Crimson Eve (19 page)

His mouth curved. “Don’t have a lot of choice in this traffic.”

She tipped her head —
guess not
.

“I call this the Swiss army knife of cars. There’s so many different ways to configure the seats. The back seats fold flat, tumble, and pull out easily because they have rollers on them. The seat you’re in also folds flat. So for cargo space, you got all kinds of ways to carry something wide or long.”

Carla pulled her top lip between her teeth. They were crossing the freeway. Still no black Durango in sight.

“These are really popular cars. They’re our bread and butter on the lot. Very fuel efficient. It’s got a four-cylinder engine, with one hundred fifty horsepower. In 1998, Daimler-Chrysler merged with Mercedes, did you know that? They’ve parted ways now, but still, with this Cruiser, you get Mercedes parts and performance at a Chrysler price.”

They hit a red light and stopped. Carla checked the visor mirror for cars behind them. No sign of Thornby.

Brandon turned to face her, amused fascination on his face. He ducked his head, shoulders hitching. “So . . . tell me. Who we hidin’ from?”

Carla’s eyes snapped to his. He looked as calm as she felt fried. She tried to follow his lead, willing her muscles to soften, her breathing to even out. Easier thought than done. Adrenaline still rushed through her like a freight train. “Nobody.”

“Really.” He pointed his nose toward the road, looking at her from the corner of a half-opened eye.

“Okay. Somebody then. Is that enough?”

The light turned green. Brandon drove forward. “Boyfriend?”

Carla hesitated. “Yeah.”

Concern flicked across his face. He gestured toward her ankle. “He didn’t do that to you, did he?”

“No. Yes.”

Brandon aimed her a disconcerted look.

Carla blew out a breath. “Can you just drive and stop asking questions?”

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “But something tells me you’re not all that interested in hearing about this Cruiser.”

No judgment in his voice, or anger. No,
Hey, lady, let me take
you back; I’ve got cars to sell.
It struck Carla that she’d done to him what Thornby had done to her. Lured him to a potential sale under false pretenses. Not that she wanted to kill this likeable guy, but still. He’d have a right to be mad. He worked pure commission like she did.

She pressed her head back against the seat. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondered.”

“How old are
you
?”

“Thirty-two.”

He gave another of his slow nods. Checked her left hand. “Not married.”

“No.”

“Me either.” He sniffed. “I was engaged once.”

“What happened?”

“She called it quits.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay. For the best, I guess.”

Carla folded her arms. Normalcy was beginning to return to her body, largely, she suspected, due to Brandon’s easy manner. It just sort of rolled off the guy, pulled her in.

They reached an intersection and he turned left. By now they were far from the dealership. Another long gaze in all directions told Carla that Thornby was not around. She’d really done it. She’d shaken him. She exhaled loud and long, then dared to sit a little straighter in her seat.

“So.” Brandon checked the side mirror before changing lanes. “Want me to take you back now? Apparently you got away from . . . whoever.”

Take her back
. That was just it — she couldn’t go back. Carla gazed ahead through the windshield, trying to figure her next move. She was going to have to convince this guy to let her off somewhere else, allow her car to sit in his parking lot — in the middle of all the new models, where it wasn’t supposed to be.

Best not mention where she’d parked.

Brandon lifted his hand. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Oh, boy.
“It’s a long story.”

He shrugged. “I can take a longer route.”

Carla managed a little smile. In the next second it faded as tiredness swept over her. This was the first time she’d been able to let down in hours. She rubbed her forehead, dropped her head in her hands. Breathed in, breathed out.

“That bad, huh.”

She pulled her fingers away. Pressed her head back against the seat. No lies would come to mind, nothing
to placate him as to her strange behavior. She simply had no energy to create. “You want to know the truth? It’s not a boyfriend. Someone’s trying to kill me.”

Silence. Carla could almost hear the wheels in Brandon’s head turn as he wondered whether to believe her. “Really.” He emphasized the first syllable. “Why?”

“I don’t know. That is, not completely. I kind of know.”

