Interstate 5

Stockton, California

 

Finley walked quickly, waving her hands at oncoming cars, aware that she had to get out of the area as quickly as possible, or there was a chance Zeke could talk his way out of his situation and catch up with her. But these damn people wouldn’t pull over! She practically ran every time there was a lull in traffic, needing the Walmart to leave her line of sight. She needed to put distance between them. Going back to Los Angeles was still her priority. She felt bad for what she’d done to Zeke, but she had faith that he could talk his way out of it. Just not too quickly.

A little blue sedan pulled over, but the driver took off as soon as she approached the passenger side door, the man behind the wheel laughing maniacally as though it was the funniest stunt anyone had ever pulled.

“Asshole!” she screamed after him.

She kept walking, going south this time. She no longer made assumptions about what Zeke might do. She’d gone north when she left the diner because she assumed he would think she went south, and she’d be gone before he thought to turn the other way. Clearly, it hadn’t worked quite the way she thought it would. This time, she decided she’d save time if she started in the direction she wanted to go.

“Please, please, someone pull over and give me a ride!” she whispered under her breath.

It seemed like forever. No one was pulling over even though there was a good flow of traffic. And then she saw him, that black SUV rushing toward her in the fast lane. She knew it was him even though there were dozens of vehicles on the road that looked just like that one. She knew because she could almost feel the hatred spewing all over her.

She jumped the guard rail and ran across the median, making a beeline for oncoming traffic and the possibility of an escape. She knew he had to stop the SUV, had to get out, had to jump the rail. Surely, she could run fast enough to get across two lanes of traffic before he could catch up to her, right?

Wrong.

He grabbed her, his arm around her throat, just as she reached the edge of the asphalt. He jerked her back, pulling her hard against the length of his body. She struggled against him, kicking her feet against his shins and clawing at his arm, but he wouldn’t budge. He just stood still, waiting for her to tire herself out.

“Jackass!” she cried.

“Are you done now?”

She didn’t answer, but he took her stillness as an answer. He kept his hold around her throat, using his other hand to pull her wrist behind her back. When it was secure, he released the chokehold. She dashed forward, but he held her tight, twisting her arm until she felt as though her wrist might break.

“Ouch!”

“Then stay still.”

He waited a second, them moved close to her again, grabbing her other wrist and pulling it behind her back. In a second, he had a pair of cold metal handcuffs clipped onto her. She’d been joking when she told him to cuff her. She never imagined he actually had a pair he could use.

“I’m taking you back to the car now,” he hissed near her ear. “If you fight me, you will break your arms, do you understand?”

She nodded, wondering why none of the cars passing just a few feet from them had bothered to stop. Wasn’t this the age of social media? Wasn’t it at least video-worthy?

Fuck!

He pulled her back across the rocky, uneven ground of the median, practically dragging her in a few places. She fell to her knees once, and he jerked her back to her feet, clearly not in the mood to be nice now. She was almost afraid of what he might do once they were alone together again.

“I’m sorry,” she said once they were back in the SUV. “I just…I can’t go back to the hospital. Not yet.”

“That’s not your choice.”

“Of course it’s my choice! It’s my life!”

“Not anymore.” He didn’t even look at her as he said it. He was more interested in getting the vehicle started and them back on the road. “Your husband calls the shots now.”

“Norman wouldn’t know what was best for me if I wrote it out in an enumerated list.”

Zeke had nothing to say to that.

They merged into traffic and took an exit a mile or so down, doing a quick U-turn that took them back onto the north side of the highway. Zeke sat up straight, his knuckles white as he drove in silence, refusing to so much as look at her.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeated a few minutes into their drive. “I didn’t want to get you into trouble, I just wanted to leave.”

“I could have been arrested. You know that, right?”

She glanced at him. He was staring hard out the windshield, a tendon in his jaw working overtime.

“I’m sorry. I thought you could just show them your security badge and explain the situation to them.”

“And have them call my bosses, let them know that I’ve fucked up the case?” He shot a quick glance in her direction. “No thank you.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“I know you didn’t. I know all you fucking care about is what’s happening to you, about your situation.”

“You’re damn right! Because I’m the only one that’s going to save my sorry ass!”

She was angry now, her shoulders screaming in pain and her wrists rubbing themselves raw. She wanted out of there, wanted away from him and everything that had happened over the past six months. She knew she should have gotten on a plane and gone to Europe, that she should have disappeared in Italy or France, that she could have drawn from her Grand Cayman account that no one knew about and lived quite happily for the rest of her life. But she couldn’t stand the idea of people forever thinking that she was insane. And she couldn’t live with the realization that leaving the country would make it impossible for her to divorce Norman. She’d be tied to him for the rest of her life, and that idea—as absurd and illogical as it might be—drove her back to Los Angeles.

