose as well.
"What do you say, honey? We can make it pretty, and there’s a closet for all your toys in the little bedroom. I think we’ll like it here."
"Do you think Daddy will find us here?" the girl asked seriously.
"No, sweetie, I don’t. Not if we keep our secret…Megan. Okay?"
Finally, Jessie nodded her agreement. This wasn’t as big and bright as the house she’d shared with her father, but it already felt a lot happier than that one.
Together, the pair walked out onto the porch, just as the rain began falling more steadily.
"Viv?"
The gray-haired woman opened her back porch door. "Did you decide?"
"Yeah, we’re going to take it. I think Megan and I are going to like living here," she shouted across the back yard.
Viv smiled and waved them in. "Well come on in here and say hello to these hounds so they’ll know you’re the good guys."
CHAPTER 8
SPENCER THROTTLED BACK when she exited onto Lee Highway heading west. Her sudden move had caught both the deputy and federal agent unaware, and she was long gone before they got back into the flow of traffic. This time, though, she wasn’t going to take any chances running up on another law enforcement officer from behind. She was a sitting duck on these interstates and highways, exposed and at the mercy of the exit ramps and crossroads. She’d have a better chance of staying out of sight on a two-lane road, especially if she could get off road quickly and into a place where she couldn’t be pursued.
At the first chance, Spencer turned off the highway, heading south onto a two-lane road with moderate traffic. She needed to find a place to regroup. Her shoulder-length brown hair was wet and stringy, and the blood on her arm had soaked through the nylon, discoloring the white sleeve. She wasn’t going to be able to walk into any old public building and hang out unnoticed.
When the road ended, she turned west on 620, away from the city. That road became New Braddock Road, and traffic picked up a bit. Not good, she realized, looking again for something more out of the way. Most of the surface streets looked like they looped back into residential areas, which meant there was likely no thru-way. It wouldn’t do at all to get trapped in a place like that.
From highway to back road to dead end and back, she rode in the rain, searching in vain for a place she could stop. Her eyes were peeled for a closed business, a parking garage, or even a dugout on a little league ball field. She needed a place where she could sort out this mess. What was this all about? Had Henry really stumbled across something sinister? And how were the feds involved?
Finally, she ended up in the one place she hadn’t wanted to be: on a road leading back to the interstate. No doubt, the highway patrol and every other badge on earth had her description by now. Cynically, she imagined also that their orders now were "shoot to kill." Spencer couldn’t risk being out here anymore. She needed to get off the road now. After dark, she’d venture out and try to call Elena again.
On her left was a large wooded area; on her right, an open field. Straight ahead was I-66 and behind her was a town, filled with stoplights, traffic, and inevitably, police. The lesser of evils was the woods on the left and she turned down a side road to find the best place to sneak in without being seen.
Most of the leaves on the taller trees were gone, but the scrub pines and rhododendrons offered a little cover down low. Still, she’d have to go pretty deep into the woods to be completely hidden to anyone driving by. Spencer had given up on finding shelter, but the rain had lessened somewhat. There was a poncho in her other saddlebag, and she could drape it over the bike to make a tent.
Picking her way up the bank and over a fallen log, the tall rider chuckled at the image of her coworkers trying to get their fancy Harley’s in here. Hell, could their big touring bikes have jumped the fence at Margadon? Hell, no! Could they have climbed the curbs and medians? Doubtful! Could they clear underbrush like the Kawasaki? Not fucking likely! Her last twenty hours on the dual purpose KL650 could have been a sales video. Take that, Harley Davidson!
Spencer was winding slowly back into the woods when she heard the dreaded sound, a siren closing in fast. Eager to get deeper into the cover, she accelerated a bit, turning back to see if she could catch a glimpse of the cruiser through the trees.
That was pretty unwise for someone without a helmet.
The instant she turned back around, she was smacked in the face by a stiff branch of a barren white oak. Lying flat on her back as her bike crashed ahead into the shrubbery, Spencer lay there for all of about eight seconds, marveling at the fact that she knew what hit her. Then she took an unplanned nap.
* * *
For the second time that same day, the injured cyclist awoke to rain in her face. Immediately, her right hand — now the only one she could lift — went to her forehead, where it found a sticky mass she knew was congealed blood. That had been a nasty spill, and she’d obviously been out for hours, as the last traces of daylight were nearly gone.
Spencer struggled to sit up, reeling at the dull ache from her newest injury. Moving only slightly brought shooting pains that seemed to wrap around her head, and she was almost overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea.
It was just twenty-four hours ago that she had bid Henry Estes goodnight and walked out of Margadon, her mind already on the fun-filled night ahead. Since then, she’d seen her friend murdered; she’d been chased all over Maryland and Virginia; she’d spent the night outside in the cold rain; and she’d been shot at, for god’s sake. Bruises and a punctured arm were bad enough; but now, she worried that she might have a concussion, or even a fractured skull.
