Very slowly I walked my fingers up my abs toward Priscilla. She dropped to her front paws and lifted her rear end. She was, of course, precariously close to stepping on my balls. But goddamn was she cute.
Stella reached out for the dog. “You go back to sleep. Don’t mind us.”
Priscilla tumbled off my chest and dove into the covers, her little ass wagging and her tail whapping the sheets. She high-centered herself on my thigh, her warm, furless stomach sliding along my skin, and tumbled into the V between my legs. She tried to dig into the mattress, furiously and briefly, before flopping down, exhausted, with her bony jaw on my knee. Her tail kept wiggling under the covers, and her breath was hot against my calf. “What exactly is she doing here?” I asked, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.
“Well, OK. So here’s the thing. There’s been a bit of a . . .” Stella looked up at the fan, slowly spinning on the ceiling. The end of the chain spun in a regular circle. “. . . a complication. In our plan.”
Priscilla inhaled so hard I felt my briefs move, and then she sneezed. I picked up the sheets. Priscilla shoved her face under my leg, her cold, wet nose against my inner thigh and her big black eyes looking innocently at me like, Oh no, I didn’t sneeze on your man parts. Promise! I closed her back inside her sheet fort.
“Spill it, cutie.” I tapped my chest. “Hit me. I can take it.”
Stella sat down on the edge of the bed. “Mr. Bozeman, Priscilla’s dad, the one with the oxygen compressor . . . remember?”
Remember? I’m still having twinges. “I’m with you so far.”
“He had to go to the hospital for a hernia this morning. He’s fine!” she said quickly, and pressed her hand to her chest. “Thank God, but he just called to tell me he’s going to need to stay for a few nights. Until Thursday.” Stella grimaced and waited for me to respond.
Thursday. The heist was planned for Wednesday. Complication indeed. “So what you’re saying is, the dog is coming with us.”
“Yeah. That’s the size of it.” Stella sighed like she was frustrated, but then her face softened when she rubbed Priscilla through the quilt. In response, she rolled onto her back, and her legs poked at the cotton like she was swimming the backstroke. “She won’t fit on the bike. We tried a backpack while you were sleeping.” Stella shook her head. “Disaster.”
Gone were the good old days of me, the open road, and a solo heist with no trace behind me. Now there was a woman I wanted to take care of, and there was a dog who needed to come with. The whole thing was feeling pretty fucking adult . . .
And I liked how it felt. A whole hell of a lot.
Stella slid off the bed into a crouch and started playing peekaboo with Priscilla, who answered every drop of the sheets with a wiggle and a sniff of my shorts. Stella snort-giggled against the mattress. “We can rent a car. But the problem is, there aren’t that many places that take dogs. And even if there were . . .” She trailed off.
She didn’t have to finish that. The more stops we made, the more witnesses there would be. And with Priscilla in tow, we’d attract way more attention than was sensible. Dogs were great, but people remembered them. And that was not what we wanted.
But it did give me an idea. A crazy one, granted. But one that sounded pretty fucking good too. “It’s what, an eleven-hour drive?”
Stella stopped with the peekaboo and nodded. “Eight hundred and eight miles.”
“No car, right?”
Stella shook her head. “Stupid GEICO hasn’t gotten my loaner sorted out. Ruth rides the bus, and Roxie is the queen of Uber.”
The idea I had was the least flashy cover I could imagine. It was the least likely to catch any flak from the cops. It meant no hotels, no security cameras—a minimum of exposure. We’d be self-sufficient—just two lovebirds on the open road. It was also something that I had, secretly, always wanted to do but never imagined I’d have the chance.
And if I was going do it with anybody . . .
Stella peeked down into the comforter and blew a raspberry in the air, which made Priscilla open and close her mouth like a Muppet. Then Stella did the same, and it was Muppet mouths everywhere.
. . . it was gonna be with Stella.
I grabbed her with both arms and yanked her onto to the bed. “You trust me?”
“I don’t need you to be swooping in, Nick,” she said, laughing, but wide-eyed to say she meant it.
