Angel Burn (31 page)

Between the music and the motion of the truck, he almost drifted off to sleep himself. Then Willow’s voice said, “Alex, can you wake up?” He opened his eyes groggily. She was peering into the rearview mirror, looking anxious. “Tell me I’m being paranoid,” she said. “That green Pontiac back there. Is it following us?”

Immediately wide awake, he twisted in his seat. The Pontiac was cruising along behind them, about ten car lengths back. “What’s it been doing?” he asked.

“Keeping exactly that same length behind us, no matter what I do. I’ve tried speeding up a little and slowing down, and it always stays right there.” She looked in the mirror again. “I mean, I know it’s the interstate, so it’s hard to tell. I’ve just  . . .  sort of got a feeling about it.”

Willow’s “feelings” were more than good enough for him. “OK. Move to the outside lane,” said Alex. She did. A moment later the Pontiac followed, gliding across the lanes.

“Just keep going at this speed,” he said, keeping an eye on the Pontiac. “Then when you get to the next turnoff, throw the wheel hard and get onto it.”

Willow nodded, her hands tensing on the wheel. An exit came up a few miles later; waiting until the last possible second, she spun the wheel sharply to the right and swerved across three lanes of traffic. Horns blared; the 4x4 lurched as she bounced up the ramp, spinning the wheel to right them. Behind them, the Pontiac quickly changed lanes but didn’t make the exit in time. Alex watched as they sailed fruitlessly past.

“Now, as soon as you can, get back onto the interstate again, still heading north.”

Willow’s eyes flew to his. “
Back?
But —”

“It’s all right. Trust me.”

With a worried look, she took the next turnoff, returning them to the interstate. About ten minutes later, Alex spotted the green Pontiac speeding down the interstate in the opposite direction, having obviously taken the next exit off to follow them. He let out a breath. “Good. They fell for it.”

Willow let out a breath. “Do you think we lost them?”

“For now, anyway,” he said. He glanced at her. “Hey, pretty good driving.”

“Pretty good trick,” she said, trying to smile. “Did you have high-speed chase lessons in school?”

Alex hesitated. “Cully told me about it,” he said finally. “He used to bootleg, back in Alabama. You should have heard the stories he used to tell.” He fell silent, pain knifing through him.

Willow was watching his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He was a good friend, wasn’t he?”

Memories flashed past — Cully smoking his cigar with a grin, shaking his head in the rearview mirror at him and Jake. And then later, Cully’s arm firm around his shoulders, steadying him, saying,
You did good. You did good.
Alex cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ve known him for most of my life. He was just  . . .  a really good guy.” He tried for an upbeat tone. “Wow, look, another depressing topic.”

“I don’t mind depressing topics,” said Willow softly.

“I do.” He leaned back in his seat again, stretching his legs out. Deliberately, he changed the subject. “Do you want to stop and grab something to eat soon, if there’s a drive-through?”

“OK,” said Willow after a pause. Then she gave him an arch look. “It’s time for a coffee break. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it? You need your caffeine fix.”

The urge at that moment to reach across and touch Willow — to link his fingers through hers as she rested her hand on her thigh, or stroke her bright hair back from her temple — was almost overpowering. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yep, definitely time for a coffee break,” he said, closing his eyes. “You see right through me.”

THEY SLEPT IN SHIFTS that night, driving steadily northwest. The states changed from California to Nevada and then back again as they danced with the border, leaving the desert behind them and entering the mountains — the Sierra Nevada. By around six a.m., the route had grown so steep that Alex had to keep changing gears as he steered the truck up the twisting roads. He knew that hidden in the predawn shadows, there was a drop of several hundred feet to one side, with only a flimsy guardrail between it and the truck. In several places, the sweep of their headlights showed skid marks, where cars had crashed into it.

Finally, on the mountain side of the road, he spotted the hard, rocky scrabble that he remembered from the camping trip with Jake, when they’d first found this place. Engaging the four-wheel drive, Alex steered them off-road and the truck obediently started up the hill. A minute later, they’d rounded a bend, taking them out of view from the main road.

Willow stirred, lifted her head. “Where are we?” she asked sleepily, her blond hair tousled. Glancing at her, Alex found it hard to take his gaze away; she looked so soft and vulnerable.

“Not there yet,” he said. “Go back to sleep if you want.”

Instead she stretched and sat up, peering out the window. “The place is up here?”

“Yeah, about fifteen miles back in the mountains.” He concentrated as he drove; the way was even worse than he remembered, even in a truck like this. They moved slowly, rocking from side to side as the 4x4 crawled upward.

After more than an hour, they finally came to a high, stony valley, with grass and shrubs growing resolutely between the rocks. Alex parked the truck. They were in a sort of bowl in the middle of the mountains; around them, the morning sun tinged the peaks with a golden light, making them appear to glow from the inside.

“This is  . . .  beautiful,” said Willow, shaking her head with awe. “Are we camping?”

“Kind of.” Climbing out of the truck, Alex suddenly felt happier than he’d felt in a long time. The air was so fresh up here that it hit you like a rush of adrenaline, waking you up and making you feel alive. He grinned at Willow. “Come on, it’s time for the hiking boots.”

They got their boots on, and Willow pulled the bright red sweater over her head. He had been right; it looked great on her. “This place is gorgeous,” she repeated softly, taking in the early morning mist that curled about the valley and the evergreens that spiked toward the sky. Then she glanced at the truck. “Wait a minute. Do we have to carry all this stuff?”

“Yep. It’s not far.” Alex grabbed one of the boxes, and Willow did the same. There was a thin deer trail leading steeply up through the rocky underbrush to the north. They started climbing, winding their way through the pine trees.

