I pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road and searched the glove box for something, almost laughing when I found a massive switchblade.
“What the …?”
Rowan paled even more than he already had when I sliced the point of the knife through the material of his jeans and ripped, exposing a gash about five inches long on the center of Rowan’s thigh.
“Shit!”
“I’m sorry …” he mumbled.
We had no clothes, no money, and no cellphone. We had nothing but this car and a glove box full of papers I couldn’t imagine the owner had needed to hold onto. Rowan needed stitches but I couldn’t do it here in the car. I had to find some help.
I threw the car back into drive and searched the roadside for a busy venue, a bar or a restaurant, someplace where the customers wouldn’t be paying close attention to their wallets. Tension strummed in my body like a well-tuned guitar as I drove, expecting Rowan to fall over at any moment. The bleeding had stopped, but it would start again if he so much as moved his leg the wrong way. I couldn’t have him bleed to death before I could find help.
Relief rushed through me when I spotted a large truck stop just over the next rise in the land.
“Listen to me,” I said, leaning close to Rowan after I pulled to a stop in the parking lot, “I need to go take care of something. You stay still. Don’t move around too much, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right back. Promise me you’ll be here.”
“I promise,” he said, his lips pale as they formed the words.
I doubted if he could move more than a foot outside of the car. But that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways for him to leave me.
I ran into the convenience store. It was connected to a large restaurant filled with truck drivers and families on vacation. I knew I looked harried so I stopped into the bathroom and took a moment to improve my appearance. I chewed on my bottom lip, made it red, and washed my face in cold water to bring out color in my cheeks. Then I unbuttoned the top few buttons on my blouse, exposing just a hint of my small breasts. It never hurt to offer a little distraction.
For a woman who’d just been caught up in a massive bus accident, I looked pretty good.
There were plenty of marks. A few of the men looked at me as I came into the room, but choosing one of them would be asking for trouble. They’d expect something for the attention they’d be so willing to show. It had to be someone minding their own business, someone who wouldn’t expect me to notice them. Someone who would be grateful for my attention.
I chose a guy sitting alone at the counter, a gray-haired man who was just about finished with the plate of chicken he was working on.
“Warm outside,” I said as I settled on the stool beside him.
“It is.”
He glanced at me as he pushed the last piece of bread into his mouth. He didn’t chew right away. He was too busy trying to look down my top. I smiled politely, tugging at my blouse to pull it a little tighter along the line of my cleavage.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how far we are from Pensacola, would you?”
“Just about forty miles.”
“Good. I should be able to be there in less than an hour.”
I got up and started for the door, but he moved up behind me, falling into step with me.
“You got a ride?”
“I do.” I shrugged my shoulders. “At least, I think so. My car’s been giving me a little trouble, but I think …”
“Why don’t you let me give you a ride? I’m going right through there and wouldn’t mind the company.”
I turned into him and smiled sweetly. “I think that would be great. Why don’t you let me get my stuff and freshen up a little and I’ll join you out there?”
“Great. It’s the blue truck by the pumps.”
“Thank you … what’s your name?”
“John.”
I smiled brightly, resting a finger on my lower lip. “We’ll have a good time, John.”
He walked away and I moved down the aisles, searching quickly for some first aid supplies and a sewing kit. They didn’t have as many options as I would have liked, but I found what I needed. I tossed it all on the counter and slid the woman a twenty from John’s wallet.
“Is there a motel near here?”
The clerk jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Five miles that way.”
“Thanks.”
Rowan was so pale when I got back to the car. But he managed a slight smile as I threw my bag into the backseat and took off, trying not to drive by the pumps.
“Everything okay?”
I nodded. “We need to find a place to hide out. An empty house or an abandoned building. Something where no one would think to look for us.”
“There’s a sign for a motel,” he said, gesturing weakly.
“Too obvious.”
We got off the interstate and wandered north, driving through small communities here and there until I finally caught sight of a For Sale sign outside a whole line of houses in what looked like a new development. I drove around for several minutes, watching the windows for any sign of nosy neighbors. There didn’t seem to be any occupied homes in the area.
I pulled into the alley behind one particularly large brick home and left Rowan again, slipping up to a back door. It was locked, but it was a cheap lock that was easy to pick. I walked around, looking for telltale signs of recent visitation or some sort of security system. There didn’t seem to be any.
Rowan groaned when I lifted him out of the car, his leg having stiffened while he was sitting. It began to bleed again as we made our way slowly through the back yard, leaving little droplets here and there on the pristine, never used, back porch. I got him inside and propped him up against the kitchen counter while I went back to retrieve the supplies I’d just purchased.
“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” I told him. “I don’t have anything I can use as an antiseptic.”
“Just do it.”
