by Ruth Wind
"Yes, Lila. It is only a chip in the collarbone." He climbed into the car.
She joined him. A chipped collarbone, she thought. A bullet, angling off, could do that. He was lucky, she decided with a rush of gratitude, and threw the car into gear.
As she drove, Samuel was silent and Lila simply concentrated on doing exactly what was in front of her, shutting out any other activities of her brain. She let her hands rove over the polished wooden steering wheel and admired the old-fashioned instrument panel, let her body relax against the lushly designed seat. "When I was a little girl," she said quietly, "my mother used to have an ancient chair covered with worn plush. You know the kind—those overstuffed monstrosities everyone in America had in their living rooms in 1925?"
"Yes."
"Well, this chair used to sit right by a window that looked out at a cottonwood tree. I'd curl up in it with my legs and head over the arms and pretend it was an old grandfather telling me stories." She smiled, touching the dash of the car fondly. "That's how this car makes me feel—cuddled."
He chuckled, and Lila spared him a single, surprised glance. She'd never heard him really laugh before. "I like them because they are so sturdy," he replied. "They built them to be driven for a lifetime."
"What are you going to do about your car?"
He sighed softly. "I don't know. For now I will have you take it to the restaurant. By then you should be able to get a cab."
The lights of the airport came into view. Samuel moved closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. When she had guided the car into the outlying stretches of the sprawling complex, he said, "Park a moment in one of these small areas."
She did as instructed and turned out the headlights. She sat in the darkness, staring ahead of her, aware of a wild sense of loss the touch of his hand stirred within her. He said nothing for a time, his fingers moving lightly on her neck. "I want to kiss you, Lila," he said, "but I cannot do it if you keep looking away from me."
His face was inches from hers, and without waiting for him, Lila angled her lips to fit his. She allowed herself only the smallest of farewell kisses, then pulled away. "I'm very sorry you have to go."
"Not enough," he murmured, and dipped his head. His hand gently circled her throat, his thumb edging her mouth into position for the plunge of his tongue—not a sharp, invading thrust, but one of sweeping, tender exploration. Lila felt the muscles in her back go lax, and her chest bumped his arm.
When it ended, Lila knew she must look dazed. "Your eyes, Lila," he whispered in his mellifluous tenor. "I will never forget your eyes." He took a breath and released her. "Now listen very closely and follow my instructions, or you may put your own life in danger."
His directions were simple and held a clarifying undernote—no one should know she had helped him.
"I think you should let me walk with you to the plane. You've got a bullet wound, for heaven's sake."
"No one said it was a bullet."
"But I'm not a brownie anymore," she returned, pointing to the shattered window. "I learned a few things since third grade."
"My wound is stitched and patched—and hidden," he added. He firmly shook his head. "You cannot walk with me, Lila. You cannot be seen."
In the end he had his way. Lila pulled up near the dim recesses of a platform near the edge of the passenger-loading zones. Leaving the engine running, she waited for him to grab his bag, feeling sorrow and fear competing in almost equal amounts. At the last moment he ducked his head back in the car, favoring his bad right arm. "Thank you, Lila," he said quietly. "One day we'll drink that wine."
She smiled. "I'll put it away."
Then he was gone. Lila pulled the big car out and away from the airport. "It figures," she said aloud. The achy emptiness in her belly seemed out of proportion to the situation, though, and if she were honest with herself, she knew what she wanted to do was cry—another response that was a little weird, considering she'd only known him for a week.
With a little sigh she turned on the radio, the one thing in the car that wasn't original. Static greeted her, and she turned it off again, unwilling to flip through the stations to find one still on at this time of morning.
At the traffic light outside the airport, she paused at the red light. As she waited, she saw a car moving fast in the opposing lane. It looked vaguely familiar, and she looked at it absently. When it slowed for the light, she glimpsed a flash of white and a dark face behind the steering wheel.
