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*
Misty forced her feet into her boots. Putting pressure onto her hip hurt, but she was hurrying, and that meant that she didn't have time to dwell on the discomfort.
Grant turned away from the door. His expression was grim. A voice outside the door shouted in: "We've got a warrant to search the premises."
Misty's eyes locked with Grant's. She looked at the door purposefully, hoping that he would get the message. He did.
She took a deep breath. She'd been running for months now, and she was used to it. But there was a difference between knowing what she was doing, and everything working out perfectly. That difference could make the difference between life and death.
"Get rid of them," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "I'll find a way out the back."
"I'll find you," Grant told her.
"You had better hope that you do."
"Here," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Light caught on the keys as they flew through the air. Misty's hand came up and caught them automatically.
If she knew what she was doing, then she'd leave and she'd do it now. The issue was, of course, that she was going to have to deal with the cops at that point. They were right outside, they'd have a good look at her license, and they would be able to call for backup any time.
She let out a breath and slipped out of view of the front door as Grant turned the locks open. He straightened, and just as she finished moving entirely out of sight she heard him turn the knob.
"Can I help you?"
"Mr. Harper?"
"Is there something I can do for you boys? I was just making some breakfast."
"Sorry to bother you while you're eating, sir."
"I understand," Grant said. He was doing a respectable job of sounding convincing. If he was lucky, then Misty might not have to run at all. She knew better than to hope for it.
"We received reports that a known fugitive was seen entering the house last night? A woman, standing a little over five-foot tall. Medium build, dark hair."
"I'm sorry, I don't know any fugitives. There's no women here at all. God, I wish!"
Grant let out a chuckle. The state guys didn't share it. Misty silently moved to the rear window, checked that the latch was open, and pushed. It was stuck, but it moved when she put a little muscle behind it. She hoped that their talking masked the sound.
"May we come inside?"
"I'm sorry, the place is really a mess."
"We have a warrant, sir. We can come in whether you'd like us to or not, but we're being polite, you see."
"Oh," Grant said. "Well, I mean, if that's the case, then I suppose I can't stop you, can I?"
Misty kept pushing. The window kept opening, though it was going agonizingly slow, and making a good deal more noise than she'd like. The sound of footsteps coming inside was unmistakable. She pushed her weight up, hard, and the window opened the rest of the way. She rolled out the window, pulled down hard on the frame, and the window closed up behind her.
Somewhere inside, they were searching, and they were searching for her. This was too close, the second time in as many days that she'd been too lazy in keeping on moving. She needed to get out of here.
There was Grant's talk of a plan, of course, but it was hard to believe that he was serious about it. After all, he was a cop himself. How long was he going to keep working to help a fugitive from the law? She shook her head and took a breath. She couldn't rely on him, not any more.
Misty kept low, turning the keys in her hand and moving across the back yard. Fifteen paces to the northwestern corner of the house. Nearly sixty seconds. She leaned past it, just enough to see. There was no one looking for her over here. That was progress, at least. She let out a breath. Keep moving.
She looked down at the keys. A car was a big advantage, she had to admit. It could make all the difference in her ability to keep moving, and her ability to keep herself ahead of anyone looking for her.
On the other hand, a car brought problems with it, too. They were easy to identify, for one thing. For another, you had to keep refueling them. Every time you stopped, it meant that someone might see you.
She let out a long, low breath and tried to decide what to do. The idea that occurred to her was one that had occurred before, but she'd never been this tight before. Never needed it so bad to get clear. She was in the open, and it only took a moment for someone to notice her.
The sound of a car driving up was unmistakable, and the answer was equally obvious: she darted over and sidled up behind a shrub. She lowered herself to the ground and pressed her chest into the dirt to watch. The car wasn't marked; it was a black sedan. She'd seen it the night before.
The men who stepped out were even more familiar, and pushed her hard in the direction of getting away as hard as possible.
She let out a breath. Leaned over the fence. There was no car in the driveway. The plan was going so well, she thought glumly. Now she was pretty much fucked, and there was no way around it.
Misty let out a breath. The sound of voices in the back of the house was the first indication that she had that things were going badly. Now she was caught between a rock and a hard place, and she needed to get free. She wasn't going to get caught here. Not after she'd run this far.
Grant came around the corner first. Misty tried to hide. The spot, however, hid from the street a lot better than it did from the backyard. He noticed her immediately, and she could see it in the way that his lips drew a tight line across his face.
"You should have left," he whispered.
Misty shrugged. He was right, she should have. But that wasn't what happened. Things had moved faster than either of them wanted. So she did the only thing she could do. She vaulted over the wooden fence at its lowest point, where it was only waist-high, and hoped that nobody would see her. It was going to involve a lot of luck, and if she was caught, then she'd be caught.
There wasn't any other option, though, and she needed to have some hope that she might escape their notice. The hope, however, was short-lived. She knew they'd see her if they looked over the fence, and the only thing that she had to rely on was the fact that it was a security fence that stood taller than she did.
The dog laying in the back yard, though, noticed her right away. And though it was taking him a minute to decide what he was going to do about the new visitor in his territory, it was quickly becoming clear that he had some specific ideas about what he planned on, and it wasn't likely to be sitting quietly and leaving her to her own devices.
