by Cindy Davis
"Don't look, but it's the woman at the end of the counter."
Chris lowered his head and rolled his eyes in that direction. He whispered, “What makes you think she's following you?"
"Please, just go get my suitcase. I'll make a production out of going to the bathroom."
"I know what you're planning and it won't work. She's a woman and will follow you right in there."
"What do I do then?” Paige asked the question before recalling she hadn't planned on trusting anybody.
"Let me think a second.” He twirled the tip of his mustache. Under his breath he muttered, “How the hell did they find you?"
"Had to be that evil waitress back in Barstow."
Chris laughed. “She's not evil. She just has a crush on me."
"Yes, but if the people following me asked her, she'd sure as hell tell them.” She laughed nervously. “She'd probably offer to escort them here."
He gave a tight smile. “Okay, here's what we do. We fake an argument, loud so everyone hears. There's a bank of pay phones behind the gift shop.” He motioned slightly with his head. “Pretend to call a cab. She'll probably follow and listen in. Make sure she overhears you tell them you want to go to—how about north, to Farmington? Then say you'll meet the taxi out front in fifteen minutes. I'll storm out and get into the truck. You make it look like you're going to the ladies’ room. She won't follow because she knows you're waiting for the cab. Go past the ladies’ room door and sneak out the service entrance. I'll drive the truck around and pick you up. I'll go real slow making it look like I'm just passing through. The door will be open. You hop in as I pass. Okay?"
"Tracy Wilson, stuntwoman.” Paige laid her head down on folded arms. Her shoulders heaved.
Chris reached across the table and put a hand on her shoulder. “It'll work, trust me."
She threw his hand off. “Don't try to make up to me after what you just said. What makes you think you can talk to me that way? Damn men. You're all alike.” She rose, tipping over her coffee with an elbow. She slammed her purse on her shoulder and stormed to the bank of telephones at the far end of the building.
He stood quickly, mopping at the hot beverage, calling, “Tracy, don't, please. I'm sorry."
She ignored him.
"Come on, I said I was sorry."
By that time, all eyes were on the couple, some on Paige who was thumbing angrily through a phone book; some on Chris who pitched some bills on the table and marched toward the exit. As he passed the row of phones, he sneered at her back, “Fine! Run home to Momma. See if I care."
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Nine
Paige didn't look back as she passed the ladies’ room door and marched down a hallway marked Employees Only. She opened the service entrance door far enough to slither out into the shadowy parking lot. She leaned all her weight against the knob-less door, hoping to stifle the course of the woman in the red sweatshirt while she caught her breath.
That's when a new worry struck: what if Chris didn't come? Her precious bag of money was still in the cabinet of the bumblebee yellow truck. If he drove off there would be nothing she could do. How could she be so stupid?
The clatter of a slow moving diesel engine separated from the hundreds of others, and broadcasted itself around the building. She took a few steps and peered around the corner.
The sound of the knob turning from behind made her stiffen. Where the hell was Chris? Not coming, that's where.
Paige slipped into a narrow niche between the outdoor walk-in cooler and the building and squinted into the deep shadows as the door opened. A hand used the wall for support and a dark head with indistinguishable features poked outside. It moved back and forth like one of those dog ornaments in car rear windows.
As the nose of a truck appeared at the corner, the head leaned further out, its shoulders and upper torso following. From her vantage point Paige still could not determine so much as the sex of the person in the doorway. Paige willed the person back inside, but he or she seemed intent on discovering the identity of the truck working its way around the building at a snail's pace, in a place where few trucks came.
Paige took a step forward without actually moving her upper body, preparing to run, knowing it might be the death of her, and possibly Chris too. Tremors shook her body as the big yellow truck passed, Chris’ frown clearly defined as he leaned out the open window. He waved to the person in the doorway, a wave that was a beckoning motion. He thought it was her, and was wondering why she didn't come running.
Paige leaned forward, stepping slightly out of the shadows, hoping he would notice her, but his eyes were glued to the doorway, on the person who neither waved back nor walked forward.
Tears came to Paige's eyes as she watched her ride, and her cash, lumber away. The door clicked shut as the person, evidently satisfied, went back inside.
Paige fell back against the cool brick wall, wrapping her arms around her trembling body, tears streaming down her cheeks. What now? She'd have to beg, borrow and steal her way out of Stefano's life. A few days ago, this had seemed like such a good idea, but all it had caused was trouble—for her, and for Habib.
"Hey, are you coming?” The voice interrupted her regrets and she opened her eyes. Chris leaned out the window and slapped his palms on the door, the sound barely audible over the rumble of the engine.
Paige heaved a sigh and swiped both hands across her face several times as she ran around the front of the truck, grabbed the bottom of the mirror support and heaved up onto the footrest. Chris had already unlatched the door, and she practically fell onto the seat, the aroma of that truck and his aftershave the best things she'd ever smelled. More tears rolled down her cheeks. She kept her face turned toward the window as though watching for the woman in the red sweatshirt.
"What happened? Who was that in the doorway? At first I thought it was you, but you didn't come out."