Her already nervous stomach dropped hard as she recognized Jamal Hassid, the visiting professor from the party. At the same moment, he caught sight of Samuel's car.
Without an instant's hesitation Lila stomped on the gas pedal. The car responded with all the power of its considerable engine. She raced straight ahead, taking a shortcut back toward the airport, a shortcut she prayed would get her to Samuel before Hassid did.
She parked and ran out of the car, heading for the terminal. At the door she dodged a sky hop with a dolly full of bags and dashed inside.
At the array of counters, Lila paused in frustration. Where could he be going? Which flight would he be taking?
There were few people about at such an hour, for which she sent up thanks. At least that was some kind of help. But, she thought, beginning to run again, it was also help for Hassid, who probably had the advantage of knowing what Samuel's destination might be.
She had no idea what she would do when she found him. It didn't matter. She ran.
As she neared the waiting dock of one of the larger airlines, she saw Hassid again, still dressed in the suit he'd worn at the reception. A camel-hair coat was thrown over his shoulders, and to any passerby, he would have seemed the very picture of a dignitary—cool and sophisticated, even scholarly. But as he approached, Lila saw the same predatory look in his eyes that had offended her at the party. It chilled her.
She ducked into an alcove with a collection of vending machines, fairly sure he hadn't seen her. Breathing with short, shallow breaths, she tried to clear her brain, tried to think past her terror.
Samuel did not seem to be a man who would flee without reason. That meant he had reason to believe he couldn't survive in Seattle.
A man with a cause, John had said. It might not be Samuel's life he worried about, but the good of his cause.
Biting her lip, she poked her head out of the alcove. Directly across the hall, staring at her, were two more Arabs, young, with beards. A cold fist slugged her chest.
Oh, please, Lila, she thought a little wildly. They were probably just students. Maybe she was overreacting to everything out of her overwhelming attraction to the mysterious, compelling Samuel, who was about to walk right out of her life.
Then she thought of the bloodstains she'd seen on his car seat, and, at the same instant, Samuel emerged from a men's room seven or eight yards to her left, his suitcase in his good hand. He saw the two young Arabs, and his face showed a murderous anger for an instant. When the two began to move toward Samuel, Lila dashed out of the alcove and threw herself like a long-lost love into Samuel's arms.
He gasped with a quick, harsh noise before he could catch himself. "I'm sorry," Lila said urgently. "But Hassid is here," she breathed. "I wanted to warn you."
"Do exactly what I say, Lila. Don't think, don't argue, don't take any stupid chances again."
"I won't."
"Walk with me." He flung his injured arm casually over her shoulders, and she saw his jaw clench in pain from the gesture. They passed the two young men, who fell in behind them. "I don't know how we'll get out of here," he murmured under his breath.
Lila looked at him. The pallor she'd noted in her living room had deepened, giving an almost unnatural gleam to his dark eyes, and a line of perspiration beaded along his upper lip. His breath came unevenly, as if it were painful. "Are you all right?"
"Don't talk," he said grimly. "When I tell you, we will run."
"Okay."
"Up there," he said close to her ear, "th
ere is a set of double doors. Do you see them?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to hold your hand. We'll pass the doors, and when I squeeze your fingers, we will double back and run out."
"Okay," she said again. He let his arm fall away, and took her fingers lightly in his, swinging their arms with a carefree attitude. An uncomfortable slick of sweat had grown on her back and down her sides, and her heart skittered in adrenaline-fed fury. She had been frightened before. She'd even faced death and emerged on the other side of it, still alive. But she'd never walked in an open place with the knowledge of a bullet awaiting her. Doing it made her dizzy.
They approached and passed the double glass doors, their feet triggering the automatic openers. All of Lila's concentration gathered in her right hand, where Samuel's fingers were laced with her own. At the instant their toes touched the chrome at the far end of the door runners, he squeezed and tugged her out.
