I watch as she turns away from me and wipes at her cheek. I can’t help but feel jealous that at least she had it good for a while. She had a normal father who adored her and fulfilled all the roles a father should. I had nothing.
“I’m sorry you got dealt a shit hand, Kat. But I’m just doing my job here. I’ve got to take you in. And now, on top of that, I’ve got to keep you safe from Boots. Maybe you’ll get a decent defense attorney and get off on self-defense.”
My phone rings and I’m quick to answer.
“What did you find?” I ask.
“I can get you a car in the next hour. Where are you?”
I look up at the exit sign ahead. “Exit 284, on Highway 99.” I hear more typing.
“There’s a place called Floor to Ceiling right off the highway. Wait on the northeast side of the parking lot.”
“Got it.”
Kat looks at me expectantly as I slip my phone back into my pocket.
“We’ll have a new ride in less than an hour.”
“What about your car?” she asks.
“Someone else will take care of it. It’s not mine.”
“I knew it!” Kat laughs and pumps her fist into the air. “I love being right!”
We exit the highway and cross the overpass, turning into the parking lot as instructed. I pick a spot between two buildings and drop my bag. I loosen my fingers from Kat’s and pull my hand free, wiping it on my jeans. Kat’s foot turns on its side as her gaze darts away from mine. She folds her arms across her chest.
“Now what?” she asks.
I take a seat and lean against the building, crossing my ankles in front of me.
“Now we wait.”
6: her
“Isn’t that a car rental place next door?” I ask. Steel looks across the parking lot and shrugs. “Why wouldn’t you just rent a car?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Are you broke? Is the fugitive recovery business not what it used to be?” He shakes his head and checks his phone. “Seriously. You’ve been in a hurry this whole time and now we sit and wait?”
“Now we sit and wait.”
I huff and hold an imaginary microphone up to my lips, smiling into a nonexistent camera.
“Today in the news, Fugitive Recovery Agent with no name, from nowhere, gives another cryptic answer to an important question. More at 11 o’clock.”
Steel chuckles, although he turns away from me. My only proof are his shaking shoulders, the curve of his cheek in profile, and that elusive dimple.
“Deflective humor?” he asks.
“Deflective humor.”
I lean my head against the building and roll it sideways. Behind us is another set of white cinderblock warehouses. The parking lot is dark back there, looks like the concrete just drops off. I imagine it’s the end of the world and what it would be like to throw myself into the nothingness. Picturing concrete beneath my heels and my toes hanging over the blackness, it’s easy to feel the adrenaline of teetering between life and death and wondering in which place I belong. Lifting my hands and tipping over, would I fall forever in my own personal hell, or just cease to exist, rightfully extinguished for my crime?
I look over to find Steel tapping away on his phone screen.
“Who did you call earlier?” I ask.
“My assistant.”
“Oh! Fancy Recovery Agent has an assistant? I bet she’s young, blonde, and calls you Big Daddy, huh?”
“Not exactly.”
“Tell me,” I insist.
“No.”
“Come on. Tell me. I’ll trade you something for it.”
“What could you possibly bargain with?” he asks.
“I’ll show you my party trick.”
“Party trick?” he asks, looking at me sideways.
“Yeah. It’s pretty epic. You know, that one quirky talent that you only pull out to entertain people at parties.” Steel stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I return his stare and try to understand what he doesn’t understand. “A party is a large group of people having fun, usually with the aid of alcohol.” He rolls his eyes and pouts his pretty lips at me.
“Fine. His name is Brad. He’s your age. Very good at his job. No social skills. He’s got issues.”
“Ha! Don’t we all,” I say. “Brad. That’s a common name. Is he cute?”
Again, I get a strange look.
“How would I know?” Steel asks.
“Are you saying that because you’re a heterosexual man, you couldn’t possibly gauge the attractiveness of another man?”
Steel bends his knees and rests his forearms on them lazily. It’s the first time I’ve seen him relax since we’ve met. He stares out at the vacant street.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
A black car with dark tinted windows turns into the parking lot. Somehow Steel knows this is our ride. He stands, grabs his bag, and motions for me to get up. The car passes us and pulls near the edge of the lighted lot.
“Finally,” I say. “Now this is how I’m meant to travel.”
We walk toward the car, but Steel stops a few feet short. I bump into him and look up to see what’s wrong. His eyes study the car so intently I feel like he’s trying to penetrate the tint. Finally, the driver’s door opens. One denim covered leg and motorcycle boot hit the ground.
“Run!” Steel yells.
I don’t question him or look back at the car. For once, I simply follow instructions. I take off behind one of the buildings, disappearing into the dark. My eyes take too long to adjust to the dark and I’m running blind. I don’t bother checking for Steel. I know he’s close. I can hear his tandem footsteps echoing between the buildings. Finally his silhouette takes shape against the building and I follow it like Wendy after Peter Pan. We trail along the wall until we find a door. Steel tries the handle but it’s locked.
“Where do we go?” I ask, folded over trying to catch my breath.