“It’s not a swoop. It’s a surprise, but I’m gonna need you to make me a fake ID.”
“I’m way ahead of you, handsome.” She took my jaw in her hand, giving my cheeks a firm and taunting squeeze. “Just need to get a picture of this sexy face.”
The triangle flags that zigzagged the Cruise America parking lot flapped in the desert breeze. I tipped the Uber driver and headed for the front office. Behind the counter sat a lady who was wearing about twenty pounds of turquoise jewelry and whose eyelashes were so thick with mascara, they made me think of tarantula legs. But she looked friendly enough, with kind eyes and shaped like everybody’s mom. She raised her chin to peer over the desk and put a crumbly cookie in her mouth. “Welcome to Cruise America! How can I help you?”
“Morning”—I checked her name tag—“Melinda.”
“Hello, sir,” she said. She blotted at the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin and dusted off her blouse. Her silver rings clacked again her necklace. “What can I do you for?”
There was something damned refreshing about people who lived in a world where obvious questions got obvious answers. “I’d like to rent an RV.”
She blinked her tarantula lashes and beamed. “Of course, sir. Lemme just see what we have available. What are you wanting to rent? What sort of journey will you be taking?”
I didn’t even need think about how to play this one; I just said what I wanted to be true. “Just a road trip with my fiancée . . .” I actually had to pause when I said the word. I’d never said it before in my life, and I held on to it for as long as I could. How about that for an idea? “She wants to see Monument Valley. Never even been down to the Four Corners. Can you believe it?”
Melinda clicked her tongue. “Well, don’t you forget to get a photo of her with all fours in four different states! No proof without photos, that’s what I always say.”
And boom, there I was thinking about doing filthy things with Stella across state lines at eleven in the morning. I snapped out of it and got back to being upstanding. I refocused on my immediate surroundings. The place was like a really nice brake shop, minus the lingering smell of engine grease. Melinda tapped away on her keyboard. A muted promo video for Cruise America played on a flat-screen television behind her. A youngish couple, about the same age as Stella and I, drove through Monument Valley with all the windows down, holding hands over the cup holder.
This was gonna be awesome.
“Sir, I’m sorry to say . . .” said Melinda. Her eyebrows came together. She scrunched up her face, and her long nails tapped furiously on the keys. “We’re all booked until . . . unless . . . or actually . . . I mean . . .”
“Give it to me straight, Melinda. I can take it.”
“You said you’re going with your fiancée?”
“Yep. Maybe I’ll even convince her to make an honest man out of me on this road trip.”
Melinda looked up from the screen. “Well, then I do have one option. I’d be glad to give you a discount, because it’s a lot of vehicle. But it’s very nice. Very plush. Very . . .” She searched around the desk like she was searching for the word among the staplers and sticky notes and cookies, before finally saying, “. . . romantic.”
“Sounds perfect.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her my brand-spanking-new Wyoming ID, identifying me as Mike McNamara, from the same small town as Stella’s Elizabeth Rutherford.
“Wonderful,” she said, shuffling through some papers, then standing up from her desk chair. “C’mon around back. Let me show you around your home for the next week.”
/> 27
STELLA
Right as I finished reserving room 319 through the internal Ritz reservation system, I heard a honk, and I peered out between the vertical blinds.
“Oh . . .” The thing was so huge that it blotted out the light coming in through the front window. “. . . my . . .” It seemed about as big as a tour bus, and on the side were big, fancy, pink, cursive letters that said:
THE LOVE BOAT
“. . . God!” The passenger-side window came down, and Nick’s face appeared from the driver’s seat. He was smiling as hard as I’d ever seen him smile. He planted his big hand on the middle of the steering wheel, without taking his eyes off me. Beep-beep went the horn again.
I made the sign I used to make as a kid on road trips and yanked an imaginary horn from above.
Which he answered with a magnificent, Beeeeeeeeeep-beeeeeeeep, so loud and deep that it made teacups rattle.