"This way," she cried when they reached the pavement. She sprinted with all her might, hearing the sickening sound of heels following behind them. Wildly, she thought, doesn't anyone think this is a little strange?
They reached the car gasping for breath. Before her bottom hit the seat, Lila had the car started, and she pulled away before Samuel fully closed the door.
She didn't waste any time—she floored it. Next to her, Samuel slumped against the seat. "You little fool," he said in a hard voice. "You've signed a death warrant for yourself."
"I can't talk and drive," she said. "Or you'll sign yours." She glanced in the rearview mirror as they reached the first traffic light, then turned onto a dark road that led them eventually to a highway that seemed to be heading vaguely west. "We've lost them," she said, and slowed the car to a more normal speed.
"Mmm. And where do you plan to take our getaway now?"
"Hey," she said, hearing his sarcasm. "That's not fair."
"It isn't fair that you're now involved. I didn't want that to happen." The fire in his shoulder screamed for relief. Against his will, he groaned.
"Oh, God, Samuel," she said, alarmed. "Quit being so damn macho, would you? How bad is that?"
"I have a pill," he breathed. He dug the bottle out of his pocket, swallowed one dry.
After a moment Lila spoke again. "Do you have any idea what you're going to do next?"
"Stay out of sight," he said with a wry glance.
"Very funny." She pursed her pretty mouth, then changed lanes with an attitude of purpose. "I know what we'll do."
"We, Lila?"
"Oh, please, Samuel, stop being noble and silent in your suffering, will you? I'm involved now. There's no point in pretending I'm not. I know a safe place."
He wanted to argue with her, wanted to list the reasons she could not help him, the reasons she ought to cut short the danger she'd already exposed herself to. But the truth was all too plain. No matter what she did now, she had seen too much and was therefore in as much danger as he. At least, with Samuel there was a chance she might survive.
He cradled his arm against his chest and leaned his head wearily on the seat. "All right."
It wasn't long before the exhausting past hours caught up with him, and he slept deeply as the car rumbled toward the west on a dark highway.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
As Samuel slept heavily next to her, Lila took advantage of the light pre-dawn traffic on the highway and broke the speed limit by a solid ten miles an hour for as long as she dared. When her exit ramp came up, taking her onto an even more deserted stretch of road, she upped the speeding another five miles and hoped for the best. She felt an urgency she couldn't shake, a need to put as much distance as she possibly could between Seattle and Samuel before daybreak.
A long time passed before much light penetrated the heavy clouds that had moved in overnight. By then the gas tank read dangerously low, and Lila's stomach crowed for nourishment. Considering the stress of Samuel's night, she thought he, too, ought to eat a good hot meal before they traveled much farther.
She pulled off the highway into an ordinary roadside way station with a small diner and gas pumps. Behind the building a dense forest threatened to reclaim ground it had once covered.
Samuel barely moved when the engine cut off, giving Lila a chance to get out of the car without having to hide the agony the move would cause her. Gritting her teeth, she tugged the door handle and managed to swing her feet to the side. The small shift stirred the unsteady muscles of her back into an angry buzzing of hornets, a pain acute enough she could hear it. It shot down her legs with angry stings, then up through her shoulder blades and neck. Breathing heavily, she grasped the top of the door and heaved herself to her feet.
She managed it silently, a trick practiced for many years, then took the first steps, forcing herself to concentrate on one foot, then the other. After a few moments the hornet's nest calmed, and she exhaled with a hard breath.
Samuel's resonant voice sounded behind her. "Let me help you." He laced an arm around her.
Gratefully she leaned slightly into him. Under her arm, his waist was rock solid, and even after the long night, she could still smell a hint of his after-shave, something she hadn't expected. She smiled to herself. She hadn't expected to be running away from Seattle this gloomy Sunday morning, either.