“Kind of?” He threw her a questioning glance.

“I know who, and I know what I did to make a certain person feel . . . at risk, but that was years ago. Why he sent a hit man after me now, I can’t entirely say.”

Brandon gave one of his slow nods, then mushed his lips, as if trying to decide between the first of a dozen follow-up questions. “Have you called the cops?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know which ones to trust.” She told him about the state trooper.

“Wow.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You think the
police
are in on this? Must be some mighty powerful person who wants you dead.”

Carla surveyed him from the corner of her eye, unsure if he was placating her. She’d slept in her clothes, her makeup had to be a wreck, her hair barely combed. She was sweaty and no doubt smelled. He probably thought she’d escaped from some loony bin.

She sighed, searching for some other topic of conversation. How about the weather? Football? How goes the car business? Her focus landed on Brandon’s left hand, the third finger unnaturally curved against the steering wheel.

“What happened to your finger?”

He glanced at it, a rueful expression crossing his face. “It’s a long story.”

“Thought we were taking a longer route.”

He threw her a half smile —
one for you
.

They drove without speaking for a couple of blocks. The awkward quiet tugged at her ears. This kid had saved her life. He deserved . . . something.

“So, Carla. Think it’s safe to take you back to the lot now?”

She cleared her throat. “I can’t go back there. I can’t get back in my car. He’ll be looking for it.”

He processed the news. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t
know
.”

He shot her a concerned look. “A friend’s house? A relative?”

“No. I can’t run to anybody. He told me if I did, he’d kill them too.” She lowered her head, felt her chin quiver. Exhaustion swept through her again, leaving her weak-limbed. You know what — she just wanted to go
home
. Let Thornby find her in her own bed in her own little blue house, let him shoot her as she slept. At least this would all be over.

Brandon fell silent. No doubt ruing the moment he ever laid eyes on her —
what did I do to inherit this crazed woman?

Carla inhaled deeply and dabbed the corners of her eyes. Okay. Enough self-pity. Use up any more of this guy’s time, and she’d owe him a car commission. She blinked, taking in their surroundings. They’d followed Sprague back toward Spokane and weren’t far from the downtown area. Her sluggish brain shook itself off, thoughts and plans forming.

“See that bank up there?” She pointed. “Will you give me a sec to run to the outside ATM?”

“Sure.”

He pulled into the parking lot and close to the machine for the sake of her ankle. Carla murmured her thanks and slipped from the Cruiser, clutching her purse. That bag and its contents —including the diary — were all she had, now that she’d abandoned her suitcase and car.

At the machine she withdrew her bank’s ATM limit — five hundred dollars. Tomorrow she could withdraw another five hundred.

Back in the car, she thanked Brandon profusely. “Look, I know it’s a little farther out of your way. But could you take me to the Hampton Inn near the airport?”

He mushed his lips, looking her straight in the face. Carla saw her reflection, blue and disheveled and tiny, in the lenses of his sunglasses. “Okay.” He put the car in gear and backed out of their parking space.

“Know how to take city streets over?” she asked. “So we don’t have to get on the freeway?”

“Yeah.”

Carla tilted her head, observing him. Brandon’s even-temperedness hadn’t changed. Probably thinking
anything to
keep this lady calm
. A few more minutes, and he’d be rid of her.

They didn’t speak again until they were within a mile of the hotel. Remorse stabbed at Carla for the problems she’d cost the guy. And she couldn’t bear to think of any harm coming to him for his help.

“Brandon, I need to tell you a couple of things. They’re important.”

“Shoot.”

“I parked my car in the middle of all the new ones on your lot. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but it was the perfect place to make it blend in. I don’t think I remembered to lock it. And I left my suitcase on the front seat. Could you lock the doors for me?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. But we can’t let the car stay there. The boss is going to want to know where it came from. You got a key hidden on it by any chance? So I can move it to the street?”

“No!” Fear sloshed around inside her. “If the guy who’s after me happened to see you driving that car, he’d
know
you’ve talked to me. You wouldn’t be safe. Just lock
it up and be done with it. Tell the owner you don’t know where it came from. If it’s towed, it’s towed. That’s the least of my worries right now.”

