Chapter Twelve
Bree
I curled up under extra blankets on the motel bed. It was the only way to get Nathan to stop hovering over me.
"Just try to sleep. Everything's fine," he said.
I heard him pace back and forth before settling down at the small table in the corner of our motel room. He scratched at his stubbled chin and shifted uneasily in the chair, but tried to stay quiet so I could rest.
I felt like screaming. Every car door slamming outside made me think those men were marching toward our thin door. Footsteps outside our room forced cold sweat from my body. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to breathe.
I needed time to think, but my mind leaped at every sound. Strange men were after us, after Nathan, and they had guns. He had assured me they didn't want to shoot us, but what he really meant was they didn't intend to harm him. I, on the other hand, was just some pawn they could probably use to make Nathan do what they wanted.
He heard me squirming in my panic. "They have no idea which way we went. And the police are looking for them now. There's no way they'll find us here," Nathan said.
I threw off the covers and sat up. "What about the police?" I snapped. "Shouldn't we be the ones going to the police?"
Nathan rubbed his forehead. "We can't. You know that."
I glanced over to the shoebox and remembered the bricks of cocaine. A dizzy wave crashed over me again, and I was glad I was sitting on the bed. Still, I braced myself against the faded bedspread and had to wait for the world to right itself again.
We needed help but we couldn't go to the police. Who else was there?
"Don't worry," Nathan said for the hundredth time. "I've got a plan."
"A plan?" My breath hitched over a heavy knot of disbelief. "What kind of a plan is going to save us from armed henchmen and keep us out of jail? We don't even know why they're after you."
Nathan winced when I put the emphasis on him. They weren't after me, the cocaine wasn't mine, and maybe the gunmen would just assume I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"The best place for both of us is on the road," Nathan said. "We're safe for now but when it gets dark, we're getting out of town."
I wrapped the blankets around me again. "How are we going to do that? What if they are watching this place right now?"
Nathan shook his head, not willing to believe we were in that much trouble. "It's taken them this long to make a move; they must be having trouble tracking me down."
"That doesn't mean they are getting closer," I said.
"All right, you're right," Nathan muttered. "The best plan is to try to change our appearances; throw them off. I'm going to shave and trim back my hair." He got up and headed toward the tiny motel room bathroom.
I squeezed my arms tighter around myself. "And what am I supposed to do?"
Nathan looked back at me, his eyes lingering for a long time on my hair and face. "You really are beautiful, Bree."
"Am I supposed to cut off all my hair?"
Nathan shook his head. "Try tying it back, put on a scarf. We'll buy some of those cheap sunglasses from the motel office. You'll be fine."
I heard him start the shower but he left the door open. I listened to the peaceful hiss of the water for a few minutes and wished everything was different. I wished I had never taken that job at the diner. Maybe it wasn't too late to go back and try to make everything different, better.
"If you don't have a scarf, you might have to rip up one of your blouses or something," Nathan called from the shower.
I got up in a burst of defiance and yanked a scarf from my bag. My hair was tangled with dust, and I brushed it hard. Then I twisted it back into a painful bun and experimented with tying the scarf tight around my head.
At the right spot, the scarf made my face more angular. The softness was gone from my expression, and all I could do was stare into the mirror and try not to cry. Where was my smile? My eyes were dull, my lips too heavy, my shoulders slumped.
Someone outside slammed the lid of the ice machine and I cried out. I pulled the scarf off my head with shaking fingers and worried about PTSD. Loud noises erased my thoughts and left me blind with panic before the world refocused. What if I wasn't able to bring myself back to normal without help?
"Normal," I spat. "No more normal for you."
The shattered woman in the mirror gave me a desperate look. What in the hell was I doing? Why wasn't I trying to save myself?
Nathan needed help. I knew that from the first moment I saw him. Letting myself get distracted by his wide shoulders, his quirky smile, and those fathomless eyes had been just plain stupid. The sex had been explosive, but I couldn't be willing to trade my life for it.
Was I really willing to give up the life I knew to run away with Nathan? The idea was absurd. I had no idea who he really was or what he had done. The cold hard facts were that Nathan was in trouble and every minute I was with him I was getting entangled in his terrifying problems.
Nathan didn't even know who he was. What if he was some psycho killer who went AWOL?
Even as I thought it, I doubted it was true. Deep down, I felt that Nathan was a good guy but that didn't mean I had to be a stupid girl.
