by Lori Gordon
She rammed the pictures into her purse and threw them on the backseat. Out of sight, out of mind. She didn’t have time for distractions — not if she wanted to stay alive.
When she hit Indianapolis, she glared at the GPS. Great technology at her fingertips and she couldn’t use it because it could pinpoint her location. For the first time in her life, she felt Big Brother peering over her shoulder. It might be a free country, she thought, but we’re turning into a society so eager to protect ourselves that we’re handing over our privacy and our freedom.
Frustration ticked inside her. She wanted to get in and out of the city in a hurry, a difficult task with the odds stacked against her. She knew what she needed. Where to find it was another matter altogether. She drove around until she spotted several satellite branches of her bank within reasonable proximity from each other. Back home in Chicago, there were banks on every other corner.
For the first time she was glad she’d never gotten around to investing the bulk of the insurance payout she’d received after her parent’s death. The settlement may have left her a wealthy woman, but dealing with the money was a painful reminder of the accident. Everyone she knew kept telling her she was crazy to let so much cash sit in a savings account, turns out she wasn’t so crazy after all.
Her hand froze when she reached for her purse. Her plan was simple enough. Empty her accounts by visiting several banks, withdrawing enough at each to not raise eyebrows, or be stuck waiting while they requested more money from the safe. She hoped to do it fast enough for the withdrawals not to have posted to her accounts by the time she hit the next bank. All it would take was one overly curious self-important, bank manager to question why someone from out of town was taking out large wads of cash and she’d be toast.
She remembered how freaked out she had been by the gas station attendant and the cop. Bank tellers back home had a way of making her feel like a criminal every time she withdrew more than a few hundred dollars. Up until now, she’d been lucky. Luck had a way of holding so long before it turned. She needed a cover story.
Sierra leaned back against the seat. She unconsciously twisted her engagement ring around her finger. “Think,” she whispered, trying to come up with a plausible reason for needing large amounts of cash. Her lips curved in a slow smile. She scrounged around on the floor for the discarded napkin. When her hands closed around it, she felt like she’d won the lottery. It took her a minute to locate the ashtray. Using the lighter, she set the napkin on fire and let it burn in the tray.
The flames, small as they were, jarred her. A chill ran up her spine at the memory of the heinous way Neil had died and why she was on the run. She folded her arms against the steering wheel, and buried her face in them as a gut wrenching sob tore through her. A part of her agonized over whether he had cheated on her; another part of her hated herself for being angry with a dead man. The emotion was wrong on so many levels. In the end, it didn’t matter what Neil had done, no one should suffer such a horrendous death.
She wiped away her tears and glanced down at the ashtray. The napkin burned itself out. She dipped her fingers inside and smudged the ashes across her face beneath the sunglasses. For good measure, she added a second slash of soot across her chest. Steeling herself, she went inside.
Keeping her head down to avoid surveillance cameras, she filled out a withdrawal slip and made her way to the window. She wordlessly slipped her ID and piece of paper through the window.
The teller studied the withdrawal slip for a good long time. “You want to take all this money out?”
Sierra fought her anger. What gave tellers the right to question people? It was her God Damn money. She repressed her anger and let the tears flow. “My poor sister. Her house burned to the ground last night. Her husband lost his job a while back. He worked for GM. They don’t have no insurance. I wish she would have told me they’d fallen on hard times. They’ve got three kids. I would have paid the insurance for them. Now I just got to help. Do you have a sister?”
The teller’s face turned cherry red. “I do. My baby sister makes a habit of doin’ all the wrong things, for the right reasons, God help her.”
Sierra leaned over the counter, nodding. “So you know what I’m going through.”
The teller reached out and patted her hand, “I sure do.”
“I could have given them a couple thousand or so each year for insurance. She was too proud and headstrong to ask.”
It worked like a charm. The teller scurried over to the pregnant manager. They couldn’t have been nicer. Sierra brushed her hand over her tears. “You know what? Maybe I should take out a little bit more. Just in case.”
She walked out of the first bank twenty two thousand dollars richer, breaking into a wide smile when she reached the car. What an adrenaline rush. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet it felt like she had gotten away with something. Confidence bolstered, she drove to the next bank. When all was said and done, the nice people in Indianapolis were a hell of a lot more compassionate than Chicago folk. Six banks later, she drained everything except her 401k and CD’s. She thanked the Lord for her inheritance money. Next stop, discount stores.
There was a Wal-Mart right around the corner. She picked up a couple pillows, blanket, backpack, small suitcase, disposal cell, undies, clothes, and snacks. Then she hit the ATM’s and maxed out her available cash advances.
The next town up was Terra Haute. She found an internet café, and checked the Chicago papers on-line, biting her fingernails while she read. Every muscle in her body tightened. She had one ear cocked, expecting to hear sirens racing in her direction any moment. Wiping out her bank accounts left a major trail. It was like painting a big red X on her back, screaming come get me. She scrolled through each article, terrified of finding her name or her photo splashed across the page. She sagged with relief when she finished. There was nothing about Neil. No one had found him, no one reported him missing. Thank God. She felt a pang of remorse at her relief. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Under any other circumstances, she would be beside herself with grief. Instead, she was running from a killer. The whole situation reeked of insanity.
