Three days had passed since they left Legacy. One last day on the road until they entered San Marta. At Tyler's prompting, they had decided to duck into a bar on this final night of journey. Miranda wasn't too sure about partying. Getting drunk sounded like a disaster waiting to happen when you were dealing with someone in a motorcycle club – not to mention the fact that that someone was also involved with a Mexican cartel.
Music thumped through the air, punctuated by chatter. Miranda glanced around the smoky bar, feeling equally vulnerable and foolish. She tried to forget about their current situation. This was just her and him, at a bar, enjoying a night together. Of course, the noise weaseled into her head and left room for little else.
The bar was small and filled to maximum capacity. People could barely move without becoming intimate with others. It was good, though. More people meant more conversation, more distractions, and an easier time fading into the background. Well, that's what movies and shows always told her, at least.
The first day on the road, Tyler insisted on alterations and disguises. For the first time in her life, she now possessed a pair of expensive sunglasses that almost took up her whole face, four pairs of hats, a variety of hair dyes for just-in-case scenarios, and enough makeup to last her decades. Vaguely, she wondered just how long Tyler intended to be on the road. Judging from the amount of disguises, they'd be on the run for decades.
She was definitely getting some lewd looks thanks to her tank top and jean skirt. Sitting alone at the table probably didn't help. Miranda felt like a barfly with her heavy makeup and her outfit, but it kept her from being recognizable off the bat. Being just another flirtation in the bar made people forget about her presence, even if there were men eyeing her hungrily. As soon as they saw Tyler coming, they wouldn't bother any further.
Overall uncertainty fumbled through her thoughts. They hadn't met any of Pete's loyal subjects on the road. She was beginning to hope their suicide ploy had worked. But there was still a worry that coiled around her thoughts, ready to strike. It lurked behind, a constant rattle amongst her mind.
She fussed with her shorter hair. It was amazing how being recognizable was a few short inches of hair, sometimes. She finally spotted Tyler - and his bleach blond hair - waltz through the crowd. He sported a pitcher of beer, two glasses, and a cocked grin.
Shamelessly, he had taken delight in their last few days. It almost felt like a vacation. A thought pinged at the back of his head, hard and hissing. No, this wasn't a vacation. If he let his guard down, Miranda could get hurt. While their three-day trip had been pleasantly uneventful, they'd soon be in San Marta.
Tyler swallowed the chill of uncertainty as he sat down at Miranda's table. He plunked the pitcher and mugs onto the table as her gaze flickered to his face.
Miranda cleared her throat, almost yelling above the bar's din, “So, how much longer ‘til we make it to San Marta?”
“We'll get there tomorrow morning,” he answered, flopping down beside her like a protective barrier to anyone leering. Tyler hadn't missed the looks other patrons gave her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as he filled the mugs from the pitcher, single-handed. “I figured we could check into a motel, get dressed, then go to the bank.”
“Good plan. It's almost like you've done this before,” Miranda teased as she took the mug with less alcohol. Over their three days, she had listened to plenty of stories from Tyler. About his life, what 'law-bending' he did, what outright crime he committed even. If she were working with him, he needed to trust her. Miranda had no doubt he did, especially after some of the stories he shared. Her stomach lurched a little and she took a sniff of the beer, her nose wrinkling. The smell interrupted her suddenly uneasy thoughts about Tyler. Before leaving Legacy, she didn't realize how much beer differed from bar to bar.
Before she took a sip, Tyler snorted. He slugged back a gulp of beer, then answered her, “No, I haven't done this before, Mir. Think I make a habit of running away from my problems?”
“Well…” Miranda let the word hang in the air as she took a sip from her mug. Underneath the immediate acridity, there was something sweet lingering in the alcohol. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as the last bar's drink, after all.
He shot her a glare from the corner of his gaze, both hurt and annoyed. He didn't blame her for repeatedly reminding him, though. It had been abrupt and it had left a hole in her heart. Tyler tore his gaze away from her as the first rumble of guilt wobbled through his heart. Still, he couldn't help his barbed pout, “At least I don't stick around a dangerous situation like a fool.”