“What about your suitcase?”

She shook her head. “I wish I had it. But I don’t. And it’s too dangerous for me to go back and get it. I keep thinking that Thornby — that’s the name of the guy who’s after me, at least the one he told me — is going to figure out what I did and come looking for my car on your lot. If he shows up, Brandon, you’ve
got
to play dumb. He’s driving a rented black Durango. And you can’t tell
anybody
you saw me, talked to me, much less where you brought me. Understand?”

“Yeah, okay. And I’ll lock your car.” He spoke lightly, and Carla knew he didn’t understand the danger, not at all.

He pulled into the parking lot for the hotel, then to a stop outside the lobby. Carla turned to him, sudden loneliness washing over her. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and pressed. The loneliness surged.

She swallowed hard. “You know, you really ought to meet a girlfriend of mine. You two would get along great.”

“Oh, really, who’s that?” His tone was dry, as if meeting any of her insane friends was the last thing he wanted.

“Leslie Brymes. She’s just a few years younger than you.”

His head pulled back. “
The
Leslie Brymes? As in hot reporter from Kanner Lake Leslie Brymes?”

Carla smiled. “Yeah, that one.”

He pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead, his translucent blue eyes widening. “
You
know
her
?”

“Hey, don’t you read our Scenes and Beans blog? I thought everybody did.”

“Huh?”

“You know, the Java Joint blog. She writes posts for it; so do I.” Carla took in Brandon’s blank look. “Okay, never mind. Jus
t . . . know I’m not the mad-woman-escaped-from-the-asylum that you think I am.”

He dipped his head, his playful smile returning. “Well, hey, count me in for meeting Leslie. I’m good anytime.”

Carla nodded. Her hand found the door handle and pulled. “Thanks so much for everything you’ve done. I hope I don’t get you into trouble for being gone so long.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” His forehead creased. “How about you? I feel bad, leaving you here by yourself. No suitcase, no anything.”

Nice to know he felt sorry for her, even if he did think she was nuts. “I’ll be okay.”

He gestured toward her ankle. “You gonna put that foot up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, let me at least help you inside.”

Brandon slid from the car, came around, and pulled her door open. Allowed her to lean on him as she limped through the hotel door into the lobby. Only when the young man behind the counter affirmed there was a vacancy for her and assigned her a room on the first floor did Brandon take his leave. Carla paid in cash and checked in under a false name — Sally Aimes. First one that popped into her tired mind.

At the lobby door Brandon turned back, gave her a little wave and a wink. “Take care now, Sally.”

She watched him drive away, thinking Stella-esque thoughts of the kindness of strangers.

Minutes later in her room, Carla finally took care of her throbbing ankle. Carefully she removed the plastic cover off the ice bucket and hobbled down the hall to fill it at the machine. Back behind her locked and bolted door, she wrapped some of the ice in the plastic, then rolled it up in a hand towel. That done, she pulled the pillows from the second d
ouble bed onto the bed nearest the bathroom. Then and only then did she collapse upon the mattress. She fussed the two extra pillows into place beneath her ankle, positioned the ice packet, then layered the two pillows from her bed behind her head.

She checked the digital clock. Almost two-thirty.

Two-thirty
. Hard to believe twenty-four hours ago she’d been in her office, researching comps for a client.

The adrenaline pulsing through her veins began to recede. As she finally allowed herself to relax, every inch of her body sagged into the mattress. Carla closed her eyes.
Breathe in . . .
breathe out. In . . . out.
So quiet. So still. She could feel her emotions, shoved to a cool back burner, now shift to the front toward heat. Somebody turned up the temperature.

Better watch out.
After all she’d been through, this just might be a good time for a meltdown.

But Carla fought it. Fear held her back. She wouldn’t.
Couldn’t
. After sixteen years she had so many things to cry for. So many hurts, guilts, losses. If she let go now she might not stop until the next century, and she hardly had that kind of time. A few hours of rest, and she was out of here . . .