It was a small but well-organized secondhand shop. Izzie had shopped at places like this since she’d been a teenager. The smells and sights were more comforting than she would have expected.
She felt like she had some autonomy again.
She and Annie had spent many, many hours in secondhand stores, looking for clothes for themselves, for Annie’s sister Josey, and even for Jake. Most of Jake’s current wardrobe probably consisted of things Izzie had bought him secondhand. In recent years, they’d shopped for play clothes for Annie’s three sons—especially when money would get tight for Annie for whatever reason. Daycare for three children could get very expensive.
That wasn’t going to be an issue for her friend now.
It was a different world that men like Turner Barratt inhabited. Like Allen Jacobson inhabited, too. She had to keep that in mind.
The man probably had never worn secondhand clothing in his life. Any more than Turner Barratt had, for that matter.
The racks were divided into men’s/women’s and by size. She hit his size first. Jake was only an inch shorter, and the two men wore the same sizes. That would make it easier. She’d just tell herself she was shopping for Jake.
Jake was exactly who he appeared to be—a hardworking man who was more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts than expensive button downs and tailored slacks.
The exact opposite of the wealthy doctor playboy she was stuck with for the time being. Never would she ever have imagined purchasing clothing for Dr. Allen Jacobson at a secondhand store. Not when the man wore suits that probably cost more than she made in an entire month routinely.
He wore them so well, too.
It took her little time to find him a week’s worth of clothing, two lighter weight sweatshirts, and a denim jacket. She found similar for herself in the women’s section, including a windbreaker.
Then she made one more stop—the teen boys’ section. He’d given her an idea earlier. With her short hair and her lack of curves—she’d lost a lot of weight while in the hospital—she could easily pass for a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy at a distance. She couldn’t really disguise a man as big or as charismatic as Allen, but she could change her looks according to whatever she wanted to be. She could probably make him look a little less like the Lord of the Manor than he usually did.
He was going to draw eyes everywhere he went. No matter what he wore.
It was her they were looking for, not him. But once someone saw him, he would be remembered.
She doubled back to the women’s section after grabbing several items of boys’ clothing. She’d seen a few dresses and skirts. There had also been a blond wig, still in its original packaging near a Halloween display.
She could go from being a blond woman in a dress to a dark-haired teen boy in a matter of moments, if they needed it. There were a few more ball caps in reasonable shape. She grabbed two that still had original store tags on them.
She had three requirements for used-clothing-store purchases—nothing on her head that was used, nothing on her private parts, and nothing on her feet. Everything else could be washed multiple times and sanitized in a dryer.
She grabbed some sweats and more T-shirts for them to sleep in—he was not sleeping next to her every night nearly naked, not if she was going to keep her hands to herself.
Izzie loaded the purchases into the van, took off the air splint—she hoped, without it, she’d get fewer curious looks than she had in the secondhand store—then headed back across the parking lot.
There was a Dollar General right there. They needed socks and underwear, soap, and a few other things that Mr. Privilege probably had no idea how to buy.
She was loading the last of her purchases into the van when he returned. The breeze ruffled his hair and pushed his maroon FCGH T-shirt against all those nice chest muscles she’d admired only an hour earlier. He’d need to change that shirt—FCGH was a bit of a dead giveaway. The shirt was a tad bit too small on those shoulders and pecs of his.
Izzie was starting to feel a bit doofy looking at him.
“A bucket?” he asked, arms loaded with groceries. “Why?”
“Laundry. We may be wearing secondhand clothes from here on out, but I’m terrified of bedbugs and fleas. We’re washing the clothes first. I also got a wooden drying rack. We wash the clothes in the bucket. Rinse with the wet bath, wring out, and hang dry next to the sink while we drive. I also got dish soap for the dishes and pots. A few other things that I noticed weren’t in the RV.” She’d grabbed a cheap set of cooking pots, a four-piece pack of microwave-safe plastic dinnerware and utensils, and a slow cooker. Nothing was in the RV storage cabinets. She didn’t know if the supplies had been taken out of the van or whether the Lannings had eaten out all the time. Probably at fancy restaurants. The only thing she’d found in the storage compartment had been an old-fashioned stovetop teapot.