The vertical blinds swung as I pulled my hand away. I logged out of the reservation system and scrubbed my cache. Then I grabbed my bag, along with Priscilla’s bed, bright pink and smelling oddly like warm doughnuts. I clipped her retractable leash on her harness and double-checked that I hadn’t forgotten anything. First, I scanned through the regular Stella stuff on the to-pack list in my head. Toothbrush, toothpaste, makeup. Panties. Extra panties for this trip. Phone chargers. Extra phone chargers. Then I scrolled through the secret Stella stuff packing list. Puzzle box. Fake gem. Heist blueprints. Burner phone. Charger for burner phone. Extra charger for burner phone. Rubber gloves. Electrical tape for the cameras. An assortment of memory cards, on the off chance that we could break into the security room.
I was good to go.
In the mirror, I adjusted my wig, the one I’d planned to wear as the maid. It just touched my shoulders, with a natural-looking wave that reminded me of being on the beach. I touched up my matte-red lips and put on my motorcycle boots. It was a disguise I’d never tried before—the bad girl. And I absolutely loved how it felt. Like a different me—the real me.
I made my way out the door with Priscilla trotting behind me. She galloped toward a pigeon, juking left before she got too close, and went to go tinkle on the rocks. Nick was standing on the pavement waiting for me when we rounded the corner. When he saw me, his mouth dropped open, and he let out a long, greedy, “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”
I pouted a little and struck a pose that made the D rings on my jacket jingle. “You like?”
“I love,” he growled. He ran his hand down my leggings, then unzipped my jacket. Inside was a T-shirt that Roxie had given me ages ago but that I’d never worn. On the front was a photograph of Johnny Cash, flipping the bird at the camera, after the show he’d done at Folsom. Above him was the word SPIRIT. Underneath was the word ANIMAL.
“I better hear you singing some Johnny Cash on this trip,” he said, and opened the side door for me, offering his hand to help me inside. Like an old hero helping a heroine over a puddle. He took my suitcase from me, as well as Priscilla’s bed, which he folded up under his arm like a huge, foamy taco. “After you, madam,” he said with a bow.
“Thank you, sir.”
Inside I went. The interior of the Love Boat was like a Hallmark store on Valentine’s Day. The upholstery was red velvet with embossed hearts. There was a heart-shaped container of soap by the sink, and the cabinets had frosted glass decorated with unfrosted hearts. Pillows shaped like huge candy conversation hearts sat on the bench seats. A pink one said WHY NOT? The light green said BE MINE. And the yellow said COME HERE.
“That’s surprisingly naughty,” I said, squeezing the third one.
“Wait until you see the sheets,” Nick said, stepping inside behind me.
I peeked into the master bedroom, which was an explosion of pink satin, where a gigantic heart-shaped candle sat on the side table. It was luxurious and brand spanking new. “This is really nice,” I said, admiring all the brand-new fixtures and inhaling a scent that reminded me very much of a new car. Nick set down Priscilla’s bed by the easy chair. She hurled herself into it and started gnashing on her frog’s already tragically disfigured face. A wet squeak filled the air, like the death rattle from a very sick goose.
“We’re gonna have fun, you and me,” Nick said, closing the side door behind him. The door shutting made the RV rock ever so slightly, enough to send one of the pillows toppling into Priscilla’s bed. She snatched it up in her mouth, mushing BE MINE in her jaws as her soggy frog lay limp on the floor.
Nick took a step toward me and pulled me close. “Is my new wife ready to get on the road?”
“Yessss,” I said. There was something unexpectedly sweet and wonderful about all this. I was nervous about what was ahead of us, but for right now—in that moment—I was excited. I was hopeful. I was happy. With him.
“We’re missing something, though. You know that?” He nudged my cheek with his nose and dipped me so suddenly—and with so much gusto—that I had to plant my hand on the table. The candy bowl tipped over, scattering conversation hearts everywhere. I’M YOURS. LET’S GO. DON’T TELL. And he kept on dipping me, until I was flat on my back on the folding kitchenette tabletop. The table legs squeaked under my weight.
“What are we missing?”
“Something very important. So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he said, pressing one thumb into my cheek in the most possessive, intoxicating way. “I’m going to kiss you breathless, then . . .”