The restaurant was a small café, complete with gingham curtains at the windows and individual jukeboxes on the tables. There were few people lingering so late in the morning—a pair of older men, probably retired, Lila thought, and a single, colorless woman. All three customers looked at Samuel and Lila briefly, then, evidently dismissing them, looked away.
They sat at a turquoise vinyl booth by the window. A waitress brought them laminated menus. "Coffee, folks?" she asked, pot poised above heavy ceramic mugs.
The scent was so enticing that it made Lila dizzy. "Yes, please," she said. "And I need cream."
"Coming right up."
Samuel glanced over the menu, then laid it down to take up his cup of coffee.
"Do you know what you want already?" Lila asked.
"I'm not hungry."
"You have to eat something. Your body needs nourishment."
A glimmer of amusement twinkled in the hard black eyes. "I've not been mothered in a long time."
"Too long, obviously," she replied, undisturbed. "If you don't choose something, I'll choose for you and we won't leave until you eat."
Now he gave her his off-center smile. "Did you mother the staff at The Shell and Fin this way?"
"I mother everyone," she said, returning his smile.
The waitress appeared with Lila's cream. "You ready to order?"
"Sure," Lila said. "I want the number three. Eggs over-medium."
"Pancakes," Samuel said.
As the waitress collected their menus and left, Lila said, "I'd have thought you were the steak-and-eggs type."
"There's bacon fat in everything in these little places. I've overcome most of the dietary restrictions of my childhood, but bacon—bah!" he said. "Can't abide it."
Lila cocked her head but said nothing. If she asked him anything about his background, he only dodged it. She lifted her chin. "Don't try to bait me with your mysterious beginnings this morning. You aren't that exciting."
Lazily he lit a cigarette with his old-fashioned lighter and flipped the steel lid closed. "No?"
"No."
With a shift of his body he changed the direction of the conversation. "Do you know where we're going?"
"I have a cabin on the Oregon coast." Oddly now she felt shy. She'd taken a lot on herself, after all. "It doesn't have any amenities, but it's out of the way. I thought it would be safe."
"It will be fine, Lila," he said, and measured her quietly for a moment. He touched her hand across the table. "I apologize for shouting at you last night."
"I understood. How's your shoulder?"
"Well enough. Better, I think, than your back."
"But
my back is always like this when I drive. It's something I'm used to." She shrugged. "I broke it when I was fifteen."
"What happened?"
Lila took a breath. "My second-oldest brother and I had a crash on a motorcycle."
"And your brother?"
"He died," she said simply.
With a quick, slight inclination of his head, Samuel said, "Forgive me."
"It was a long time ago," she replied. "Time heals things."
"Not your back."
"Oh, yes. Once I got away from home and my overprotective family, I was much better. They were very reluctant to let me live a normal life."
Samuel nodded, measuring her through the smoke of his cigarette. Calm and brave. And defiant. He liked the fact that she rode a motorcycle when another woman might have remained forever haunted by the tragedy. What an uncrushable, undaunted spirit she had. Just being with her, even under these odd and dangerous circumstances, made him feel full of light and energy.
Pity there was no future for them. He would not expose her to the dangers of his life. The world he had come to know these past few years was not a kind or pleasant one. Bit by bit it would steal away the joy in her leaping green eyes, would erase the fine sheen of innocence on her fresh features—and that would be worse than losing her altogether.
For now, for today and tomorrow and the next day, however long it took to correct the situation he now found himself in, he would rest with her. Then he would go.
Her face glowed with curiosity and invitation. If he chose, they would be lovers, too, over these days. He could trust Lila to understand that he was not using her simply because he couldn't stay.
But he wasn't at all certain he could walk away from her, even now. If they became lovers, he had a sense that things would not ever be the same for him. His protective shell of cynicism was hard won and a long time in the building. He couldn't afford the chance that she might shatter it.
"Such a dark expression," she said into his reverie. "It was that very look that made me want to cheer you up when I saw you at the traffic light that day."
He grinned. "It was very effective."