The alley we’re in is flooded with light as the black car turns in. Both of us whip our heads toward the two leering headlights. Steel grabs me by the wrist and pulls me farther down the row. I stumble, but manage to stay upright as we run. I hear the car’s engine rev and the tires screech as it hurls toward us, but don’t look back.
“In here!” Steel shouts. He drops to his stomach and slides under a large rolling door that is open about two feet. Steel disappears into the building and pulls his bag with him. I stand and stare at the empty space.
“Kat!”
I snap out of my daze and copy Steel’s actions, rolling under the door and right into his feet. The light outside the door gets brighter as the car approaches. Steel steps to the door and slams it down, sliding a lock into place. We both stand with heaving chests and stare at the thin piece of metal separating good and evil. Though I have a hard time associating with either side of that coin.
Steel steps back and keeps his eyes on the door. There’s a loud bang against the metal. I yelp and stumble back, tripping over Steel’s bag and landing hard on my ass.
The handle on the bottom of the door rattles and I cover my mouth to hold my scream in. My chest feels like it’s going to explode from the tension. I force myself to take slow, deep breaths and reign my fear back in.
“We’re trapped,” I say.
He spins in place, taking in our surroundings. It’s a small office inside a larger warehouse. Steel goes over to the desk and grabs the phone. He pulls on the cord and sets the phone down right by the door. I stand and dust off as he dials a number and puts it on speaker phone.
A recorded voice comes over the phone. It recites the time, then weather and forecast. I look from the phone to Steel and back to the phone.
“What’s that for?”
He points to the door. “He’ll think it’s one of us talking. It’ll keep him back here while we try to find a way out.” I nod, genuinely surprised at how good he is at this. “Let’s move.”
I follow Steel ou
t of the office and across a warehouse with stacks of boxes and row after row of shiny cars. He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials.
“Change of plans. Boots is here,” he says. “We’re next door in the Hertz building. I think I can get to the front if your man can meet us there.” There’s silence and Steel shakes his head. “No. He’ll have to come in through the front.”
He slips his phone back into his pocket and keeps moving. We navigate through a maze of cars, our footsteps the only thing louder than our ragged breaths. I stop and lean against a small red sports car, leaving behind a handprint on its pristine driver’s side window. Steel comes behind me and uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe it clean.
“No need to add to your list of crimes,” he says walking past me.
“Isn’t this breaking and entering? I just followed you! You’re the one who’s a man of the law, not me!” I whisper-shout.
Steel stops and spins to face me. I bump into his chest and crane my neck to look up at his murderous expression.
“You’d rather I leave you outside with him?” he asks pointing to the back door. His words are sharp and laced with more than anger. I pull away and shake my head. “Boots is the dangerous one here, Kat. I know who he works for, so I know how dangerous he is. While you may be his target, I’m the only thing standing between you. That puts me in his crosshairs too. I’m doing all this to save your ass.”
“Don’t pretend like you’re doing me favors. We both know I’m just a job and a paycheck to you.”
Steel runs his fingers through his hair, the tendons in his neck pull tight. “There are only two security cameras in this room. Keep your head down.” He turns and takes off, all business again. I’m quick to follow.
“How do you know where we’re going?” I ask.
“I don’t. But our ride will be here,” he looks at the watch on his wrist, “in approximately four minutes. We need to make it to the front door.”
I follow Steel down a long hall, trying every door we come to. Most of them are open, but only lead to small storage rooms or offices. At the end of the hall, we turn right and see an exit sign. We jog over and push on the door. It doesn’t budge.
“Damn,” he says.
Steel scans the hall for another exit, but there’s nothing. He leans forward and knocks his forehead against the wall a few times. I look at the ceiling and thank John Hughes for inspiration.
“Give me a boost,” I say.
“What?”
“Up there. It’s a drop ceiling. We’ll go over the door.” Steel stares at me, dumbfounded. Like it’s so hard to believe that I have a good idea. “Time’s ticking here,” I remind him, tapping the face of his watch.
He bends his knees and laces his fingers together. I step into it and he lifts me easily. I push up on the panel and reach up, grabbing onto a bar. Steel lifts me higher and I pull myself through. It’s dirty up here and smells like insulation. I cough a few times—more of a mental reaction than a physical one—and try not to think about the probability of hundreds of spiders surrounding me.
When I’m on my hands and knees, I stick my head back through the open panel and Steel hands me his bag. I pull it up and place it next to me. When I turn back around to see if he needs help getting in, he’s already halfway up. I watch the muscles of his arms twist and flex as he pulls himself above the ceiling and lick my lips at the sight. They taste like dust.
“Stay on the metal grid,” I tell him.
I carefully crawl in what I hope is the right direction. Counting six squares, I pull a panel up and drop my head down. It’s the front office of Hertz. Freedom.
I get to a sitting position, grab onto the metal frame and swing my body through the hole. I hang there for a second before dropping to the floor. Smiling, I raise my arms in victory like gymnasts do after they stick the landing.