He looked right at me and I waited, already breathless with anticipation.
Clasping my left hand in his, he spun the fake engagement ring I was wearing and said, “Wedding bands.”
I gasped a little. It had completely slipped my mind. “Of course.” Logically I knew it was part of our cover. But a little teeny piece of my heart also knew it symbolized the start of something much bigger. And I loved that feeling. Now it was my turn to kiss him, and kiss him I did. But doing that unleashed the beast, and soon enough I was the one getting kissed again. He kissed so passionately that I had to open my eyes midkiss, just to watch him. To see him dissolve into it. Into me, and us together. He kissed like a guy who knew what he wanted and was going to take it.
And what he wanted was me.
I was about to close my eyes again and sink into that pool of passion with him, when something else caught my eye. The front seats were big captain’s chairs, plush with dark-red leather and white piping. Each had a terry cloth headrest cover. I noticed HIS had been put over the passenger’s seat, and HERS over the driver’s seat. Either Cruise America had a secret feminist agenda or . . . I inhaled hard and pushed him an inch away, giving myself just enough space to ask, “Did you rearrange those?”
He glanced over at the seats and nodded. “You’re running this show, gorgeous. I’m just along for the ride.” And then he sank back down into me, sending handfuls of hearts clattering to the floor.
28
NICK
The pawnshop we chose for the rings was on the nice side of Albuquerque. The place was upscale, and the guard at the door gave Priscilla a dirty look. “No dogs.”
Stella frowned and huffed. She reached down and patted Priscilla’s head, letting her leathery, silky ears slide between her fingers. “This isn’t a dog. It’s an accessory,” she said, smiling and lifting one shoulder.
The guy looked like he hadn’t smiled since Reagan was in office. He set his jaw and shook his head, which made his jowls shake. “No dogs, miss.”
Stella made another sweet little huff. “Please?”
The guard rubbed his nostril hair with his knuckle. “Store policy, ma’am. May surprise you, but they have a habit of pissing on the merchandise. I can’t be dicking around all day spraying Resolve on dog pee, you feel me?”
She pulled Priscilla out of her shoulder bag and bounced her like a baby. Oh man, oh man. “All right, but could we leave her with you?” She held Priscilla out to the guard, and Priscilla pawed the air, wiggling and kissing, trying so hard to get to the guy that
even I started to smile.
Priscilla made whines and puffs, like she just couldn’t . . . even . . . stand . . . all . . . this . . . anticipation. As she squirmed, he did start to smile. As she licked the air, he really started to smile. I could almost hear his muscles creak. Finally, the guy opened up his arms.
“Oh yay! She’s really sweet,” Stella said, and handed her over. Priscilla sank her nose into his ear, and the guy let out a laugh like a mall Santa.
Together, hand in hand, we approached the jewelry display. The lady behind the counter was in her midsixties, give or take. She wore a faded old Harley T-shirt, cut low to show off leathery cleavage. “Lemme guess,” she said, looking from Stella to me and back again. “Ring shopping?”
Stella shifted her weight to one foot and pressed her shoulder against my arm. “Got it in one!”
“Coming right up,” said the woman, and she unlocked the display cases, placing velvet-lined ring trays in front of both of us.
She stepped to the side to give us some space, but not so far away that she’d lose track of any merchandise. Pawnshops knew every hustle there was.
Stella ran her index finger over the rings. I noticed her linger for a long time on a wire-fine antique band in the left row. “My grandma had a ring exactly like this,” she said, and placed it on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and it was beautiful on her. “God, I loved that ring.” She looked at her finger and shook her head. I felt her pain in my own heart. And all I could think was how badly I wanted to make it better.
But before I could tell the woman behind the counter we’d buy it, Stella had taken it off and placed it back where she found it. Straightening her shoulders, she took a breath and chose a different ring. It was clear to me what she’d been thinking. There was the ring Stella would’ve wanted for herself. And then there was the one that was best for Elizabeth to wear for this job, the one that fit the part; it was one that would match the engagement ring she was wearing now, which she’d taken from the puzzle box. The Elizabeth-style ring would have to do. For now.
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