Devil's Way Out

by Nika Dixon

  She glanced at the hallway leading to the front of the house. The entry door was right there. All she had to do was run out. She’d left Alan without knowing where she was going, and so far it had turned out reasonably well.

  If she could get back to the mechanic and ask the insurance man for a ride, she would have her plan set for the day.

  She retrieved the pad of paper and the pencil she’d used earlier and set them in front of Hank. “Could I ask…I mean, would you mind drawing me a map into town? Please?”

  “A map? What do you need a map for?”

  “I…it’s such a nice morning I thought maybe I could go for a walk.” She stuffed her clenched fingers into the front pockets of the hoodie and tried to look casual. Her request had sounded much smarter in her head, but it was too late to take it back now.

  “All the way to Absolution?”

  “I told the mechanic I would come by first thing.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but truth enough it sounded plausible.

  “Just wait a few. One of the boys will be more than happy to drive you.”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m sure they have things to do. Please. I’d like to walk.”

  “It’s a good ten miles,” he countered. “Would take you all morning.”

  “I’m from the city. We walk everywhere.” Or we would if we were allowed…

  He snorted.

  She prepared for further arguments, bouncing through several ideas why she could walk instead of waiting for a ride and why she really did need to leave now. She eyed the front door, wondering what he would do if she bolted. The pipes in the wall were still letting out their little ticks, but if she didn’t get going before Marshall made it to the kitchen, she’d be stuck for sure.

  “Suppose we can’t very well have you wandering off and falling into the river again.” Hank drew a few lines on the page, added a couple of labels, and put a big X in the bottom corner. He scribbled a phone number across the top next to his name. “Not as pretty as yours,” he said with a wink, tearing the sheet off and handing it over.

  She folded the page and stuck it into her pocket. “It’s perfect.” She backed to the edge of the kitchen. “Thank you again for breakfast. And for the room.”

  He saluted her with his coffee mug. “Give a call once you know how your car is doing.”

  Thanking him once more for breakfast, she turned and scurried out the front door before he changed his mind.

  She used brisk steps to push away her panic, angry for letting herself get distracted by Hank’s conversation. Despair tightened her chest. If she was going to keep her freedom, she needed to be more careful. Just because she’d managed to play keep-away for seven days didn’t mean she could stop and celebrate. Alan wasn’t going to give up after only a week. Not a chance in hell. Which meant she couldn’t let her guard down even for a second.

  But the farther she moved away from the house, the harder it became to keep hold of her anger and fear. The morning sun warmed her shoulders, soothing her clenched muscles. Her arms swung with her stride, shifting her stroll into a determined march.

  She used to be alive. She used to have friends. She used to have dreams of who she would be when she grew up. Places she would live. People she would love. All the elements of a normal life most people took for granted. Alan might have stolen everything else she once had, but he couldn’t take what she’d kept hidden within her heart.

  She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, using the cool, crisp morning air to blow the darkness from her mind. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t trapped. She had her freedom, and she was going to keep it. She would keep moving, keep heading west, keep putting as much space between them as she could. She might not have any money left, but she hadn’t exactly had any to start with, either. Yet here she was, halfway across the country, well rested, with a full stomach. That was definitely worth celebrating—even if the only one who could see her smile was a silly little fur ball.

  Tink escorted her down the lane, bounding between attacking the tall grass stems growing along the fence and chasing a fat bug flying in lazy circles out of paw’s reach.

  When they reached end of the lane, Tink showed no signs of stopping the escort.

  Emma tried to shoo the cat back toward the house. “You can’t come, silly.”

  Tink darted a few feet out in front, her tail swishing back and forth. Emma tried to pick up the cat, planning to carry her safely off the road, but Tink hopped out of reach. She tried several more times, each time with the same result. Groaning at the absurdity of trying to chase a cat, she walked past the silly fur ball, who gave her a playful whack on the ankle.

  “Weirdo.” She giggled, laughing when Tink’s ears twitched as though to say, you’re the one talking to a cat.

  “Fine. You can come. But the first sign of traffic and you’re out of here, got it?”

  After checking the map to confirm she was headed in the right direction, she set off down the road with her furry companion trotting along beside her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marshall had slept like crap.

  Instead of his usual six hours of solid shut-eye, all he’d done was toss and turn for no reason he could outright explain. In the limited time he had managed to sleep, his dreams had been plagued with cement-walled tower mazes and dark-haired strangers with gold-green eyes.

  A shower and shave set him up for at least a marginally successful attempt at being human, but coffee was definitely going to be the drink of the day. Black. And lots of it.

  The sharp scent of a freshly brewed pot almost overrode his curiosity as to why his father was standing in the living room staring out the bay window instead of being down at the barns as he usually was this time of morning. Forgoing the caffeine boost for the time being, Marshall joined his dad, trying to figure out what the old man was snickering at.

  Without taking his eyes off the front yard, Hank stuck his arm out, handing over a piece of paper. Framed within the page was a near perfect drawing of the view from the back of the house. It was a damn fine piece of artwork.

  “Where’d you find this?”

  Hank took a sip of his coffee. “Emma drew it.”