"I couldn't tell who it was."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
Chris banged his palm on the center of the steering wheel. “Well I'll be hanged. You thought I was leaving you here."
She rose and went into the bunk area, unrolled a wad of paper towels, wiped her face and blew her nose.
"Get back out here. I want to talk to you."
She obeyed, still keeping her face averted as she buckled herself in the seat.
"You thought I'd leave you after what we went through to get you out of there? I'll have you know, my reputation in that place is mud now. I used to get Five Star treatment. Now I'll be like O.J."
"Drop me off at the next exit."
He tossed a cigarette butt out the window. “Why?” Receiving no reply he continued, “We gave them the slip. It's over. Relax."
"It's not over.” It'll never be over. Paige stared at the black highway, mesmerized by the rhythmic flickering of oncoming headlights reflecting through center jersey barriers. She leaned forward and checked the side mirror, but couldn't see behind them. She finally spoke her thoughts out loud. “It'll never be over."
"I get it. When they realize the cab isn't coming, they'll know you—"
"The cab is coming. I did call one. I thought it would give us a little extra time, but after it waits a few minutes tooting its ass off, the lady in the red sweatshirt will know something's up. Then she'll come looking for me. Maybe she already did. That was probably her in the doorway. One way or the other, it won't be long before she's either in a vehicle right behind us, or on the phone to her backup."
"You've been watching too many gangster movies, my girl. Sit tight. It'll be okay. You'll see.” He pushed the truck another five miles an hour faster and reset the cruise control. “By the way, what's in that bag you're so all-fired determined to protect? Is that why they're after you? That why you were so upset when you thought I'd left you? Gee, and I thought you were worried about my welfare."
Paige thrust the curtains apart and threw herself on the bed.
&nb
sp; "Terrific,” Chris murmured. “Spoiled little rich bitch thinks she can run everybody's life."
She buried her head in the soft chenille spread that smelled of fabric softener and aftershave. Paige lay there for a long time, letting the scents calm her. Finally, she sat up. “I told you before, if you know too much, they'll kill you, just like they'll kill me if they catch me. Now, let me off at the next exit. Please, Chris, just do it.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I knew this was a mistake."
He took his foot from the throttle and the drone of the engine increased a notch.
"No! Don't slow down!"
"Tracy, come up here so we can talk. It'll be all right, you have to be patient and see."
All he had to do was wait; he'd see she was right. But she did as he requested. When he was lying in the street with his blood and brains all around him instead of inside, he'd say to himself, gee I wish I listened to her. Paige leaned her head back and stared, unblinking, at the white dotted line. Miles and miles of mesmerizing white lines. Few headlights appeared, no taillights. What it meant was there'd be no one to help when the woman in the red sweatshirt and her cohorts finally caught up with them.
"I didn't make out my log back there."
"So?"
"I was supposed to be sleeping. If we get pulled over, I'm in violation."
"That's the least of your problems right now, don't you think? Are you tired?"
"Couldn't sleep now if I tried.” He chuckled.
"I know the feeling. I've pumped a couple gallons of adrenaline over the past few days."
"Okay, let's look at this from their point of view. They'll think we're in this huge vehicle with nowhere to go but down the highway. People have this impression of a tractor-trailer's size. They're surprised when they see us turn or back up in small places. Anyway, let's take the next exit and see if we can hide this thing. We'll—"
"Where do you hide a big yellow monstrosity like this?” she interrupted.
"In a swarm of bumblebees.” He moved his foot to the clutch and downshifted. The engine's tone raised an octave. “Maybe we can discombobulate them by getting off the highway for a few hours."
"So, you finally acknowledge their existence?"
"I don't know what to think, but I also don't want to take any chances—with our safety or that of my new truck.” Chris down shifted again and steered the semi down the off-ramp. The strident sound of the jake brake echoed in the chamber.
At the bottom, he squinted out the windshield at the road crossing before them. “I've never been here before. Let's try this way.” He swung the big wheel to the right.
In the small village whose name Paige didn't know, Chris pulled into the unlit lot of a repair garage. The yard held mostly cars awaiting service. Near the back were two box trucks. He turned into the lot and swung behind the building. “I'll drop the trailer here between those two and unhitch."
"Sounds like a good plan, but I still think your most logical move would be to drop me off. They won't do anything to you or the truck once I'm gone. All you have to do is tell them I ran off without saying where I was going."
He'd started to open his door, but turned back. “And what then, pray tell, will you do?"
"The same thing I'll do somewhere in Virginia, or wherever the hell you said you were headed. I'll get out and find another means of transport."
"And where are you going? Have you thought about that?"
"I've done nothing but think about that. And the answer is, I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. If you aren't working for them—don't look at me like that. You might be one of them. But if you aren't, when they catch up to you and torture you, you won't have anything to tell them."
He laid his lighter on the dash. Ashes dropped from the tip of his cigarette. “Are you planning to run forever? That's what it'll be, you know.” He groped his hand between his crotch and the seat, searching for burning embers.
"What do you suggest I do, go back and face them?"
"Why not go to the authorities?"