Her gaze scanned the café. Satisfied that no one was paying attention to her, she did a Google search for The First Wave. A dead end, she thought, quickly typing in Foxtrot. No double meaning for the scribbled word jumped out at her. She knew the pictures were going to gnaw at her until she had answers. Her neck was in knots. She rolled her head, and heard her muscles crick. This line of thought wasn’t doing her any good. Self-preservation first, everything else had to wait.
Sierra logged off the computer and bought a coffee, sitting back down at another table, there was no need to leave a trail in a single computer’s history. If anyone was following her, she planned to make it as difficult as possible to find her. She went on Craig’s list, and scribbled a list of phone numbers. There were quite a few used cars for sale; buying one was going to be tricky.
She headed back to the car and started dialing, hitting pay dirt on the fifth call. A seventeen-year-old kid who rebuilt cars was trying to earn cash for college. She begged him to meet her outside a local diner. When he hesitated, she realized she’d made a mistake by sounding too desperate. Afraid that he was about to hang up, she turned on the waterworks to help convince him. It took some doing but he finally agreed to meet her in forty minutes.
Sierra shoved a few things in the backpack and ripped the plaid shirt she was wearing. Gritting her teeth, she opened her car door, and slammed it into her chin. Damn, that hurt. If she was going to play a role, she was going to own it. Method acting. Who could have predicted her high school drama classes were going to pay off after all? She banged the door into her forehead too, and with a grunt of satisfaction felt a bump start to rise.
She stuffed six thousand dollars into her jeans pocket and buried the car keys in another. Then she went to sit on a curb, rubbing her already reddened eyes to make them look worse. A quick look aroun
d told her no one appeared to be paying attention to her and her cell phone burned a hole in her hand. Before she could talk herself out of it, she hit star sixty-seven and dialed Grace’s number. It went to voice mail.
Odd. Grace should have been home. Sierra screened her calls. Grace always picked up, no matter what she was in the middle of doing. The unanswered call fed her paranoia. She imagined Grace pacing in a motel room waiting for Neil to arrive and warned herself she was jumping to conclusions. The truth was it was far easier to feel betrayed and angry, than to give into grief.
Two cars pulled up alongside her. The 2002 black Honda Accord gleamed from a recent polishing. She could care less about the dings and dents riddling the back door. The kid burned rubber squealing into the parking lot. The motor hummed, that was only the sales pitch she needed.
A pimply faced teen tumbled out of the Honda. His buddy, a bit cooler in a souped-up Camero, followed. Sierra felt old looking at them.
The kid thrust his chin at her, “You the lady lookin’ to buy?”
“Yeah,” Sierra used her sleeve to wipe her tears and hurried over to them.
“Whoa.” The kid eyed her battered face, backing away. “What happened to you?”
She cast a furtive glance around her. “Hey, listen, I want the car okay? I came here to get a soda after class. And what do I see? My fiancée with the local rich bitch. I confront him. He pulls me outside, threatens me, smacks me in the face and takes off with my car. His Daddy is some big shot with the Chicago police. He dumped me, right on the spot. Said if I caused a scene or messed things up with his new girlfriend, he’d make all kinds of trouble for me. He would too, he’s that mean. I don’t even want to go home and get my stuff. I just want a car so I can go back to my family in Illinois. I don’t want trouble.”
The kid looked at his buddy. “Neither do I.”
She batted her lashes, “Please, help me. You’re asking five grand for the car. I’ll give you six, if you can promise if anyone ever comes asking, you’ve never seen me. No matter what.”
The buddy nudged pimple face, “An extra thou, man. Ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at.”
The kid shifted from foot to foot. “You know what you gotta do, right? With the plates and title and all?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“You wanna have it checked out or take it for a ride?”
“No. I just want to get far away from the asshole before he comes after me again.”
“You wanna buy it? Just like that?”
“Yeah, just like that. If we have a deal. You’ve never seen me. I’m scared he might kill me…or worse. You don’t know his temper.”
“And you’ll pay an extra grand?”
She shoved her hand into her pocket, and pulled out a wad of cash. “It’s right here.”
“Well.” He looked at his friend again.
“Well?”
He eyed the bills in her hand. “All right then, you got yourself a deal.”
“Even if the cops starts talkin’ trash about me?”
“Hey, I ain’t never seen ya.”
Sierra shoved the money into his hand before he could change his mind. “Thank you. You saved my life.” The teen had no idea how true that was.
“Shit, for a thousand bucks, it’s the least I can do.” He handed her the keys and the title. “Get that taken care of okay? Like, right away?”
“You bet. Thank you.”
“Anytime. She’s all yours.” He started to walk away, and then turned back. “You know, maybe I should go with you for the title exchange.”
Shit, this was a complication she didn’t need.
“My fiancée is probably gonna be lookin’ for me. He’s a big guy who thinks with his fists. I promise, I’ll take care of it right away. I don’t want him giving you any trouble.”
