A Girl Undone (8 page)

Ten minutes later, we were gone.

Selena drove, and Luke sat up front in the other captain’s chair while I sat farther back, peeking at the still-dark town from behind a half-drawn curtain.

“How long until we get to Laramie?” I said.

“Is over four hundred miles,” Selena answered. “This afternoon, I think. Depends. You travel with dogs, you need to stop more.”

The first couple of hours were quiet, but I couldn’t relax even though there were long stretches on the two-lane highway where the only light was the stars. Every time a beer truck or pickup roared up, its headlights blaring, I gripped the seat until it passed.

The dogs slept in their crates in the cramped bedroom in back. The radio was tuned to country-western, and every few miles, I’d recognize a song from last night, and I’d catch myself looking at Luke. The light from the dash lit his profile and his thumb tapped a beat on the arm of his seat.

Selena must have picked up on something. “You went to the dance last night?” she asked Luke. “How was it?”

“It was real fun,” he answered. “Band was all right. We danced up a storm, didn’t we?”

I gave him a sleepy smile, careful not to sound flirty. “Yeah, we did.”

Selena nodded at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes crinkled at the edges like she was sure something more had happened.

Nothing happened.
We were acting, throwing Hazel McAllister off our tracks. That was all.

“Hey,” I said, “could you turn up the radio, please?”

Three hours in, dawn was finally breaking, turning the snowy landscape gray white. I began checking the silhouettes of oncoming cars for patrol car lights. The RV wasn’t breaking any speed records. Fifty-five made the ancient engine groan.

About twenty miles from the interstate, the DJ announced breaking news.

“The federal manhunt in Colorado, Utah, Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming continues for Aveline Reveare, suspected terrorist connected to the recent shootout in Salvation, Idaho.”

Selena and Luke glanced at each other. She knew who she was helping.

“Authorities are also on the lookout for a man they’re calling a person of interest, Luke Stanton, the son of two terrorists killed in the shootout. Investigators have not released a description of Stanton as residents of Salvation are resisting the investigators’ attempts to question them.”

Luke’s hands curled into fists. “Son of a—”

“Luke?”

“You get what they’re doing? They’re holding my family in the church, and forcing them to talk.”

I crawled into the gap between his and Selena’s seats. “I know. It’s awful.”

“Jonas is only six and Sarah’s ten! The feds are probably telling them that they’ll go to hell if they don’t tell the truth. Or threatening to hurt Nellie and Rogan.”

I wanted to tell Luke he was wrong, but the men who’d attacked us were capable of anything.

Luke tried to swivel his seat, but I was in the way. “Pull over,” he told Selena.

She shot me a worried glance.

“Pull over! I’ve got to go back.”

“Keep driving, Selena,” I said.

Luke glared at me, his chest heaving. “Get out of my way.”

“No.”

He went to climb over me and his boot caught me in the ribs.

“Ow! That hurt!”

His mouth fell open, seeing what he’d done. “You should have gotten out of the way!” He jerked his pack out of the cabinet, and grabbed hold of the gun safe. “What’s the combination, Selena?”

“Don’t tell him!” I scooted across the floor to get to him, one hand holding my bruised rib. “Luke, no you—”

“Give it to me!” He slammed his fist down on the keypad, and the RV swerved onto the shoulder, throwing me against the cabinets.

“Stop it!” I yelled.

Luke righted himself as Selena straightened out the wheels and got us back on the pavement.

I looked up, wanting to take his hand, but knowing he’d only shake it off. “You can’t go back. Nellie and Rogan sent you away to keep you safe.”

“They shouldn’t of done that.”

“Maybe not, but if you go back, everything they’ve gone through will be for nothing.”

“It’s not right. It’s not right for Sarah and Jonas to suffer because of me.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I know.”

Luke stood there, leaning over the gun safe, while I waited, hunched at his feet, praying for a sign that he’d heard me. Then, finally, he slid the black steel box back next to the toaster. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”

“It’s all right, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“How bad does it hurt?”

“It stings.” I straightened up to show him I’d be fine.

He helped me onto the bench seat, then slid back into his seat. “Selena, I apologize for yelling at you,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“Is okay. We all get a little crazy sometimes.”