About a hundred yards up, they came to a clearing with a stream running through it. A small, dilapidated cabin sat nearby, leaning slightly to one side. “Oh!” gasped Willow, stopping short. “Alex, what
is
this place?”

Shifting his weight to open the door with one hand, Alex entered the cabin and dumped his box on the table. Willow followed him, wide-eyed. “Jake and I built it, sort of,” he said.

“You —
really
?”

He nodded. “Sometimes we used to go off camping on our own for a couple of days, on the way back from a hunt. When we found this place, it had half fallen down. We came back here a couple of times, fixed it up some.” Glancing around him, Alex realized that he’d forgotten how basic the cabin actually was. There was greenish moss growing on one of the walls, and the ancient camping bed looked like something had been nesting in it. Still, it was better than being shot at.

Willow’s eyes were shining. “You’re a genius,” she said fervently, dropping her box down beside his. “Nobody will ever find us here.”

He smiled. The cabin was pretty much their only option, but he was glad that she didn’t mind it. “Just don’t breathe too hard, or the roof might cave in.”

They started moving the rest of their things inside, hiking back and forth from the truck. Willow took her sweater off, tying it around her waist. “I wonder who used to live up here, anyway?” she said as they started up with another load. Her cheeks were pink with exertion.

“Probably a prospector,” said Alex. He was carrying a box on his shoulder as he moved up the trail. “There’s a sort of wooden contraption behind the cabin, like you’d use to pan for gold.”

“What, like the forty-niners? Do people still do that?”

“Yeah, I guess  . . .  just drop out of life and go off panning.” Out here in the middle of nowhere, with only the mountains and the sky around them, Alex could see the appeal. If there weren’t any angels in the world, he’d be tempted to do something like that himself.

When all their things were finally in the cabin, Alex got the camping ax from one of the boxes and they went back down to the truck, where Willow helped him camouflage it so that it couldn’t be seen from the air. First they hacked off slim, prickly branches from the surrounding pine trees, then wove them into a screen on the truck’s roof and hood, securing it all in place with twine.

“Look at us: we should start a camouflage business. Do you think it’ll hold?” said Willow finally, taking a few steps back and studying their handiwork.

Alex replaced the ax in its leather case. “Should be OK. We’ll keep checking on it to make sure.”

She shook her head, her green eyes admiring. “You know, I really don’t think disguising the truck would have even occurred to me.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but if it breaks down, you’re the one who gets to fix it — I bought you a tool kit, just in case.”

They climbed back up the narrow trail to the cabin. Inside, the small space was overflowing with boxes and bags. Alex started shifting them into some kind of order, glad to have something to do. All at once he was very conscious of the fact that he and Willow were out here alone together, sharing the same small, intimate space.

Willow helped him stack the food boxes at one end of the cabin. She had fallen silent since they’d gotten inside, and he saw her give him a troubled glance when she thought he wasn’t looking. After several minutes, the quiet felt like it might choke him. He cleared his throat. “I got a camping stove and some gas for us to cook with  . . .  I mean, it won’t be great, but —”

“No, it’s perfect,” said Willow. Her eyes flashed to his and then away again, her face reddening. She turned quickly and put her clothes bag in the corner, rolling down its plastic top. Alex started to say something, but stopped as the realization thundered through him.

She felt the same way about him.

He hadn’t been sure. Even when he’d almost kissed her, he hadn’t really known what she was feeling — apart from that somehow she liked him, even after what a jerk he’d been to her to start with. But now  . . . 

It doesn’t change anything,
Alex told himself dazedly.
It’s still a really bad idea.
Even so, he stood frozen, staring at her as the world seemed to shrink around them.

Straightening, Willow self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not meeting his gaze. “Listen, is it possible to  . . .  ? I mean, I’d sort of like to get washed off and changed, but —”

Alex came abruptly back to himself. “Yeah, there’s the stream, but it’s pretty cold. And  . . .  I didn’t get a towel.” Damn. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“That’s OK,” said Willow. “I can just use a T-shirt or something to dry off with.”

Alex grabbed one of his old ones from his bag. “Here, use this.”

Their fingers touched as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

He turned away, pretending to be fiddling with the camping stove as she rooted through her shopping bag for fresh clothes. There was nothing to fiddle with; all you did was hook up the gas lead to it. Finally, Willow hesitated by the door. She was holding a neat pile of clothing with a bar of motel soap perched on top of it; his T-shirt was under her arm, along with one of the rolls of toilet paper he’d bought. At least he’d remembered that much. “I guess the facilities are outside, right?” she said awkwardly.

“Yeah. Sorry,” said Alex, rising to his feet.

“God, don’t be sorry! This place is amazing. You’re amazing.” Red swept her face again. Ducking her head away, she said hurriedly, “So, anyway, I’ll just go to the stream.” Then she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her.

Alex let out a breath. He found himself rearranging the cardboard boxes, so that a few that had been on the bottom were now on the top. He thought he’d give anything for some really hard, physical work right then — about ten miles on the treadmill would do it, or a hundred reps of the biceps press.

After twenty minutes or so, the door opened and Willow came back in, her green eyes dancing. “OK, I’m feeling invigorated now. You seriously weren’t kidding; that was
cold
!” She was wearing jeans and the red sweater; a pale blue T-shirt peeked out from the bottom of the sweater.

Alex grinned, relieved to feel the mood ease. “Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I hung your shirt over a branch outside,” she said, tucking her things away in the bag. “It can be our designated towel, OK?”

“Sounds good.”

“So  . . . ” She stood up again and gave a small, smiling shrug.

It was only about ten a.m.; they had a whole day to fill. Eager to avoid that sort of tension building again, Alex said, “Hey, do you play cards?” He dug in one of the boxes. “I bought us a deck.”