More now than ever, she needed help.
Spencer struggled to her feet and reached out for a branch to steady herself. That branch! Fuck, no wonder it hurt so bad, she thought. It was as big as a baseball bat.
Her bike lay in a heap a few feet away, but that didn’t matter now. She was in no condition to ride.
As the woods darkened around her, Spencer saw that straight ahead — where she had first thought was deeper into the woods — there was a glow of lights. Apparently, if she’d continued on, she would have emerged on the other side, back at the edge of the town she’d passed.
Steadying herself now on a tree, she stooped to the side pocket on her bike, pulling out the black poncho and dropping it over her head. It didn’t matter that she was soaking wet already; the poncho would cover the blood on her arm, and the hood would hide her wet hair and battered face. It was hard not to look like an idiot when you were out wandering around in the pouring rain, b
leeding like a stuck pig. At least with the poncho, she could hide the worst of it and maybe not call undue attention to herself.
Slowly, Spencer stumbled through the woods in the direction of the light, not knowing what she’d find when she finally got to the end. With luck, there would be a phone, and a place where she could be warm and dry while she waited for Elena to come pick her up.
Nearing the edge of the woods, the source of light came into view. It was a Wal-Mart, the giant discount department store. Even in the pouring rain on a Saturday night, the store was doing a good business, evidenced by the crowded parking lot. By now, her instincts demanded that she watch out for a dark sedan with government plates, and for law enforcement vehicles of any type. Seeing neither in the darkened lot, Spencer scooted down the embankment, finally reaching the edge of the paved lot on the side of the store.
Tentatively rounding the building, she spotted a pair of payphones mounted on the outside wall next to the vending machines. The slim overhang high above offered little shelter from the rain, which now was coming down much heavier than before. At the entrance, she could see the shoppers gather, all waiting for the deluge to let up so they could run to their cars with their packages.
Spencer knew she must look like a fool out in the rain, but she had no choice. Dropping two quarters into the phone farthest from the door, she placed her call to Elena’s home number. Anxiously, she counted the rings, almost hanging up before she finally heard the response.
"Hello?"
"Elena?"
"Spence, is that you?" The agent had spent the whole day trying to find her friend.
"Yeah," she sighed with relief. "God, Elena, I’m in so much trouble."
"Where are you? I’ll come get you." Elena knew that no matter what had happened, it was all some kind of mistake. The FBI had questioned her that afternoon about her ex-lover’s whereabouts the night before. They were convinced that Spencer Rollins had killed her coworker, but Elena knew better and said so.
"I’m in Virginia, at a Wal-Mart near I-66. I’m not sure exactly." Spencer looked around for a clue as to what this area or city was called. "Elena, Henry’s dead. I saw the guys that did it. I think…I think it was the feds. And now they’re after me."
Like she had this morning, Spencer related the truth as she knew it and waited for her friend’s response. And like this morning, it never came.
"Elena?" Not again! "Elena?"
At that instant, the programmer realized what she’d just done. The fuckers had found her cell phone and they were probably the goddamned FBI. That meant they knew about Elena, about all the calls they made to one another. And if they were looking for her, all they had to do was wait for her to call her friend. They had listened in to every word, and both times they had cut her off just as she started to explain what had happened. By tapping Elena’s phone, they’d found her this morning at the gas station, and goddamn it, that’s how they were going to find her right here.
Suddenly panicked, Spencer hung up the phone and stepped back, looking at once toward the parking lot entrance for the telltale police car. Hurrying as fast as she could with her injuries to the nearest row of parked vehicles, she ducked low as she looked for a hiding place.
Her first choice was a pickup truck with a small camper top, but it was locked. Likewise with the SUV two spaces over and the van parked next to it. Finally she reached a red station wagon and gave the door a yank. To her surprise and relief, it opened; and she quickly crawled into the back, covering herself with a black tarpaulin that was already spread out.
Waiting anxiously to see if she’d been spotted, Spencer listened to the sounds around her. Only occasionally would a door slam or an engine start. The rain was obviously keeping shoppers inside.
Five minutes passed, then five more. Warm and dry for the first time today, she gave in to her exhaustion.
* * *
As soon as the door opened, Elena Diaz charged through. "I need to use your phone." Not even saying hello, she went straight for the kitchen and grabbed the cordless off the wall.
"What did you find out?" Kelly had waited all day for Elena to call her about Spencer.
"They’re after Spencer, the FBI. Somebody killed the guy she works with last night, and they say it was her. Did you talk to Kaitlyn?"
"Yeah, she said Spencer blew her off right after they walked out. She got a phone call and said she needed to go."
Elena paced nervously. Spencer had said she was in trouble. And that she was in Virginia, and then the line went dead, just as it had this morning.
"Do you think she killed him, Elena?"