Steel’s bag drops next to me and then he descends from the ceiling. His legs slide into view and then his stomach and that tattoo, revealed by his T-shirt riding up. I blink my eyes like a camera shutter and mentally bank this image for later. He drops to the floor, picks up his bag, and heads to the door. We each pull on the glass doors. Locked. We see a car come barreling into the parking lot, practically on two wheels. The headlights sweep across our faces as it turns in front of the building.
“Move!” Steel shouts.
I turn to see him grab a chair and hurl it at the glass door. It shatters into a spiderweb of tiny pieces. A deafening alarm sounds, it’s wailing siren hurts my ears. Steel kicks out the glass and pulls me through just as the car pulls up. He opens the back door, throws me inside, then slides in next to me.
“Go!” he shouts. “Go! Go! Go!”
I look to the driver’s seat to find a young blonde kid with spiky hair. He floors it, the screeching tires broadcasting our departure. As we turn the corner and speed onto the street I’m thrown across the backseat, landing in Steel’s lap. He is all hard muscle and warm body beneath me. I realize too late that my hand is resting on his crotch. It’s an instant reminder of what I’ve been missing the past few weeks, of what I’ll be missing for the rest of my life.
“Sorry,” I say, sliding off of him. “What about Boots?”
“I had a friend take care of that,” the kid says.
I look back and find a big rig pulled sideways between the two buildings, blocking Boots in. I can just make out the black car stuck on the other side of the truck. I see Boots duck beneath the trailer and run into the road. I flip him off as we drive away, wearing a smile usually reserved for more casual situations.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I say, facing the front. “I’ve always wanted men to fight over me, but not like this.”
Steel ignores me while the driver laughs. Finally, a normal human being.
“Hey, man. It’s awesome to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your work,” the kid says glancing back at Steel. Steel nods and looks out the window. “So, who’s this Boots character?”
“A pain in my ass,” Steel answers as his fist taps against his knee. “He works for the system.”
I turn to look at him, searching for a clue as to what “system” he’s referring to. He doesn’t meet my gaze.
“How long’s he been on you?”
“Since I picked her up,” he answers, gesturing toward me.
We drive along a road that runs next to the highway, turn into a lush green park, and pull to a stop.
“Well, at least she’s worth it, right?” The kid meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles.
“A, can we stop talking about me like I’m not in the car? This feels like a family reunion where all the adults pretend you’re deaf. And B, why are we stopping?”
“This is where I get out,” the driver says.
Steel jumps out of the backseat, slides the child lock on, comes around to my side and repeats the process. I cross my arms and huff. At this point, I’ve decided I’m probably better off with him than without him. This Boots guy is crazy scary, while Steel is only sexy scary. I know he’s driving me back to the authorities, back to a life in prison. But I’d rather be there than dead.
Steel opens the driver’s door and waits.
I lean over the front seat. “You’re leaving already? Thanks for the proper rescue. I suppose you won’t tell me your name either?”
He gives me a strange look. “They call me Rich.”
“Rich, as in Richard? Can I call you Dick?” I lower my eyes to his crotch.
Rich shifts his hips and offers me a grin. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“If you’re done flirting, we’ve got to go.” Steel pulls him from the car by his shirt. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your parents’ basement?”
He closes the door and we speed off, leaving the park and Rich behind.
“You’re just going to leave him there?” I ask.
Steel doesn’t answer me. The car speeds up as we merge onto the highway. His phone buzzes and he holds it to his ear.
“Yes. We’re back on the highway now.”
He plugs his phone into a charger and ends the call. Even in the dark I see his eyes slide to me in the mirror and back to the road.
“How did you know about the drop ceiling thing?” he asks.
“From that movie, The Breakfast Club.”
“With Audrey Hepburn, right?”
“No,” I answer laughing. “That’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s from the sixties. The Breakfast Club is a John Hughes film from the eighties. Bender escapes a storage closet by crawling over the drop ceiling. Well, until he falls through.”
Steel gives me that all too familiar blank look.
“Molly Ringwald? Anthony Michael Hall? Come on!”
“I’ve never heard of any of those people,” he says.
“It’s like you’re from a different planet.”
He frowns at me through the rearview mirror. I ignore his sour face and think about the letter they write at the end of the movie, a declaration refusing to wear labels. Wise beyond their years, they realize that individuals are not just one note. We are made of many pieces and combined in a unique way. I can easily identify with each one of the students’ stereotypes—a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. I’m an overachiever on that last one. I wonder if my father would be ashamed of that or proud of me for protecting mom.
I stared wide-eyed as the credits rolled and listened to the movie’s anthem, “Don’t You (Forget About Me).” My dad pressed Stop and Rewind on the VCR and the TV screen lit up blue. He leaned back and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“Well, kid, what did you think of that one?”
I closed my eyes and tried to choose the right words to explain how I felt. The honesty of those characters, the trials of being a teenager, the tragic and fantastic home lives of strangers you see every day—I was overwhelmed.
“Is high school really like that?” I asked.
He laughed and squeezed my shoulder before turning off the television.
“Sometimes. But don’t be afraid to make your own rules, Kat.”
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