  Marshall studied the picture with renewed interest, shocked by the high level of detail she had put to the page. The apple tree had its twisted trunk, the weather vane on the equipment barn was missing the rooster… Hell, she’d even managed to include the cocky way the devil horse held his head.

  “Good, isn’t it,” Hank said proudly, taking it back. “Did it in the time it took me to make a pot of coffee. Going to frame it up and hang it in the den.”

  Marshall was a surprised to hear their guest was up so early. Figured her for a late sleeper—what with all the excitement of the day before, and all. He turned from the window and headed toward the kitchen.

  “She’s not there,” Hank called out.

  Marshall almost stopped, but pausing would imply he was going to the back of the house in search of something other than coffee. After pouring himself a mug, he stood at the patio door. If there was a view to be put into artwork, this one was definitely worthy. He bobbed his head in agreement with his assessment, then strolled back to the living room.

  “She go back to bed?” he asked, telling himself he was just making conversation, not because he was concerned over how she might be feeling.

  “Nah. She’s been up for a while now. Had breakfast, then took Tink for a walk.”

  “Took Tink for a walk.” Marshall frowned at his father. “Tink. The cat.”

  Hank nodded. “That’s what I said.”

  Marshall leaned over and sniffed his dad’s mug. “Little early for ’shine, isn’t it?”

  “Just coffee, smart-ass.”

  “Right, and Emma’s out walking the cat.” He moved closer to the glass to try and catch a glimpse of her.

  “Probably down the hill by now.”

  A cluster of trees marked the dip down to the creek bed, but he couldn�
��t see the shape or motion of anyone walking. “Why’d you let her go so far?”

  “Said she wanted to go to town.”

  Marshall’s jaw dropped. “Jesus, Dad. It’s not like it’s a stroll around the block.” Absolution was miles off. Too far a distance for a city girl to be attempting, and definitely not for someone who was supposed to be taking it easy.

  Hank turned away from the window. “She’ll be fine. I drew her a map.”

  Marshall blinked in bewilderment. “What do you mean, you drew her a map?”

  “You got rocks in your ears, boy? I said, I drew her a map.”

  “To town?”

  “No, to Canada. Yes, to town!”

  “You told her how far it was?”

  “Yup. Said she walks in the city all the time.”

  Marshall’s anger spiked. “Walking” in city-girl-speak translated into going the shortest possible distance from the door to the taxi. It did not equal miles of gravel road with no coffee shops, stores, or any other kind of retail resting spot. Not to mention a lack of transit options. The only way she was going to get a ride anywhere was if she flagged someone down. Not that Absolution was a den of degenerates, but still…

  His inside voice tried to convince him a strange woman’s desire to do something stupid wasn’t his responsibility. If she wanted to hike the back roads of Absolution, so be it. But a niggling reminder over the way she’d fainted on him last night had him heading for the back door.

  He clomped his mug down on the counter, sloshing the coffee. “When did she leave?”

  Hank wiggled his empty mug. “About a cup ago?”

  Hopping foot to foot, Marshall yanked on his boots. “Damn it, Dad. Doc said she was supposed to be taking it easy, not taking a ten-mile hike to town.”

  “I know what Doc said, boy. Besides, I figured she wasn’t going to make it more than a mile or two before you or your brother were up.”

  Marshall grabbed his hat and snatched his truck keys from where they dangled on a coat hook. “And if we weren’t up anytime soon?”

  Hank shrugged. “Then it’s a good thing I drew her a map.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Aggravation fueled Marshall’s blood straight down into his foot as he pushed down on the accelerator. The truck engine growled as it topped a short rise and crossed the single-lane bridge over the creek. Spotting Emma ahead, he shifted from gas to brake.

  Driving like an ass wasn’t going to help either one of them if he ran her over.

  He moved to the far side of the road, creeping up behind her. A familiar white blur bounded out of the ditch, tail in the air. Tink slowed to a trot and followed along after Emma like a puppy.

  Marshall nearly laughed out loud.

  She really was taking the cat for a walk!

  Then he saw her bare feet.

  What the hell was with this woman and shoes?

  She glanced over her shoulder, spotted the truck, then scooped up Tink and moved to the side of the road.

  Marshall stopped alongside her. “Where the hell are your shoes?”

  She looked down, her neck and cheeks coloring like a summer sunburn. She shrugged, then started to chew on her bottom lip.

  He sighed. Reining in his ill mood, he tried again, putting a little more civility into his voice. “How’s the head?”

  Another shrug. “It’s fine.”

  He eyed the reddish bump at her temple. It wasn’t nearly as angry-looking as it had been last night, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in need of medical attention. Wandering around barefoot with a cat wasn’t exactly high on the list of normal behavior.

  “Where you headed?” he asked, testing her response. If she didn’t remember where she was going, he was taking her back to see Doc.

  “To talk to the mechanic.”

  “You know we have these things here in the country called telephones.”

  “I know. I just…I told him I’d come in when he opened.”

  Marshall considered reminding her the car in question wasn’t hers to worry about. “You’ll be a little early. He won’t be open for a while yet.”

  “Well, I was going to be walking.”