I wrapped the scarf tight around my head again and headed to the motel room door.
My hand shook as I held the doorknob, inching the locks open as quietly as I could. Nathan was still in the shower, calling out bits of advice now and then like how to use my makeup to make fake beauty marks or scars, anything that would change my face.
He didn't hear when I slipped outside and shut the door behind me. I pressed my back flat to the wall and gave the motel parking lot a quick scan. As if I could spot the people following us, and then what? I inched along the wall toward the motel office, determined to grab a pair of cheap sunglasses like Nathan had suggested.
My bag caught on the office door and the bell above the door jangled my last nerve. I fought down a clawing panic and tried to smile at the clerk behind the desk. He yawned, having clearly seen stranger guests than me.
I pretended to look at the display of travel brochures, as if I really was interested in visiting the local historical sites. Then I slipped a pair of large sunglasses into the front pocket of my bag; I needed every bit of cash I had to get back to Topeka.
"Skip the tour and head straight for the ice cream," the clerk said.
I glanced down and realized I was holding the brochure for a historic dairy farm not far out of town. "Thanks. I will."
I didn't breathe again until I was out the door and around the corner from the motel. Any minute, I expected to hear yelling voices rushing after me. Either Nathan, the motel clerk, or the men in their dark suits with guns drawn. It took everything I had not to run down the sidewalk.
Then my phone rang, and I stumbled into a crosswalk, narrowly missing an oncoming pickup truck. The truck honked at me, and I was sure my heart had stopped.
"Sorry, Janice," I gasped at my cell phone. "Can't talk now. Too busy dying of fright."
The truth was I had no idea what to tell my coworker. She had fully supported me running off to have a hot fling with a sexy stranger, but what would she say now? Knowing her, she'd make me wait while she poured herself a glass of wine and then she'd want every detail.
I promised myself I would call Janice back as soon as I was on my way back to Topeka. It wasn't home, it wasn't where I wanted to be, but my life there had been stable, boring even. I wanted boring back.
The more I thought about returning to the diner and my job, the more I realized how badly I wanted to be back there. The sheriff came in every Thursday to celebrate the end of his longest shift with a burger. He'd sneak a shot of whiskey into his soda and chat with all the other customers.
Nathan had said we couldn't call the police, and I knew he was right, but I thought about sitting down across from the Topeka sheriff and explaining the whole thing to him. He'd raise his hairy eyebrows, but listen. Then he'd reach his hand across the booth and tell me everything would be all right.
Or he'd tell me to turn myself in. Either way, it would be better advice than staying on the road with an unknown man.
I imagined just how I would explain the situation to my small-town sheriff. I came out sounding like a saint, giving a troubled Navy SEAL a ride back to his base. But when it came to the small details, like sharing a motel room, I cringed. Everyone would know I had run away with Nathan to fulfill some wild sexual longing for adventure.
"So much for a sexy adventure," I muttered.
It took me a long time to find my car again. In the rush to escape, I had not paid attention. Nathan had led us on a circuitous route, and I took a lot of wrong turns trying to retrace our steps. It would have been easier to head straight back to the bank and find my car from there, but I was afraid of being seen by any of the bank employees again.
When I came to the alley, a cold cloud wrapped around my body. The bullet holes in the cement wall seemed to echo with the loud shots, and my body jerked at the remembered sounds. I found the spot where I’d sunk to the ground, too shocked and afraid to go on, and I just stood there.
How was I going to make it back to normal from there?
My car was miraculously untouched, and I almost cried out with joy when I spotted it. My hands shook as I fitted the key into the driver's side door, but soon I was safe inside. It didn't matter that I only had a half a tank of gas left; it was enough to get me out of town.
I eased my way down the alley, taking one last glance at the bullet holes. It felt good to say goodbye to them and know I was on my way to forgetting the whole terrifying thing had ever happened.
It wasn't so easy to say goodbye to Nathan. I stopped at the intersection near the bank and thought about driving back to the motel. He'd be looking for me by now, so our room would be empty.
I felt a twinge of guilt. I was leaving Nathan to deal with a mountain of problems on his own. And I was making him go forward on foot.
I forced myself to remember the fat rolls of cash in that scary little shoebox, and I told myself not to feel bad.
"Don't look back, Bree," I said.
Then I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the dark car turn through the intersection and follow me down the road.