She had to prove that this wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t psychotic. But she couldn’t do that if Zeke took her back to the hospital.

She sat back, trying to make herself comfortable despite the cuffs holding her arms behind her back. She watched the car lights flash by her window, an old sense of insecurity coming over her. She’d hated riding in cars after her parents died. Downright refused to get into her aunt’s old Ford more times than she could count when she first came to the States. The idea that what had happened to her parents could happen to her, too, drove her nightmares for years. It was only when she learned to drive herself, when she had that small bit of control over the situation, that she began to feel safe in a car. But that old fear was coming back now, burning in her chest until she was afraid she couldn’t hold back the scream it wanted to release.

“Can we stop?”

“I think we should put some distance between us and the site of your little escapade.”

“Really, I don’t think anyone will bother us. You talked your way out of it, right?”

He glanced over at her. “I told them you were my wife and it was a sex game we play.”

She might have laughed if that scream wasn’t inching closer and closer to the surface. “I really…please, can we pull over?”

When he looked at her this time, there was something almost like concern in his eyes. After a few heartbeats that felt like hours and hours passing, he nodded. “All right.”

That single phrase took a little of the edge off. But not enough.

She closed her eyes and began reciting a little Yeats poem her aunt had taught her, soothing words that were meant to focus her anxiety:

How far away the stars seem,

And how far is our first kiss,

And, ah, how old my heart.

Normally, she could say it once or twice, and it would help. Not this time.

It seemed like a lifetime until Zeke finally pulled off the highway and parked at the curb of a tall, gorgeous building not far from downtown.

“Can I trust you to stay put?”

Finley was suddenly exhausted. She simply nodded, unable to conjure the energy to do much more. He hesitated, but then climbed out of the car, leaving her there alone, her seatbelt still wrapped over her chest, her hands still trapped behind her. But the scream burning in the center of her chest was slowly beginning to lose its power.

By the time he came back, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a clean bed and sleep for twelve hours or more.

“They only had a king suite,” he said as he climbed back into the car. “I hope you’re okay with sleeping on a pullout couch.”

“I don’t care. I just want out of this car.”

Zeke released the cuff on her right wrist, allowing her arms to fall forward to relieve the tension on her shoulders. She sighed, wanting to rub the soreness from her wrist, but he grabbed her left wrist and snapped the cuff he’d just taken from her around his own wrist. He then slipped her sweater from her shoulders, wrapping it around the cuffs so that they weren’t visible. Finally, grabbing his bag, he led the way inside.

“Be good,” he whispered near her ear.

A flash of memory burned through her, Norman whispering that she shouldn’t be a bitch. She couldn’t remember the exact situation in which it happened because Norman said things like that to her quite often during their marriage. But the memory felt important.

They rode in the elevator with an older man who was accompanied by a pretty little girl with dark ponytails. The little girl kept stealing glances at Zeke and then giggling. It took a second for Finley to realize the reason for this: Zeke was making faces at her in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors.

When the man and his little companion reached their floor, the girl turned around and waved at Zeke. He waved back, a smile like Finley had yet to see on his handsome face, transforming his expression. But as soon as the girl was gone and the doors were closed, his same stern expression was back.

The room was more than Finley had expected. Part of her had assumed they would stay in a rundown roadside motel or something. But this place was clearly expensive, the furnishings all hardwood, the sheets Egyptian cotton. The main door opened onto the sitting room, a large screen television and large desk the highlights, and then a set of double doors led into a bedroom that was dominated by the king size bed and huge bathroom that wouldn’t have been complete without the whirlpool tub.

“Wow. This is nice.”

“I suppose.”

Zeke tugged on her arm, unwinding the sweater from around the cuffs and then releasing himself. He kept hold of his end, leading her around with it like it was a leash for a dog. After a second’s hesitation, he locked the free end onto a leg of the desk, allowing for her to sit on the desk chair or a low couch, but nothing else.

“Where am I going to go now?”

“This is a big city. You could get on a plane, a bus…you could be in Texas before I even knew you were gone.”

“I’m too tired and dirty to go anywhere. I just want to sleep.”

“Then you can nap on the couch. I’m going to go get a few supplies.”

“You’re leaving me here? Aren’t you afraid I’ll break this desk or something?”

“If you can break that, you do any damn thing you like, Ms. Calloway.”

Her eyebrows rose. “We’re back on formal terms?”

“You’ve chosen the tone. I’m just following your lead.”

He was gone before she could respond.

Stuck for God knows how long. What if she had to pee?

Just the thought made her bladder begin to ache.

Fucking great!