"No, there’s no way. But I don’t know how to find out what happened. The FBI agents who talked to me today asked a lot of questions, but they didn’t answer any of mine." The tall woman practically snarled as she remembered Calvin Akers’ cocky attitude. "Listen, I need to call my cousin."
"Sure."
Elena dialed the number and spoke at once in Spanish to a woman, then a man. Hanging up, she turned to her lover. "Spencer didn’t do this, Kelly. I don’t want you wondering about it, no matter what you hear. She didn’t do it."
"Okay." Kelly liked Elena’s programmer friend, and she figured they had probably been lovers once. Elena had been lovers with nearly everyone, she was learning.
"Thanks for the phone. I gotta go back to my house."
"You came all the way over here just to use the phone?"
"Yeah, I think mine’s bugged."
CHAPTER 9
"OKAY, ARE YOU ready to make a run for it, Megan?" As much as she could, Ruth practiced saying her daughter’s new name.
The little girl nodded and pulled her shopping bag close. It held her brand new Lisa doll, which her mother had rejoiced to find on sale for only thirty-five bucks.
Ruth took the child’s free hand in her own, her other carrying a heavy bag of sheets, towels, and a few dry goods from the food aisle, including a jar of spaghetti sauce and a box of noodles.
"Let’s hurry," she cried, jogging across the parking lot during a letup in the deluge. Quickly, she opened the passenger door and guided the child into her seat. Next, she opened the door behind Jessie and heaved the shopping bag onto the crumpled tarp. Before the heavy rains could start again, she was in the driver’s seat checking the seat belt on her daughter’s side.
Ruth felt her stomach knot as two police cars pulled into the parking lot just as she reached the exit. Right this minute, she hadn’t broken any laws, but all that was going to change tomorrow at six o’clock when she was due back at the restaurant with Jessie. They weren’t coming for her, she knew; it was probably just someone in the store who had tried to pick up something without paying.
"Can I watch TV tonight?"
Ruth chuckled and shook her head in resignation. She hadn’t even had a television at her other house. Instead, they played games and told stories, always finishing the night with the book of Jessie’s choice. But life was different when the little girl had gone back to live with her father. Barbara Drummond used the television to keep her granddaughter occupied all day, and Skip spent virtually every evening at home in front of the tube; so despite Ruth’s aversion, television was undeniably a part of her daughter’s life.
"It’s ‘may I’ and maybe for just a little while," she conceded. "Tell you what. We’ll have some spaghetti; then you can watch TV while I’ll put the new sheets on your bed. Maybe after that we’ll find a book and have a story. Okay?"
That sounded pretty good and Jessie readily agreed.
Ruth was exhausted, even though they’d had a two-hour nap together that afternoon on the scratchy couch. It would take her a few days to get back on the right sleeping and eating schedule, but it was more important to get Jessie into a routine.
Finding the right turnoff in the dark proved a bit of an adventure, but soon, they were turning onto the gravel driveway, pulling around to park between the trailer and the house. Ruth turned off the lights and reached behind her
to grab the heavy bag.
"Can you take Lisa?"
"Uh-huh," the little girl agreed, turning around as the interior light came on. "Mommy!"
"What?"
"Who’s that?"
"Who’s who?" Ruth turned in alarm to see what her daughter was talking about, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sight of a woman’s bloody face.
"She has a hurt," the child observed.
"Jessie, I need you to run into the house, okay? Take Lisa and go now." Ruth was trembling with fright, and her maternal instincts were on high alert. She couldn’t comprehend why this woman was in their car, but whoever she was, she was big trouble.
The four-year-old reluctantly got out of the car. "Who is it?" she turned and asked.
"I don’t know. Go on inside," she repeated. Ruth had no idea what she was going to do. Clearly, she couldn’t just ask Viv to call the police. The last thing she wanted was to call attention to herself on this, their first day in town.
Quietly, she climbed out of the car and opened the back door. She shook the woman gently, hoping like hell she was only asleep. What if she was dead!
To her relief, the woman shifted as though pulling away.
"Hey, wake up. Come on, wake up," she coaxed.
The eyes fluttered open and squinted against the dome light.
"Come on. You got in the wrong car or something." That was the only explanation that made any sense at all. "I can take you back, but you need to wake up."
"No," the woman moaned. "Can’t go back."
"Look, you’re hurt. You need to find your family, and see a doctor," she urged.
"I can’t," she murmured.
"Come on, you can’t stay here." Perhaps a threat would work. "I’m going to go call the police."
"No!" she pleaded, suddenly fully awake and obviously panicked. "No police, please."
Ruth knew it was an empty threat. With the stowaway unwilling to leave, she had few options open to her that wouldn’t put her at the center of the very thing she needed to avoid. She couldn’t very well drive back to the Wal-Mart and dump her in the parking lot. Thoughts of the store brought back the image of police cars pulling onto the lot. God, was this who they were looking for?