The kid hesitated before he nodded. “All right. Just don’t mess me up, okay?”
“Okay.” Poor guy, she was going to mess him up. She should have given him more than an extra thousand for his troubles.
He scuffed the tip of his gym shoes on the pavement, deep in thought. He was probably remembering all the good advice his parents gave him about what not to do when selling a car. Her heart stood still. She needed the Honda.
The buddy poked him. “A grand, man. Let’s book.”
“Yeah.” He raised trusting brown eyes to hers. She would remember those eyes. “Good luck.”
Sierra forced a smile and a waved. She waited until they were out of sight before tucking the title into her back pocket, and transferring her belongings to the new car. Now what to do with Neil’s car?
There were woods within walking distance. She gnawed on the side of her cheek, thinking. Sierra drove in as deep as she could and pulled over. There was a tool kit in the trunk. She located the VIN number, and hacked away at it with a screwdriver. If anyone were looking for her, they’d have figured out by now that she’d taken Neil’s car. The longer they thought that the better. Squatting down, she removed the license plates. She sat back on her heels, tracing the numbers with her finger. Whenever Neil picked her up, she’d watch for the familiar plate number. Another thing she’d never do again. She sighed, shuddering with emotion. This wasn’t the time to break down, not if she wanted to outwit the killer.
Sierra steeled herself to take last look through the car; she didn’t want to leave any of his personal items behind. One day, she might look back and regret it. She emptied out the glove compartment, it contained mostly junk, nothing worth keeping. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something sliver glinting under the driver’s side seat. She stretched forward to reach it, surprised when she found a netbook, one of those small mobile laptops that allowed instant access to the internet. Neil never mentioned owing one. It was becoming apparent there was a lot she didn’t know about her fiancée.
For good measure, she left the driver’s side window open, and the keys in the ignition. If Indiana were anything like Chicago, someone would steal the car or chop it up for parts. Abandoning Neil’s car to be picked clean by scavengers felt like a second death.
Sierra wrapped her arms around her body. “Good-bye, Neil.”
With a final nod, she turned ready to face the unknown.
Chapter Four
Sierra rolled down the windows, and relished her first taste of freedom since the whole debacle began. She unfastened her ponytail and let the wind whip through her hair. Somewhere along the line, she’d made an unconscious decision to figure out what happened to Neil and what his connection to Grace, Foxtrot and The First Wave was. Curiosity was her downfall; she’d dig for answers, twisting questions until she got the truth.
Let’s just hope my curiosity doesn’t get me killed this time, she thought, staring out at the fields on either side of her. Every mile looked the same. She wished the scenery wasn’t so monotonous.
It took her over four hours to reach Lexington, Kentucky. Sierra kept the radio loud to drown the voices of doubt in her head. Best not to think right now, she warned herself. Riding the roller coaster of emotions plummeting inside her would make her crazy.
She hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and was starving; stress had a way of making her crave food. She pulled into a local market and stocked up on a blocks of cheese, crackers and Pepsi, using her credit card. Sooner or later, someone besides the killer would be looking for her. The deliberate clues leading from Illinois to Kentucky would help to establish a false trail. Once she got far enough away, if her plan worked, she’d be untraceable.
Her mouth salivated for a bite of cheddar. She ripped into the package and bit off a large chunk. She washed it down with Pepsi and picked up the disposable cell.
Grace still didn’t answer. A bad feeling slithered over Sierra’s spine. Her friend was a creature of habit; if Grace wasn’t answering her phone, it meant something happened to force her to change her routine. She wouldn’t have found Neil’s body. Not yet anyway. Not with Sierra supposedly still there.
So where the hell was she?
Sierra gulped down more Pepsi and rubbed her eyes. She was running on fumes. Between the traffic jam, waiting for the banks to open, and the pit stops she’d made, fourteen hours had passed. Fourteen life-altering hours.
She couldn’t rest yet. Sierra managed to keep her eyes open and hunger sated until she reached Nashville. The cheese wasn’t cutting it anymore. She fueled up, and found a hole-in- the-wall restaurant where she dug into a full slab of the best damn ribs she’d ever eaten.
The joint was jumping. Groups of people laughed over steaming plates of food. Bad jokes rang out from good old boys seated at the bar, and the juke box played country music.
Sierra rested her chin on her hand and took it all in. She envied them. They looked so normal. Everyday people, with everyday problems, letting off a little steam. What she wouldn’t give to be like them, to be a part of the revelry instead of on the outside looking in.
“That’s a mighty wistful expression for such a pretty lady.”
The voice startled her. She glanced up and stared into the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. Two frosty mugs of beer sweated in his hands. “Mind if I join you? The beer is yours whether I can sit or not.”
“I have a long drive ahead,” she answered with a tired smile. “I probably shouldn’t be drinking unless you’re ready to provide me with shelter for the night.”
He grinned. “That could be arranged,” he drawled with a mischievous wink.
Her cheeks famed red “No, I didn’t mean…”
“Relax, I know what you meant.” He chuckled, setting one beer on the table in front of her, “I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of strangers. I can offer you a single bed and safety for a night. If you need it, that is.”