Luke leaned back and stared out the windshield. On the outside he looked like he’d pulled himself together, but his calm felt as unreliable and unsteady as the eye of a hurricane.

He had to be terrified, not knowing if his family was alive or dead. I remembered how I felt watching Mom go through hell, but not being able to help her; Mom crying for more painkillers and the nurse snatching the pills out of my small hand.

I wish you’d tell me what you need from me, Luke. I wish I knew how to help you.

I pictured Sarah’s angel face, and Jonas in his cowboy hat. If the feds hurt them, Luke would never forgive himself. And if they hurt Nellie and Rogan, he’d never forgive the feds.

The highway ended at the interstate, and Selena merged into a string of eighteen-wheelers. The big trucks walled us in back and front. The sun was hidden behind thick pewter-colored clouds. Hills of scrub went on for miles, uninterrupted by billboards or houses. Mountains loomed in the distance, but I couldn’t tell if they were five miles or twenty miles away.

I stayed tucked behind the curtain and out of sight. Patrol cars passed us, but the sheriffs inside didn’t glance our way.

When the dogs started whining, Selena pulled off at a truck stop. We put sweaters on them and leashed them by twos, then Luke walked them around the gas station parking lot before we crated them back up. Even though we hurried, it took thirty minutes with all three of us working together. We ate carnitas sandwiches, standing up, and the pork was spiced with cumin and jalape
ñ
o, but I could barely taste it. We still had a hundred and fifty miles to go before we were off this road.

We were only an hour from Laramie when the traffic began to slow up ahead. A few minutes later, both lanes were at a crawl and the left lane was merging into ours. Selena leaned out the driver’s window. “
Dios mio.
It’s the police.”

My heart started to pound.
You can’t freak. You have to stay focused.

“What are they doing?” Luke said.

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s been an accident.” I strained to see. Red and blue lights flashed, reflecting off the steel body of a trailer truck up ahead.

A moment later we were stopped, stuck in the line of traffic with no exit for miles.

“I’m going to take a look,” Luke said.

I followed him out. Black highway patrol cars lined the shoulder. “There’s more on the other side.” Luke pointed through a gap between two trucks.

“I don’t see any emergency vehicles.”

Our eyes met. “This isn’t an accident,” I said. “It’s a roadblock.”

We crept alongside an eighteen-wheeler. A couple hundred feet ahead, troopers surrounded a car. The driver and passengers got out, and the troopers lined them up along the shoulder.

People were reaching into their pockets, and I saw a man offer a trooper his wallet. “They’re checking IDs.”

Luke frowned.

A trooper pulled a semiautomatic out of the car trunk, and suddenly, all five passengers were standing spread-eagle, being patted down.

Holy crap.
I pressed against the side of the truck and scanned the land along the highway. It was flat and open with low scrub and no cover for a quarter mile to the south and more to the north. The snow was deep enough to lead the law right to us.

“Bad spot to try and make a run for it,” Luke said.

“Yeah.” I swallowed, trying to push down my fear. Luke and I turned toward a
chop-chop
sound. A helicopter was flying up the line of cars.

The troopers finished with the car they were inspecting, and moved on to an SUV. Light bounced off the telescopic mirror a trooper was about to pass under it. The passengers unloaded boxes and suitcases from the rear, and the troopers ordered them to open them.

“We can’t hide in Selena’s RV,” Luke said. “We’re going to have to bluff our way out.”

“Right.”

We turned back toward the RV and had gone just a few steps when Luke said, “I never thanked you for climbing up that ridge and saving my family back in Salvation. Not many people would risk their lives like that—”

A chill blew through me and I yanked his arm hard so he almost tripped. “No. You do not get to say good-bye to me. Not here. Not now. You need to tell me you think we can do this even if you have to lie.”

Luke glanced past me to the officers, then took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “All right. We can do this. We’re going to do this.”

Back in the RV, Selena had freed the
perritos
from their crates. Twelve tiny dogs were bouncing from the floor to the seats, yapping and begging for treats. A few had sweaters on and dragged leashes behind them.