Miranda whipped around so quickly, Tyler almost feared she'd get whiplash. Her green eyes flared with rage and he resisted the urge to sink down in the chair. That was very much the wrong thing to say.
“Well, if you think that, then we should just hole up in our motel room.” Miranda's voice dropped low, but seemed to cut through the noise of the bar. Each word was punctuated with a painful chill. “’Cause, you know, danger.”
She pushed herself away from the table and her chair scraped noisily against the floor. He winced, but had no choice other than watching her cleave through the crowd. His words had been said out of spite. Now, he should pay the price. The bar atmosphere wasn't doing it for him tonight, anyway. Sighing, Tyler got to his feet and moved after Miranda.
* * *
Her thoughts steamed as she powered through the crowd. Her fingers curled into fists as she sought her way out of the hot and smoky bar. The last corner reaped no escape. Perhaps this side would assist her. Some fresh air would help her mood. Her lungs shriveled in her chest, suffocated from anger and heat.
Did Tyler even want her around? Or did he only agree since she wore him down? Her heart deflated at the thought. She swallowed down the bile climbing up her throat and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She needed to get outside. Heat mounted inside her, pressing down on her from every direction, making her claustrophobic.
A man turned and Miranda found herself covered in something cold, wet, and sticky. She gasped, her eyes flicking from the exit to who just spilled beer on her.
“Oh, hey, sorry!” He yelped, fumbling with his glass as he sought somewhere to set it.
“It's al lright,” Miranda sighed and glanced up at the stranger. Her heart froze and her eyes widened. She resisted the urge to tug on her newsboy cap – which wasn't even there - as Mike Franklin eyed her apologetically. Bile climbed up her throat. She couldn't string together any more words. And, all the while, the beer soaked into her shirt and bra.
He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing into a valley. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”
“I-I don't think so,” stuttered Miranda as her heart thudded violently against her ribcage.
He peered at her closely, before shaking his head. Another apologetic smile twitched across his lips as his face pinched with apology. “Let me go get you some napkins. Again, I'm really sorry, miss.”
Miranda sighed in relief as the bald man took off in search of napkins. Her stomach churned, thinking about how courteous Baldie had been. Then again, he had been all smiles at her apartment, too. Fighting down vomit, she stalked out of the bar. In the cold night air, she inhaled deeply. The chill sunk into her lungs, solidifying in her veins.
The heat from the bar, her anger, and her fear eased. She paced into the parking lot, running a hand through her hair. Worry clenched at her chest. What if Mike was in there, calling Pete right now? What if his unfamiliarity was an act? Surely, her makeup and haircut wasn't enough. Then again, he had been drinking – quite a lot, if his ruddy cheeks had anything to say – and the bar was dimly lit.
Still, her stomach roiled.
From the back of the bar, a figure trekked to the parking lot, advancing on her. “Mir!”
She whipped around, a finger to her lips as she hushed her companion, “Shhh, shut up!”
“What's wrong?” His eyebrows furrowed as he closed the distance between them. The street lamps caught her eyes, widened with fear and paranoia.
Her gaze flicked to the front door of the bar, feeling as if she were tempting fate as she spoke, “I just ran into Mike Franklin.”
“Who–” Tyler stopped short of asking as a mental image of Baldie slammed into his thoughts. He grabbed Miranda by her shoulders, his eyes wide and darting across her body. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have let her come. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I'm fine. He just spilled beer on me,” she answered, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth evoked from his reaction. “I don't think he recognized me.”
“Good, good,” sputtered Tyler, his heart still thrumming a mile a minute. He hastily patted his pockets, withdrawing the keys to the rental car. He didn't want to argue about going back to the motel room any longer. Especially not with Baldie trotting about the bar. “Let's get back to the motel.”
“Yeah,” whispered Miranda, nodding her head once. She followed Tyler through the parking lot, keeping her head down. Her gaze flicked to the front door of the bar, fearful it would be opened by a familiar face just as they beat a hasty retreat.