Or it could be…
“You guys got a thing for each other?” Harry asked.
“We’re just friends,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“I hope so, because you’re like twice his age. Besides, women over forty-five shouldn’t have sex. Unless they’re Cher.”
“Ready to go?” I asked Phin, giving McGlade my back.
He put out his hand, helped me up off the couch. His palm was cool, soft, and he held on for longer than necessary. I gently disengaged, and we began to gather up all the stuff we bought at the sports store.
“You sure you want to go with her, Phin? I got a thirty-pack of Old Style in the fridge, and I just downloaded the entire Pink Floyd discography from a file sharing network.”
Phin stared at me, hard. “I’m sure.”
Harry shrugged. “Okay. Your loss. You want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“My truck. It’s parked in a long-term lot on Addison.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be driving, anyone needs me.”
Harry wandered up to the cab of the RV. A moment later Pink Floyd came on, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. I used the knife I’d liberated from Phin’s pool buddy and opened up three plastic blister packages containing walkie-talkies. Then I inserted their batteries and made sure all were on the same frequency.
“I’m leaving you a radio,” I yelled at Harry over “Dark Side of the Moon.”
“What?”
“A radio!”
“Got a CD in already!”
Harry turned up the volume so high it vibrated my tonsils. I shoved the other two radios into a backpack with a portable GPS, two Bushnell rifle scopes, two forty-caliber Beretta semiautos, and several boxes of ammo. Phin was folding clothes. We’d both opted for T-shirts, sweatshirt hoodies, and sweatpants. Nikes and a sports bra for me. Boxer shorts for him. The sporting goods store also carried pan ties, but I figured I could get another day out of the French-cut red pair I had on. It had nothing to do with the fact that none of their pan ties were sexy. Or red. That Phin seemed to like red was completely irrelevant.
The RV jerked to a stop, jarring me off my feet. I reached out my hands to break my fall. Caught Phin. He gave me a look. I needed to nip this thing in the bud.
“Phin, we’ve got a lot of work to do and all this flirting bullshit has to-”
His mouth pressed against mine, cutting off my words. Phin’s lips were firm, insistent, demanding, like I was the most important thing in the entire world and he had to have me. His tongue searched for mine, touched it gently, and I didn’t pull away, instead meeting it with surprising urgency. One of his hands tangled itself in the back of my hair and the other cupped my ass and then my body betrayed me and I hooked my right leg around his and ground into him, a hungry moan escaping my throat.
I wanted his hands on me, his mouth on me, all over. I wanted to stop thinking and stop hating myself and stop being afraid and have him inside me, right away, right now. Was it wrong? Hell yes. When we were finished, I’d add it to the list of reasons I hated myself.
My fingers fumbled with the top button on his jeans, popped it free.
“Bed,” I managed to gasp in the brief second I came up for air. “Harry’s bed.”
But I wasn’t sure we’d make it to the bed. My dress was hiked up, and he already had my bra up, rough fingers teasing my nipple, making me want to do him right there standing up, and then there was a groaning sound and it was coming from me and it wasn’t a happy sound at all.
Phin stopped kissing me. He drew back, a question on his face. My tears were on his cheeks.
I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch him watch me cry. My shoulders shook, and I clenched my teeth to keep the major sobs in, but a few of them got out anyway.
Phin put his arms around me again. There was no urgency this time. Only sympathy. I buried my face in his shoulder, wishing he was Latham, wishing it so bad it made my ears ring.
Or maybe that was the Floyd.
I caught my breath and forced the pain back. Disengaged myself from Phin. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t say anything. Pulled down my bra, then busied myself instead with gathering up the remainder of our purchases, feeling his pity like laser sights all over my body.
The music cut off mid-tune and Harry called to us.
“You kids know anyone in a dark sedan? They’ve been following us for five blocks.”
I hurried up to the cab, checked the enormous side-view mirror.
The Feebies. Bastards must have tailed me. Which means they knew I was with Phin. Bad for me. Bad for him. Worst of all for Lance, if I had to spend all night answering questions about aiding and abetting a known felon.
“They’re Feds, Harry. After Phin because he robbed a bank.”
“Good for you, Phin!” Harry called behind him. “Win one for the little guy! You pay for gas next stop!”
I put my hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“We need to lose them, Harry. If they find him with us, we’re screwed.”
Harry snorted. “Lose them? Jackie, we’re driving an RV on a Friday night in one of the most traffic-congested cities in America.”
“You have to try.”
“It’s not gonna happen. He can hide in the refrigerator. I made sure I got one big enough to fit into.”
“Please, Harry.” The word didn’t want to leave my throat, but I said it anyway. “Bro.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, grinned, and slammed down on the gas.
CHAPTER 18
THE HONDA’S SPEEDOMETER is up over ninety mph, and has been for close to half an hour, but Alex hasn’t seen a single squad car on this stretch of highway. None hidden. None passing. Not even one coming in the other direction on the opposite side of the street.
It’s discouraging. Don’t cops have monthly quotas? Who’s protecting our nation’s roads from reckless drivers?
Finally, after blowing past an obvious speed trap semi-hidden by a cluster of bushes, Alex grows a red and blue tail. She waits for him to hit the siren before taking her foot off the accelerator and rolling to a stop. Traffic on the interstate is sparse at this time of night. They’re past the city limits, in the country. No stores, houses, exits, or oases, for two miles in either direction. Just plains and trees, stretching out and fading into unpopulated darkness.
The cop parks behind her, but farther out on the shoulder, protecting himself from being accidentally run over. He aims his side-door spotlight directly in Alex’s rearview. She angles it downward, deflecting the glare, and turns around in her seat to see him coming, hoping he’s not too short or fat.
Alex likes speed, and because of that she has been stopped many times in the past. Flirting, flattering, showing some leg, has gotten her out of many a ticket. But with her face the way it is, no cop will be anxious to get her phone number.
This time, however, she’s not looking for a free pass.
He climbs out of his car, and Alex is surprised. He is actually a she.
Girl cop. Cool.
Alex digs into her purse, palms the stun gun. Waits.
“License and registration.”
The cop is standing a foot behind the driver’s-side door. One hand is on her belt, near her holster. Alex squints behind her, doesn’t see a partner in the squad car. She opens the door.
“Stay in the car, ma’am.”
It’s an order, delivered with authority. The cop’s hand has now unsnapped her holster and is on the butt of her pistol. It’s hard to tell with the light silhouetting her, but Alex guesses her at about thirty years of age, tall, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. A pro, by the way she’s conducted the traffic stop so far.
But Alex is a pro too.
Alex fumbles with her purse, pretending to search for her wallet.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, I know I was speeding, I can’t find my license, my boyfriend, he hit me-”
“Get back into the car, ma’am.”
Alex takes a step toward her, hand still in her purse. The cop’s name tag reads Stark.