The Perfect Cover (The Perfect Stranger Book 2)

by Charlotte Byrd

  My heart leaps into my chest as I keep checking the rearview mirror to make sure that my eyes are not deceiving me. After a moment, I look back and that’s when he puts on the sirens.

  I don’t have much time to make a decision. I either put the pedal to the floor and gun it or pull over and try to pretend that everything is fine.

  “The car is registered and I have all the paperwork,” Isabelle whispers in my ear. “I think we should try to just get by.”

  She’s right.

  Of course, she’s right.

  The car is registered and I have a fake license with a fake name, a gift from Mac, something that we had made back in prison. That doesn’t mean that it will work though.

  I glance over at him and he gives me a slight nod.

  “Let’s try this,” he says calmly.

  I pull over and wait an interminable amount of time for the cop to check the license plate. Eventually, he gets out of the car and waddles over.

  He is a big man, but the way that the belt is positioned around his waist and the slow way that he is moving, he resembles a penguin.

  I wait for him as I roll down the window, silently praying out of desperation, trying to remember the words that I was taught in Sunday school all those years ago.

  “License and registration,” he says with a slow, tired twang.

  “Did I do something wrong, officer?” I ask.

  “Your plates are from Pennsylvania. You’re a long way from there.” He points out, looking down at my driver’s license.

  He pokes his head in and looks at the rest of us, carefully examining each of our faces. It is only when his eyes meet mine that his lips break out into a smile.

  “Your friend here was driving over the speed limit,” the officer says, talking just to Maggie and no one else.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. He’s usually a really good driver.”

  “Yeah, right,” the officer mumbles under his breath.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, taking my fake license with him.

  I’m drenched in sweat. I rub the palms of my hands on my pants trying to wipe off the perspiration, but it’s all to no avail.

  I start to feel so lightheaded that I feel like I’m about to pass out.

  What the hell are we going to do if he knows who we are?

  Unfortunately, there’s only one answer to that question and I don’t dare to even consider it.

  I glance over at Mac and he gives me a wink.

  I don’t know what he means.

  I shrug.

  “You know what,” he says under his breath.

  My chest tightens.

  Unlike Mac, I have never taken anyone’s life.

  I never wanted to.

  I have talked a big game with Isabelle about what I might have to do to gain my freedom, but if I were to hurt this cop, then whatever chance I have of proving my innocence will go out the window.

  If a cop gets killed, then it doesn’t really matter if I really killed my wife and her lover because I will have his blood on my hands.

  Time slows down and each second feels like an hour.

  I wait.

  I look in the rearview mirror and watch him run my information through his channels.

  I watch for any indication that something might be wrong, but he betrays nothing.

  A few long minutes later, the cop finally climbs out of his vehicle and begins his long walk toward me.

  20

  Tyler

  When he comes back...

  With the window down, I smell the dryness in the air. My skin is parched and squeaky clean.

  It’s a strange sensation.

  My mouth is dry, yes, but the rest of me feels almost slick with cleanliness.

  Watching the police officer approach the car and the way that his hat covers his eyes as he walks, I realize that I should probably tell Isabelle that I love her.

  I haven’t said it to her yet. Honestly, until this very moment, I wasn’t sure if I did. But suddenly, it’s all so clear.

  I open my mouth and hold the words on the tip of my tongue.

  Then I hesitate.

  Mac is getting ready for battle. He doesn’t have a weapon, as far as I know, but he has powerful fists and an even more powerful imagination.

  Back in prison, he was able to make anything into a weapon, even the most innocuous objects. If I were to turn around and tell Isabelle that I love her, he might take that as a sign.

  No, he would take it as a sign.

  But that’s not the kind of signal I want to send. I want him to stand down. I want to deescalate this situation.

  Mac is ready to fight and I’m not. Not if it means endangering Isabelle’s life.

  The cop walks up slowly and I brace myself by holding on tightly to the steering wheel.

  My jaw flexes and I force it to relax.

  “Here you go,” he says, handing me the driver’s license and registration through the open window. “I’m going to let you off with a warning for now, but make sure you don’t go over the speed limit again. They are there for a reason.”

  I don’t let out a sigh of relief until he gets back into his vehicle.

  “Okay,” Mac says. “Let’s go, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Maggie starts to talk again, but the three of us sit there in silence, stunned by what has just happened.

  Did we really just get away? I ask myself. It’s all over now.

  Before I can fully come to terms with it, he comes back.

  Only this time, he doesn’t just trail behind me. The lights flash right from the get-go.

  My heart jumps into my throat.

  The cop knows exactly who we are and he wants to arrest us.

  “Is that him again?” Isabelle asks.

  I keep driving, unsure as to what to do.

  “Maybe he forgot something?” Maggie asks. “Maybe we should stop?”