I quickly threaded the needle with thread that I’d folded over twice, making it thick and strong, but harder to maneuver through the needle eye. I had him lift his leg up onto the edge of the counter and checked the water, saying a little prayer when the faucet flowed freely. I washed the edges of the wound as best as I could. It looked like a clean cut. I couldn’t imagine what had done it, but I didn’t suppose that mattered at this point.
I carefully pierced his skin with the needle and gathered the other edge, aware of the pain I was causing him, but needing to close the wound before he bled to death. Rowan lay back on the counter, his arm pressed against his mouth as I worked. Much to his credit, he never passed out. I think I probably would have been out with the first stitch.
It seemed like it took forever. One stitch at a time. I had to rethread the needles six times. But, somehow, he managed to make it through.
When I was done, I covered it in gauze and helped him to the floor.
“Wait here.”
“Amelia,” he called just as I was about to slip out the back door again.
“What?”
“Be careful.”
I just nodded. There was too much to be done to stop and think about anything else.
I climbed into the car and retraced our steps, driving back down to the interstate. I hadn’t realized how far we’d gone—I was beginning to wonder if it was really such a good idea—to the motel we’d passed not far from the truck stop. That was where they would expect to find us, so that was where I was going to leave the car. I wondered if John the truck driver was still waiting for me at the truck stop. I felt a little bad for that trick, but if I’d just tried to lift his wallet, a truck driver like him would have realized what I was doing right away and would have raised an alarm. I couldn’t let him do that.
I parked the car at the back of the motel and walked several blocks to a small shopping center. I bought clothes and towels in a thrift store and more bandages and other supplies i
n a drugstore. The liquor store was an important stop, too, the cheap whiskey likely not as good as the more expensive stuff we’d had last night, but it would work.
I called an Uber and had it take me to a restaurant in the center of the little community near the house where I’d left Rowan. It was a roundabout way of getting back to him and it was getting dark as I finally approached the back of the house. My heart jumped into my throat when I walked into the kitchen and he wasn’t there, just a pool of blood that had formed on the floor at some point since we arrived.
What if someone had found him? What if they’d taken him to the police? Or a hospital? Who would find him then?
I dropped my supplies on the kitchen counter and cautiously moved into the living room.
“Rowan?”
There was no answer and the house was pitch black without the faint sunlight streaming in around the window blinds. I went back to the bags I’d brought with me and fished out a small flashlight I’d purchased. Back in the living room I found Rowan curled up beside the massive fireplace, a gun between his hands.
My gun.
What the hell?
I dropped to my knees beside him and ran the beam of the flashlight along his wounded leg. The stitches seemed to be holding. I brushed my finger over them, bringing a soft moan from between his lips. He’d hurt pretty good in the morning. But he wouldn’t bleed to death.
Exhaustion suddenly settled over me. I should wake him and make him eat something, but I didn’t have the energy to even make it into the kitchen. I slid the gun from his hands and set it on the hearth. Then I curled up in front of him, my eyes closing almost instantly.
We needed rest. Things would look better in the morning.
If they didn’t completely implode and leave us worse off than we started.
Chapter 11
Rowan
Pain burst through my body. I groaned as I rolled onto my back, consciousness slowly dragging me to the surface. I hurt everywhere but the top of my thigh … and then it came back to me. The accident. The run. The stitches.
Amelia.
I opened my eyes and a dim light was coming in through the heavy wooden blinds on the tall windows in this unoccupied house Amelia had found. She was there beside me, sound asleep. Relief rushed through my body at the sight of her. I’d waited so long for her to come back last night that I was convinced she’d been found. But she was here, her face lost in shadows.
I leaned into her and kissed her softly on her bottom lip.
“Hey,” she mumbled, not even bothering to open her eyes.
“Hey.”
I ran my hand along the side of her face, ignoring the pain in my body for the pleasure of seeing her. I hadn’t realized how the idea of not seeing her again had impacted my peace of mind. She was … I don’t know. I just knew I didn’t want her to be hurt. I didn’t want to drag her into the mess that my life had just become. But I didn’t want her to disappear from my life, either.
I kissed her again. She sighed against my mouth and began to turn into me, but stopped with a groan.
“What?”
“Hurts.”
“Yeah. Sleeping on the floor probably isn’t ideal after being tossed around in a bus crash.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s your leg?”
“Not bleeding.”
She pulled away from me and sat up, her eyes moving over the wound. “We should get you in the shower and clean it off as best as we can. Then I have some better bandages and antiseptic.”
“Does that mean I have to move?”
She stood up. “I’ll help you.”
But I saw her wince. It occurred to me that in the rush of our run I had never stopped to make sure she wasn’t injured in the crash. Adrenaline had gotten her through the first few hours, but after that … was there an injury we needed to be worried about?