With five hundred dollars cash stuffed into it.
She’d rounded out her purchases with half a dozen bath towels and washcloths. He’d armed her with plenty of cash before he’d let her out of the van. “It’s outfitted for travel, now.”
She felt like she was in more control. More of a partner in this adventure—albeit a reluctant one. They were ready for travel.
She thought. She’d never really gone anywhere except one time in her life, so how was she to know?
Long-term travel, at that. Nerves tightened her stomach. Long-term terrified her. Long-term with Allen—this was either shaping up to be a weird romance novel or a dystopian horror adventure. “I got us both socks and underwear, new. Everything else needs washed—at least twice. In hot water.”
“We’ll stop at a campground and go all pioneer. Boil our clothes over a fire in this.” He touched the huge canning pot she’d found at the secondhand store and grabbed. For exactly that purpose.
Izzie had washed her laundry out in a pot like that many times as a girl, right on the kitchen stove. When she wasn’t sneaking laundry through Annie’s mother’s washing machine.
When she had had electricity to turn on that stove.
Her own mother hadn’t always bothered to pay the utility bills on the single-wide they’d rented a few lots away from Annie. Water hadn’t always been a given. Nor had electricity. Or gas for heat.
If it hadn’t been for her having access to Annie’s shower—when Annie’s mother was asleep—she would have gone to school unwashed many, many more times than she had. When she’d been eleven, she’d started hoarding old milk jugs full of clean water in her closet for those times when showers weren’t always possible.
She’d gotten to the point of showering three times a day when they did have water so she wouldn’t feel so dirty. She hadn’t exactly been able to afford deodorant at eleven—and they hadn’t had very good air-conditioning in that trailer. She’d hated it when the kids at school laughed at her for that.
It had taken her a while to break that habit after she’d moved in with Jake.
Izzie was extremely used to roughing it.
Poor Jake hadn’t understood at first.
Life with Jake had been a dream after that. It had taken her a long time to stop feeling guilty for liking life with Jake better than she had with her mother. It was almost as if those times she’d wished her mother dead had come true. Guilt and anger had been her companion for a while. Jake had seen to it that she had counseling though—even though it hadn’t come cheap.
“Let’s get the cold foods put away, and then we’ll get out of here.”
She thought that was a good idea. The semi-trucks and tour busses that had shielded them from the interstate were long gone. She half felt like they were sitting ducks right now.
They were starting to form a plan. Whether she’d ever tell him out loud or not, she was damned glad not to be navigating this thing alone.
65
Izzie was cooperating, and that was shocking the hell out of him. Allen shot his companion a look. She’d washed her hair during her shower. He wonder
ed how she’d managed it with the cast and splint. Izzie’s hair had a lot of natural curl in it; the curls were his favorite.
They gave her face a pixie appearance. Told people exactly what her personality was, in a way that fit her perfectly. With people other than him, she was engaging and funny and fiercely loving and protective. With him she was snappish and a little cranky. He hadn’t figured out why yet, but Nikkie Jean had told him once that Izzie had had a rough road with a few physicians before.
She’d reluctantly admitted that one of those physicians had been Logan.
He hadn’t had any idea that Logan had been making Izzie’s life a nightmare for several months. Nikkie Jean implied it had been serious.
He’d been too busy as temporary chief of medicine before Rafe had been hired, and his path hadn’t crossed Logan’s that often back then. Not like it had before.
He should have made a point of checking on Logan after the Lannings’ deaths. Maybe he would have been able to see.
Logan apparently hadn’t handled the grief very well. Hell, Allen didn’t know who could. His eyes landed on the air splint. It now rested on the small counter.