  Maybe, but that’s not what’s going to happen. I press the pedal all the way to the floor and gun it.

  “What are you doing?”

  Everyone knows what I’m doing. I’m trying to get away with our lives.

  The police car follows behind.

  When I hit eighty miles per hour, so does he.

  When I get up to ninety and then ninety-five, he does as well.

  Eventually, we start racing down the dark desert at over one hundred ten miles per hour, swishing around cars.

  I don’t have much time for a plan. He has already called for backup and that means at any on-ramp there could be ten new cops waiting for us.

  When I see an exit coming up, I create as much of a separation between us as I can and pray that there are no other cars getting off.

  Then I flick off my headlights and drive up the exit. The bend in the road gives me a little bit of time. I pray that it is enough for me to lose him.

  As soon as I get on the overpass, I turn on the lights and slow down to a normal speed, to match the other drivers’. We hold our breaths.

  There’s a loud and busy truck stop at the far end and I pull into the parking lot to hide in the shadows. I kill the engine and the lights and wait.

  Doubt starts to creep in.

  Should I have kept going?

  Is sitting here and waiting the best thing to do?

  A few minutes pass and then five more. After twenty minutes, I start to feel like maybe we’re safe. At least for now.

  “What’s going on?” Maggie keeps asking. “Why are y’all running away from cops?”

  No one answers for a while.

  Then Isabelle says, “You don’t want to know.”

  “Ready to go back?” I ask Mac and Mac only.

  He gives me a slight nod.

  “Any chance that he’s waiting for us there?”

  “There’s always a chance, but I’m not sure. I think he would’ve followed us on here if he knew that’s where we went."

  I swallow hard and drive as normal as possible. There’
s no flashing lights anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he’s not waiting with other unmarked vehicles.

  Still, the only thing I can do is drive and that’s exactly what I do.

  I don’t feel safe stopping so I keep driving. Instead of staying on the interstate, I get off and drive north. No one argues with me.

  After a few hours, everyone falls asleep, but my adrenaline keeps pumping and I keep driving.

  I want to get us as far away as possible and never get that close to danger again.

  Around three in the morning, I pull into an empty, almost abandoned gas station and am pleasantly surprised that the pump actually works. Maggie and Mac are asleep, but Isabelle comes out to get some fresh air with me.

  “That was really scary,” she says, rubbing her shoulders to warm up.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “We need a new car,” she says quietly.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that for the last two hours.”

  “She can’t keep traveling with us,” Isabelle says. “She’s on the verge of finding out who you are if she doesn't already know. And if we run into the cops again, they’re going to shoot to kill—”

  I cut her off by putting my finger up to her mouth.

  “I agree,” I say quietly. I know everything that she’s thinking and I don’t want to talk about it. “Kiss me.”

  I pull her close to me and hold her for a long time. I can feel her body soften against mine. When she looks up at me, I press my lips onto hers.

  21

  Isabelle

  When we stop...

  When we get to the motel, I tell Tyler that I want to get two rooms and no one fights me on it.

  When we get to ours, I practically run inside, toss my bag onto the bed, and yell, “What the fuck was that?”

  Dumbfounded rather than overly excited like I am, Tyler plops down on the other queen bed and stares at the ceiling.

  Neither of us can believe that we actually got away with it. The cop should have caught up with us. He should have caught us.

  “We were incredibly lucky,” I say. “I don't think that's going to happen again.”

  Tyler nods and continues to stare straight ahead. I pace around the motel room trying to figure out what to do.

  “If Maggie didn't suspect anything about us earlier, she undoubtably will now. She’s spending the night with Mac and who knows what he’s going to tell her.”

  “You're not telling me anything that I don't already know,” Tyler says.

  There is a monotone quality to his voice.

  It's almost as if he is absent from the conversation. It's as if he's not really here.

  I don't know where to begin.

  I don't know what decisions we have to make first, but I do know that we need to get a new car.

  I want to grab Tyler and shake him out of his coma, but I restrain myself.

  I feel like I am becoming more and more hysterical. Somehow pacing around and getting my body moving is making everything worse.

  I hold the phone in my palm and actually consider calling India for help. She has always been a sound voice in my head, especially when I did not have one of my own.

  “Tyler,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  I nag him to move his feet out of the way and to make room, but he only does it after I kick him again.

  “The cops are after us,” I say quietly. “When that cop went after us the second time, he found out something about us. I don't know what exactly, but I doubt that it was anything good.”

  “I know,” Tyler agrees. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “We need a plan. If he knows who you are…” My voice trails off.

  I don't exactly know how to continue. The truth is that if he knows who Tyler is, then all the cops in the state are probably looking for us.

  Our car is parked right out front and perhaps that's the stupidest thing we have done so far.