Holding her breath didn't count for much. The second stretched out into what felt like hours. In Misty's mind, it could have been all day. In reality, though, only a moment passed. The dog took a step towards her. Sniffed the air. And then it started to bark.
There was a chance, however slim, that she might be able to get away with it. Maybe the cops would ignore the dog barking. The realistic chances of that were so low that she didn't even bother considering it.
She wasn't going to take that risk. She couldn't afford to be caught right now. So she got her feet under her and bolted. Her shoes thudded on the pavement. Somewhere far behind her, voices shouted.
The sound of footsteps, just behind her, was enough to give Misty a heart attack. She didn't have the luxury of being able to turn and look, though. It was a happy revelation when Grant pulled up beside her, his arms pumping to keep up with her.
Misty kept running. Car doors slammed, a few hundred yards behind. She cut to the left, jagged behind a house, over a fence, and around the house behind. A car sat in the front drive. She wasted no time in pulling a shoe off and putting it through the window.
The alarm screamed out, telling everyone in a half-mile what she was doing. She didn't care. She needed to get out of here, and she needed to do it yesterday. So she slipped into the driver's seat, and her hands ripped at the dash, pulled away the ignition switch, pulled the wires, and bypassed it.
The car kicked to life. There was a long moment where she was afraid that it would turn back off. The reasons weren't immediately obvious to her; she didn't stop to try to figure an explanation for everything.
Grant slid into the passenger seat, and she put the car into reverse, and jammed on the gas. She didn't bother waiting around to see how much of a lead she had on the cops. She found the road and ignored the speed limit, forcing herself to suppress the panic of driving at positively unsafe speeds on the residential roads. She kept going until she found a highway, and then she really let the car open itself up.
They should have seen the cops coming. She knew it, though she wasn't about to say it. If Grant agreed, then there was nothing to say. If he didn't, there was no reason to get into an argument with him. She knew what the truth was, and if he was being honest with himself, he did too.
She let out a long, low breath and clenched her teeth, scanning the horizon ahead of them for the signs of trouble. She looked out the rear-view. There should be someone right on top of them. They couldn't stay where they were, she knew that much. She let out a breath.
"What were you thinking?"
Misty peeled her eyes off the street and looked over at Grant. At the speeds they were moving, she couldn't afford more than a second, but the question was so stunning and frustrating that she wasn't about to give him anything to work with.
She pulled off the highway at the fifth exit and kept moving until she could find someplace. Without the wind whipping hard at the car, without the roar of the engine forcing itself to uncomfortable speeds, ambient noises were easier to make out. It was easier, for example, to make out that the cops weren't far behind. She looked over her shoulder.
They weren't in sight yet, at least. But that meant surprisingly little. If she kept waiting, it wasn't going to be long. At least this time, she could afford to take her time boosting the ride.
Grant followed after her. She could see in the set of his jaw that he was pissed. She didn't have time to sit down and talk to him about it; if he was going to draw a line in the sand over this, then she was going to let him. Then she'd cross it, because they weren't in a position where they could afford to be prissy.
The first row of cars had nothing worth taking. Cars that were too new, cars that were too nice, cars that were too beat up. She shook her head when she got to the second row, but a Ford truck just old enough to drink was her best bet. She tried the driver's side door. It was unlocked. She slid inside.
The owner smoked, she noted unhappily. At least the windows worked. Nobody had smashed it in, so that was a move up from the last ride.
Her hands worked again, automatically. This time she had more time to wonder. Where had she learned to do this? Grant certainly didn't look like this was something he would have done when they knew each other. It seemed unlikely that she had been involved in some kind of Idaho-based car theft ring when she was in high school.
What was her life like, that she learned how to steal cars? She shouldn't have known anything about it. But that didn't change the fact that a minute later, the car sputtered and came to life. She twisted everything off and put the car into reverse. Grant stood by the driver's side looking like he was ready to stop a train with his bare hands and sense of right and wrong alone.
Misty pressed the button. The window groaned as it rolled down. "Get in," she said.
"No."
"You're going to get arrested," Misty said. The man was being stupid. "And besides that, you said you were going to help me."
"There are limits," Grant countered.
"Yeah? What limits? Like, going up against the Feds, that's fine. But borrowing a car–"
"Borrowing!" He slammed the side of his fist into the truck's nose, no doubt leaving a dent, and then seemed to immediately regret it. "You're stealing."
"So fucking what? I'm not getting caught here because I feel bad about maybe stealing a car."
"Maybe you should feel bad, though, even a little."
Misty had already considered that idea. She'd been considering it for almost a year. And the answer was that she'd feel a lot worse if she got shot, so she kept moving and did what she had to do. Guilt was a luxury she couldn't afford. She wasn't about to give him that whole explanation, though.
"So you're staying here then, Dudley Do-Right?"
He grit his teeth until Misty worried he was going to crack one of them. "Go on," he growled, like it was a threat.
"Fine," Misty said. She pulled out of the spot. Someone stepped out of the restaurant holding a big, plastic cup. Misty's eyes met his. He took a drink, and then seemed to notice only after a long moment t hat she was driving away.
"That's my car," he said, loud enough that she could hear it. Then she put the car into drive, and stepped on it. The truck's tired slipped on the gravel, but she started to move, and she started to move hard.