She should be wearing it.
He held it out to her with a pointed look. “You ok? Bruises? Broken arm? You came damned close to a torn scapholunate ligament.”
“I’m good. I really don’t want to take anything right now. Nothing more than ibuprofen. Not with us on the lam here. Acetaminophen really knocks me out, even without the codeine. What if I have to drive this getaway vehicle? I need at least one hand free. Plus, I got an elastic bandage, if needed. And…a cast and splint would get too much attention. We’re trying to be incognito, remember?”
He was starting to see what she and Nikkie Jean had in common—constant sass and snark. While it was hilarious from Nikkie Jean, it had an entirely different effect on Allen.
It made him want to scoop her up and kiss the snark away.
“No kidding. You were a zombie yesterday. For a while there, I was certain you’d start drooling down your shirt while I watched.” He knew exactly what pain management plan they were working. She was at least an hour behind on taking the next one. He respected her wishes to be clearer headed. There was no perfect answer. “If you start hurting, let me know. We’ll stop for the day, find a place where you can relax a little.”
“I’m good. No matter what. Finding a place to hide for a day or so probably is a good idea. We need to prepare a bit better than what we have. I want out of these clothes. They’re Nikkie Jean’s and way too small. I’m not changing out of them until we wash these.”
He hadn’t noticed the T-shirt and jeans she’d slipped into being too tight, but he had known they were more form fitting than he’d seen on her before.
Allen hadn’t minded. He was used to seeing her in nurses’ scrubs. He liked these tighter things a lot better.
Under her habitual baggy scrubs, Nurse Izzie was very nicely shaped.
“Where exactly are we headed?” she asked after a few minutes. She’d found a state map in the glove box and had unfolded it over the large dash in front of her. The van had a slight built-in desk area.
“There’s a campground in Kerrville, about two hundred miles away. Four hours or so. I figured we’d stop there first. It’s not quite as far as I was hoping to make it, but with this approaching weather, I think we need to find a place and park for a while. Do the planning that you want.”
She tracked the destination with one finger. “It’s not too far away. The exit is coming up.”
He normally used GPS on his phone, but he’d left that phone in Rafe’s office desk.
Allen had taken the SIM card out of the phone and stored it in a freezer bag—with the battery disconnected. Nikkie Jean had done the same with Izzie’s. Anyone looking for those phones wouldn’t be able to find them. “Does this phone have GPS?”
“I’m sure it does. Many prepaid smartphones do, now, I think.” She shot him a smirk. “What’s the matter? Don’t believe I can read a map? We don’t need GPS.”
“I’m sure you can do whatever your heart is set on, Nurse Izadora. It’s part of your Superwoman powers.”
“Funny.” She was quiet for a long while. “The exit is coming up in about ten minutes.”
“Thanks.” He had no idea what they were going to do when they made it to the campground. Boil water in the pouring rain? Not likely.
Take a real shower in the campground bathhouse? Most likely. They’d have to wrap her cast in a trash bag and tape it well first. He’d grabbed a roll of duct tape for that very reason.
He pulled into the small campground about five hours later and was surprised to see a small gas station right in the middle of it. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“Hey, it’s a convenience store. Why wouldn’t it be convenient?”
Apparently, his road companion had a fondness for word play and snark. At least she’d stopped looking at him like he truly was an evil abductor. Or a practiced seducer of innocent nurses everywhere.
“I’ll park at the pump, then go inside to see if they have a site available.” That was something they were going to have to be aware of. A lot of campgrounds required reservations. There were RVs everywhere, and only a few open sites, from what he could see.
In the smaller Class B RV, they could camp in store parking lots if the stores would allow it. But he hoped not.
Allen was a man of creature comforts, after all. He didn’t want Izzie to have to rough it in the physical condition she was in.
“I’ll fill up the tank. You get us a spot.”