The coffeemaker was choking out the java and Selena was stacking paper cups beside it. “Immigration comes,” she said, “you don’t run. You run, and they know:
illegal.
So you smile. You give them coffee.”

It was the same lesson Ms. Alexandra had taught me: be audacious when you break a rule, and people will assume you have permission.

The troopers were now two vehicles ahead. If they discovered Luke and me, we could not leave Selena holding the evidence.

I crammed my phone into my back pocket and knotted the wall hanging around my neck like a scarf, glad Vera and I had bleached it to a nondescript off-white. “Do you have the thumb drive?” I asked Luke. He hooked his finger on the chain around his neck. “Right here.”

Showtime.

I snapped up three leashes. Bruno, Hernando, and Felix wore their red and blue sweaters. “I’m going to walk some dogs.”

“I’ll come with you,” Luke said.

“No,” Selena told him. “You stay. Maybe she can—” Selena batted her eyes, and swept her fingers down her hair.

Flirt for survival.

Vera had pushed me to wear a short skirt and tights, and now I knew why. I walked up the shoulder toward the line of patrol cars, my heart pounding, and a hot-pink-lipstick smile on my face. The dogs tugged at their leashes.

The man in the truck ahead rolled down his window. “Hey, baby, I’m freezing. How about you come warm me up.”

Drop dead
. I kept going. Up ahead, a young officer wearing body armor, tall, freckles all over his clean-shaven face, guarded an older man and his shivering wife.

I scooped Felix into my arms and sashayed up to the officer, noting the words
U.S. MARSHAL
on his bulletproof vest. “Hey, Officer, what’s going on?”

He smiled at me, before he remembered not to. “Miss, you need to return to your vehicle.”

“Is there an accident? Is anybody hurt?” I stepped closer to the marshal and Felix stretched out to sniff him.

“No, miss. We’re trying to apprehend some felons. For your safety, we need you to return to your vehicle.” He tried not to smile at Felix, but couldn’t help it. “What’s his name?”

“Felix. And that’s Bruno and Hernando. I thought I’d walk them as long as we were stopped.”

The marshal petted Felix. “I’ve got a Lab at home.”

“Oh, I love Labs.”

“Officer Barton!”

Officer Barton snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

An older officer glared at him. “Escort that civilian back to her vehicle.”

“Yes, sir.”

Barton winked at me as soon as his boss wasn’t looking. He walked me back, handing me the dogs after I’d climbed into the RV. I gave him a big smile. “Thanks for your help.”

Selena had stripped down to a rhinestone tank, and she leaned over Luke, her breasts inches from his face as she scrunched his hair. I threw off my down jacket, and peered at Luke. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“So what if I am?”

“No big deal. Just asking.”

A knock hammered the door. Selena straightened and put on her game face. Luke moved toward the door. “I’ll get it.”

He set two dogs on the steps by his feet and opened the door. Whoosh! Cold air poured in and the dogs leaped out and dashed between the legs of the officers gathered outside. The men split apart, letting Luke tear after the escaping dogs. Through the back window, I saw Officer Barton jog after him.

The ten other
perritos
yelped and snarled as four officers climbed into the RV. I read the law enforcement division names silkscreened on their bulletproof vests: Sheriff, ATF, FBI, U.S. Marshal. The government wasn’t taking any chances.

Some dogs cowered at the mens’ feet, while others leaped on the chairs and table and snapped at them. The officers moved carefully, trying not to get too close. I picked up Nestor and hugged him to my chest. He was trembling even worse than I was.

Two officers began to search the cabinets, the oven, and the drawer under the bench seat, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they frisked us, too. “Ma’am,” one said to Selena, his hand on the gun safe. “Would you please open this?” I listened to him call in the serial numbers on the guns, hoping none would link us back to Maggie or Salvation.

The sheriff took Selena into the tiny bedroom, saying, “Where are you headed today?” I inched toward the flimsy door. What was the purpose of our trip? he asked. How was she related to the people with her? We were stylists at her salon, Selena told him.

Sweat trickled down my side. Steady, I kept telling myself. Breathe. Act like you have nothing to hide.

Then I saw the U.S. Marshal checking me out against a flyer he was holding. The top was folded over, but I could read it upside down.