  “Barefoot,” Marshall countered. “What do you have against shoes, anyway?”

  She glanced down the road, keeping her answer to herself.

  He gave up keeping the roadside conversation going. “Hop in.”

  She shook her head and took a single step back. “I’m okay, thank you.”

  Right. She was good—just a casual ten-mile hike on the back roads of Absolution…with a cat. That wasn’t okay, that was downright nutty. He leaned over to the passenger door and shoved it open. “Hop in,” he repeated, making it clear he wasn’t leaving it open to any argument.

  After a long moment of hesitation, she moved forward as though he was offering her a noose, not a ride. It reminded him of Lucy whenever she was told to do something she didn’t want to do. The only thing missing was the sigh and the glassy-eyed threat of tears.

  Panicking that he was about to be facing Emma with tears in her eyes, he quickly clarified his offer. “I’ll drive you.”

  She eyed him with a mix of relief and wariness. “You will?”

  “Not if you don’t get in.”

  She held the cat higher. “Can we take Tink back first?”

  He scowled at the cat. Lucy would kick his ass if he let anything happen to her pet, but Tink wasn’t much for car rides. Even a quick trip to the vet required a cage for the cat and earplugs for the driver.

  He opened his mouth to tell her to just put the cat down—the fur ball would be fine—but Emma must have taken his silence for acceptance. She climbed into the truck with the cat in her arms, and his opportunity to correct his mistake was gone. He braced himself for the oncoming yowling, or for Tink to make a panicked dash out the window, but the cat flopped down across Emma’s lap, purring loudly.

  Okay. That was a new one.

  Thankfully, the trip back was nice and short. He spent more time watching his passengers than he did the road. Emma didn’t seem to think anything of a car-riding cat, and neither did the cat.

  It was damn strange.

  As soon as Marshall stopped in front of the house, Tink casually hopped out through the open window and strolled off into a field, as though being chauffeured around in a pickup was an everyday occurrence.

  Shaking off his disbelief, he left Emma in the truck and headed for the house, ignoring the annoying grins from his father and his brother, who were standing at the front window, coffee mugs in hand, like a pair of caffeine-loving voyeurs. Marshall dug through the wicker basket of shoes by the front door, looking for something of Lucy’s for Emma to wear. She had an aversion to the footwear Doc had given her—maybe something of his niece’s would be better.

  Grabbing a matching pair of sandals, he headed back to the truck. “See if these fit.”

  Emma’s cheeks turned bright red. She slipped them on and whispered a hasty, “Thank you,” while looking everywhere but at him.

  He wasn’t sure if the shoes actually fit, or if she would have taken them no matter what he’d asked her to put on her feet. She certainly didn’t seem to have Michelle’s love of expensive and impractical footwear—so much so that their apartment had needed a closet for clothes and one just for Michelle’s shoes.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He looked at his passenger, realizing with a start that he was just sitting there like a hypnotized fool, staring at her feet.

  Pissed at himself for getting lost in memories of Michelle once more, he spun the truck around and headed down the drive.

  The passing air flipped Emma’s hair around her face. She fought a losing battle trying to keep it behind her ears.

  “I can roll it up if it’s too much,” he suggested, reaching for the window controls.

  “No, it’s okay.” She leaned closer to the open window. “I like it. It smells so good.”

  He took a deep breath bu
t couldn’t pick out anything different than how it always smelled. This was home—it was what he’d grown up with, what the air was always like.

  “First time out of the city?” he ventured.

  She glanced at him, her expression shifting from surprise to wariness. “It’s that obvious?”

  He debated lying, but it served no point. “Yep.”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “I never thought of how different it would be.”

  “Oh, it’s different.”

  Worlds different. The other end of the planet kind of different. Cement towers. No trees. No sky. Hell, in the city you couldn’t even find a single star after the sun went down because there were too many lights. Then there was the noise. And people. Crowds and crowds of people. No place to find any peace or solitude. And every view was the same in every direction. Windows and walls. That’s all they lived with. Windows and walls.

  He still couldn’t understand how city folk could spend their whole lives without experiencing sunset over the mountains. It only took a few days to cross the country by car, mere hours by plane, yet so many never even tried. And of those who did, even fewer experienced it with all their senses.

  Michelle had said the ranch was beautiful. Called it stunning. Made him believe she could truly see the wonder in it all. But she’d been satisfied just taking a hundred pictures, which she uploaded into a digital picture frame, forever locking his beautiful home into a cycling slide show on the corner of her bookcase. He’d once tried to explain there was no way the tiny little screen could even remotely represent what it was like to live in the space between heaven and earth, but she’d never seen it that way.

  To her, the photos had been of equal representation.

  To him, that was blasphemy.

  He glanced at his silent passenger, surprised to see her flying her hand out the window, riding the currents of air and letting her fingers dip up and down like the wings of a bird. When she looked toward him, he was trapped by the full force of her smile and the radiant innocence sparkling in her gold-green eyes. Her hair bounced about her head, dark curls lifting and dropping with the wind. She didn’t try to contain or tame them. Instead, she grinned through the messy locks while her hand floated gracefully up and down in the passing wind.