Allen hesitated. He didn’t want her out of the van. It didn’t seem safe to him. She couldn’t stay in it the entire time they were on the run. That wasn’t feasible and would be damned suspicious if they stayed anywhere more than a day or two.
“Keep the cast dry. Stay by the van. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Go.”
“Do I need to give you the stranger-danger talk?”
“Go, Dad. I can fill up the van by myself. Why don’t you ever let me do anything? I’m sixteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” She shot him a rebellious pout.
Sounding exactly like a bratty kid.
He had to give Izzie her due. The woman had some serious acting ability. “You’re good. Really good.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet. I gave Jake absolute fits as a teenager; then he shoved me into a teen theater group. I’ll channel my inner brat for a while. I bought a few other costumes. Just in case. So, Dad, go.” She whispered next to him. “I can take care of myself. You’ll stand out more if you hover. I got this, Jacobson. Go.”
Yeah, but that didn’t matter to him. Not when Allen wanted to take care of her instead. He just shook his head at her and walked away.
The woman grew more fascinating by the hour.
And more maddening.
They were in luck. There was one campsite left, and it was located near the back of the extremely small campground. It wasn’t the greatest stopping point. Mostly for travelers moving through the area, rather than vacationers. Allen was ok with that.
There was a laundry facility. After he got the van hooked up to the utilities and the top raised a bit for ventilation, he’d carry over the clothing she’d bought and throw it in the washing machines. Kill any possible cooties she would be afraid of.
He strongly suspected little Nurse Izzie was a bit of a germaphobe. Even if she wouldn’t admit it.
He’d seen the new packages of socks and underwear—and the two bags of disinfectant wipes, and bleach spray and hand sanitizer. There were also a handful of notebooks that she’d put in the cabinet she’d vocally claimed as hers. He was under strict orders to stay out of those notebooks. Under pain of death.
She’d tossed him one notebook of his own and told him to be satisfied; that was all he was getting from her. The sassy expression had almost had him grabbing her and kissing her right there.
Allen wan
ted to know what she was going to write in those notebooks. Far more than he wanted to know what was in those journals of Henedy’s he hadn’t read yet. Those journals were in the bag he’d grabbed out of his trunk at the Lannings’. He should have passed them on to Marshall, but he’d totally forgotten.
She practically squealed with joy when he told her about the laundry room.
Laundry.
He’d had women react less passionately over fourteen-carat diamonds than Izzie acted over laundry.
At first, he had intended to do the laundry himself and keep her inside. The woman needed to rest. Not do laundry.
Allen kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t worth arguing with his “son” tonight. They’d asked him who would be on the site tonight. He’d written down one adult and one child after a moment’s hesitation. It would be seriously difficult to trace them if he rotated Izzie’s age and gender every time they traveled to a new location. He’d grabbed a prepaid credit card at the store that morning, and had had her activate it using one of the disposable phones, under Barry Lanning’s name.
Maybe slightly illegal, but Allen wasn’t going to take any chances with her.
That number could be kept on file at campgrounds when needed for bookings. The rest of the time, he was going to pay everything in cash. It was the best he could do. He’d bought three other prepaid cards at a gas station halfway to their destination. He’d registered one in Linda’s name, one in Logan’s, and one in Jess’s. Tactical maneuvers like this weren’t exactly Allen’s forte. If he got caught, he’d talk to Elliot Marshall.
The risk was worth it.
“Let’s go. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”
Laundry baskets weren’t all that heavy, but with her wrists injured, he wasn’t going to be stupid about it.
“We’ll toss them in the washing machine, then head back to the van and get it set up the rest of the way. Extend the slides. See how it actually works. I’ve never stayed in an RV before. Not a Class B van. We’ve always vacationed in hotels. Usually the Barratt chain.”
“Me, either. No one I knew could ever afford even one of those canvas ones that popped out. When Jake took me and Annie and Josey—Annie’s sister—camping, we did it the real way. With a tent.”
We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek Book 11) Page 20