She helped me to my feet and I tried not to lean too heavily on her, but every step pulled at the wound on my leg and sent waves of pain that settled in my stomach, making what little food I’d managed to ingest yesterday want to come back up. We took it slow, taking nearly twenty minutes to make a trek that would normally take a minute.
Going up the stairs was the biggest issue. But it was worth it. The bathroom off the master bedroom was impressive. It was all marble with a separate tub and shower, the shower one of those walk through things that could hold a whole family of people. There were showerheads on each wall, several up high, some down low, angled in such a way that it would impossible to miss an inch even on a ridiculously tall person.
Amelia helped me with my clothes. My jeans were so soaked in blood that they were stuck to my body like glue. She was patient, peeling them away a quarter of an inch at a time. Even in pain, I couldn’t help admire her, my fingers brushing her hair from her face. She looked up and smiled, but again the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. She was hurting.
“It’s not infected,” she said once my jeans were out of the way and she could clearly see the edges of the wound. “That’s a good sign.”
“As long as the stitches hold, it’ll be okay.”
She nodded, her fingers gentle as she tested the swollen tissue. Then she pulled back and stood, stepping into the shower to turn on the faucet. When she came back, she held out her hand to me.
“Not without you.”
She groaned. “You need to clean that wound.”
“And you need to take care of yourself, too. You won’t do me any good if you’re too hurt to move.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Amelia. Yesterday was rough.”
“Will you get in the shower if I promise to come with you?”
“Yes.”
She sighed as she held out her hand again. “Okay.”
I let her lift me up and guide me to the shower. The water was so good on my sore muscles. I stood under the spray and sighed, resting my hands on the wall and just submitting to the spray. It was wonderful.
I waited, but it seemed to take too long for Amelia to join me. I was beginning to think she’d changed her mind, but then I felt her hands on my back.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I reached back and ran my hand over her bare hip. “Better now.”
She pressed herself against me, her bare breasts waking up parts of me the pain had killed. She ran her hands slowly up the length of my back and back down, rubbing my shoulders for a second and then tracing her finger around a bruise on my hip. When I felt her lips brush my shoulder blade, I turned and hobbled a little as I pressed her back against the wall. She wouldn’t look me in the eye and that told me what I didn’t want to know. Then I saw it.
There was a massive bruise spreading from her side to her belly, a dark purple bruise that suggested it was more than just an impact injury.
“Amelia—”
“It’s fine,” she said, touching her fingers to my lips. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“You could have internal bleeding. We should get you to a hospital.”
“And then what? You’ll be alone, left to the mercy of whoever is after you.” She shook her head. “I won’t do that.”
“You could bleed to death.”
“It’s a slow leak. If it was that bad, I’d be in a coma already.”
I started to argue, but she reached up and kissed me. It was my trick, using sex to shut her up. But I couldn’t pull away or deny the need deep inside of me to connect to her. I was falling off a cliff with her and I knew the landing would be painful, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed this, needed her. It just came at such a bad time in my life.
We moved slowly through the motions of the shower, careful in the way we touched one another. She’d found a bar of soap somewhere and I couldn’t even begin to express the relief at having that sense of cleanliness. She scrubbed my wound and the pain was excruciating, but it didn’t worry me half as much as the exhaustion I could see in her face and movements when she
was done.
“Amelia …”
“I just need to sit down.”
She had towels, too, which I thought was pretty amazing. She’d thought of everything even in her state. I wasn’t sure I could have done the same. I helped her out of the shower and set her on the edge of the counter, rubbing her skin vigorously as I dried her off. She smiled, a little flirt coming to her eyes.
“You’re just trying to make nice.”
“Am I?”
“So I’ll kiss you again.”
“Maybe.”
There was a pile of clothes, too, jeans and T-shirts that were closer to my correct size than anything else I’d worn these last few days. But she was dragging, having to take two or three goes at getting her limbs through the holes in her clothing. I finally lifted her up and hobbled into the bedroom, laying her on the carpet, thinking it had to be softer than the cool tile in the bathroom.
“I need to call Hayden,” she said. “Then we need to find a car and keep on the move.”
“We’ll do that. But first you need to rest.”
She nodded, curling up on her side on the floor. In less than a second she was sound asleep, soft snores slipping from between her lips.
This was not good. She was not good.
It no longer mattered what she had to say. I needed to get her to a doctor.
I hobbled back to the bathroom and searched through the bags she’d brought in there. Just as I’d suspected, there was a disposable cellphone in the bottom of one of the bags. Bingo. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Chapter 12
Hayden
“She hasn’t called? Nothing?”
“Sorry, Mr. Dubois.”
I stood in the doorway to the operators’ office, wondering if my phone simply wasn’t working. There’d been no call from Amelia even though I’d instructed her to call in this morning. I expected the call over five hours ago, yet there was nothing. Where was she? Was she in trouble? I had no idea.
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