  “If the cops know the make, model, and the license plate of my car,” I say, “then it’s not going to be very difficult for them to find us.”

  “Do you want to leave?” Tyler asks.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  I do, but I don't.

  I want to get some rest.

  I feel like I need it, but I also don't know if we're making a terrible mistake. I really hope not.

  “I know that Mac is your closest friend,” I say after a long pause. I need to approach this topic very carefully, treading lightly. “I know that he saved you and that you owe him, but I don't think it's a good idea to travel with Mac and Maggie anymore.”

  “I don't either,” Tyler says, surprising me.

  “You don't?”

  “Of course not. Especially not Maggie. She's an outsider. He just met her. If she finds out the truth about us, then it's all over.”

  “So, what should we do?”

  “I have no idea,” he says. “All I know is that we can't just leave them.”

  I stare into his big beautiful eyes and then somewhere past him. The headboard is made of some sort of strange combination of Formica and oak.

  It’s scuffed up from years of use. I focus my eyes on one particular gouge. It runs perpendicular from one side to the other as if someone had taken a nail to it and scratched it up on purpose.

  Tyler is right. We can't just leave them.

  Not only is it a really shitty thing to do, but it would also be dangerous for us. They would have no money and they would have no options.

  What if Mac turned on us and told the authorities where we are in exchange for a better deal?

  What about Maggie?

  She would undoubtably take that reward money and help the FBI. She owes us no allegiance.

  As I go through all of these scenarios in my mind, coming up empty with any possibility, Tyler sits up and puts his hand on my knee.

  He gives it a little squeeze. It's reassuring at first, comforting even.

  I force a little smile in commiseration. Just as the world starts to feel like it's closing in on me, he leans over and kisses me.

  It takes me by surprise and a wave of relief washes over me.

  “No, I can't,” I say, pulling away from him.

  “What do we have to lose?” he asks, trying to kiss me again.

  “It's not that. I’m just not in the mood. I feel like the world is on fire and there's nothing I can do to put out all the fires.”

  “It's not on fire yet. I have seen it on fire and this is just smoke.”

  “It's coming from somewhere and it's closing in on us. If we don't make the right decisions… It's all going to disappear.”

  “If that's the case,” Tyler whispers, pulling me closer to him, “then why don't you just close your eyes and let me take you to another planet?”

  He wanders his fingers down my neck and over my breasts, but suddenly, his touch just makes me recoil.

  “It's like you're not listening to me,” I say, standing up. “This doesn't feel right. I can't do this until we figure out what is going on.”

  “We won't know what’s going on until the cops find us and arrest us.”

  “You're saying it like it's a certainty.”

  “Is it not?” he asks, his eyes glaring at mine.

  “I don't know what you're talking about. If you're going to have this defeatist attitude, then I can't deal with it,” I say sternly.

  “Is it defeatist or am I just accepting the truth?” he asks.

  He has talked like this before and I've always hated it.

  “What are we even doing here? I mean, why are we even running away? I thought that you were after something. I thought that you wanted to prove your innocence.”

  He looks down at the floor.

  I can tell that he's devastated.

  I can also tell that he didn't really mean what he said.

  “I know that this whole thing has been really difficult,” I start to say, “but we have to start maki
ng decisions that are best for us. Maggie is not part of that equation. Mac used to be, but not anymore. It's just too dangerous.”

  “I know,” Tyler says. “I wonder if it's more dangerous to leave them.”

  We talk about this for a while. Long after we should have already gone to sleep.

  It's not that difficult to drive, but the days are long and now we are way off course for getting to California.

  We are much more north than we should have been and I have no idea how much farther north we should go.

  There are so many unknowns and yet none of these questions seem to be possible to answer tonight.

  Tyler tries to kiss me again. I love the way that he makes me feel and I love losing myself in his body. But tonight, it doesn't feel right.

  I'm just too overwhelmed, exhausted, and overtired.

  “It's going to make you feel better,” he insists, playing with my hair and kissing the back of my neck.

  “I can't,” I say. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I get up and head to the bathroom.

  “Can I join you?” he asks.

  “No, I need some alone time,” I say and close the door behind me.

  After a very long and hot shower, so hot in fact that my face becomes beet red and stays that way for a while, I come back into the main room and see Tyler fast asleep.

  Still dressed in his clothes, he’s curled up in the fetal position, facing the window. I take a blanket and wrap it around him and turn off the lights.

  It takes me a while to fall asleep. When I finally do, it seems like I have to be up again.

  My alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. but I press the snooze button three times before I can finally pull myself out of bed.

  After going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I come out and see Tyler sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the television, which is turned to the local news channel and placed on mute.

  “What's wrong?” My heart sinks. “Did they say something about us?” I ask, walking quickly toward him.