"You don't know these people. They have people on their payroll everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They even had the coat check lady at the restaurant where I used to have lunch with my friends."
"Girl or boy friends?"
Her reply was a hostile snort.
"Sounds like we're talking the mob, here."
When she didn't reply, he shook his head and continued opening his door. “I'll unhitch the trailer and we'll talk about this in a few minutes. Why don't you brew us some coffee. And, I think there are some cookies or something in the cabinet. Relax, it'll be all right."
"Where have I heard that before?” she muttered to the closed door.
As soon as he disappeared between the tractor and trailer, she collected her baggage from the cabinet, and moved the handle of the door as slowly as she could, until it snicked open. She stepped onto the dimly lit parking lot noting the slight gray tinge of color in the eastern sky.
Not knowing which way to go, like a rat making its way through a maze, Paige started first left, then right, finally hustling across the pavement and into the shadows of some overgrown shrubbery at the boundary to the property. She let out the breath she'd been holding and surveyed the area. Dim streetlights illuminated a span of about two and a half blocks. The street was two lanes with a few cars parked along both sides. Identical single-family row houses on the left indicated this had once been a factory community, complete with tract housing. A few had newly added garages tucked between house and property line. Across the street sat older two-story stuccoed buildings that she assumed were small one-owner businesses, though she couldn't read signs from where she stood.
She strained her eyes to see into the gloom, searching for open doors, windows, or alleyways, which might provide a temporary haven.
"Tracy. Where the hell are you?” Chris called in a loud whisper from the other side of the parking lot.
Paige worked her way into the shrubbery, turning the suitcase and handbag sideways, the branches scratching her forearms and face like a kitten in a litter box. Still as a stone, she waited for him to give up. Sooner or later he'd have to, she knew, recalling his so important schedule.
Paige listened for signs of his whereabouts, eager to be on her way. A vision flashed into her head, of a small house in this one-horse town, with a rose garden and picket fence, of herself in a rocking chair on the porch, living out the remainder of her days quietly tending her flowers and writing her memoirs.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?” came his voice from directly behind.
The rocking chair vision popped like a balloon. She attempted to sprint out of the bushes, but the bags caught in the thick branches.
Now he had her by the arm.
"Let me go,” she hissed.
He rotated her toward him. Her shoes tangled in the thick base of the bushes. He grasped both her arms and propped her on her feet on the lumpy, broken pavement. Even in the faint light, she saw the anger in his eyes, and something else—she wasn't able to determine what before his fingers bit into her upper arms.
"Let me go, you're hurting me."
The fingers relaxed but didn't release her. “Get back in the truck."
The blood rushed to her head and suddenly she felt faint. “Oh God, you are one of them. This whole thing was part of their plan, wasn't it? Gain my confidence, so you can..."
Her body slumped and he caught her before she fell. He lowered his head so they were eye to eye, but she twisted her neck to avoid his gaze. His fingers closed around her biceps digging into her flesh, tighter and tighter until she finally looked up again. He bent and feathered warm, soft lips across hers. Every hair on her body quivered alert. She shivered.
The coarse hairs of his mustache tickled as he kissed the corner of her mouth. She shivered again as his lips sought hers. It was like being kissed for the first time. An explosion of something emanated not from her mouth, but her lower region. The blast liq
uefied her legs.
His tongue probed her lips apart, then traced hers with its searing tip and she went weightless. The scent of cedar wafted like a cloud. Mist dampened her cheeks.
Chris broke the kiss the same time he released the grip on her arms. Her knees buckled and he clutched at her, drawing her tight against him. She felt the ripple of his chest muscles as she laid her head against him. A dog barked somewhere.
No not a dog; something rumbling deep in Chris’ throat. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. How long they stood that way, she didn't know. Finally he eased her back, waiting this time till her legs held her.
"Come on,” he whispered, “Let's get in the truck."
The mood shattered as the word prisoner shot into her head.
She jerked her head back and spit at him. “Do you get paid extra for that?"
Chris wiped the spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand and dropped his arms to his sides. “You know what? You're over the edge. You're so deep into this that you can't see when someone wants to help. Why can't you just trust me?"
"Trust you!” Close by, a dog really did bark. Her lowered voice came like the hiss of a cat. “I trusted a cab driver and he got killed for it.” She jerked away from him. “Don't you understand? I don't want anyone else getting hurt. This is my problem. I won't have you killed too."
She stopped talking as someone hollered for the dog to be quiet. This time Chris’ hand was gentle on her arm. She didn't fight when he walked her to the tractor, and helped her inside. What would be the point?
She cowered against the door while he backed the truck until its nose was even with the other two vehicles at the rear of the lot. Paige swiped the palm of one hand across her face and realized what she'd thought was mist, was tears.
Chris climbed into his seat, then reached across. He didn't touch her. “I figure we have a few hours before they get wise.” He gestured her into the bunk area and onto a plaid upholstered cushion at a small dinette.
While he made coffee, Paige stared at the striped pattern on the miniscule curtain, following the simplistic pattern of navy blue as it crossed the green and yellow.