Pretty Sly (13 page)

There was a pause then, a clearing of his throat.

“Look, Willa, there’s a lot you don’t know about this situation, a lot you don’t know about your mother. She’s in big trouble right now. Those people who messed up your house? They were after her—they’re still after her. We know that she left Santa Barbara yesterday morning. I’m only telling you this so you understand that you’re in over your head. Leave now. It’s my job to bring your mom back—not yours. I’m trying to look out for you guys. Please call me when you get this message so I know you got it.”

He left his number and then hung up.

“They know I’m involved,” I repeated. It wasn’t much of a surprise. But still. This was the FBI. I folded my arms around my gathered-in legs. This was no joke.

“If you believe him. The guy sounds like a jerk.”

I pictured Corbin the night in the restaurant, skulking around us, like he was the criminal. But I still didn’t get how he knew so much about my mom or what the connection was. “He said they’re after her. Whoever
they
are.” I squinted as I processed the information. Who
would be trying to hurt her? “Did you find her car?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I think I’m close. Maybe another hour or two. So what do you think?” he asked.

My mind was going into acrobatic contortions. I picked up Aidan’s phone and stared at the screen like it would reveal additional information. All it told me was that he’d left the message an hour ago. We’d made some mistakes and we were taking major risks. I was worried.

I just wished we had something to go on. Corbin seemed to know much more than we did. And that was really unfair. It was
my
mom, after all. He was just an interloper with government credentials.

“Look, I made some coffee. Do you want some? Maybe that will help us think better.”

I nodded gratefully at Aidan and watched him head for the kitchen. He’d been up all night and he looked exhausted. I wanted to reach out and hug him. I was lucky that he was helping me sort this out. I was lucky he was so understanding. I was lucky he was here.

The phone rang again and I jumped. A 310 number. Corbin again?

Should I answer it?

The only thing in the way of finding out where my mother was, was the fear of getting caught. Maybe there was a way, somehow. . . .

The thing was, Corbin already knew we’d been in
Santa Barbara. Maybe he even knew where we were right now. And this was a life-or-death situation—I was desperate. I had to take my chances.

I pressed my finger to the screen. As I held the phone up to my ear, anticipating a voice, there was a beep: the sound of another call coming through. I drew the phone away and looked at it.

It was a text message, from someone named Sheila.

Haven’t heard from you. Miss u baby.

My stomach roiled.
Baby?
Who the hell was Sheila, and why was she texting Aidan to tell him she missed him?

Distantly, I could hear Corbin calling out from the plastic device in my hand. “Hello? Hello? Willa?”

Aidan was standing in the doorway with mugs of coffee, smiling. Panicked, I hung up and threw the phone down on the couch.

It was too late.

His smile faded into a suspicious expression. “Willa, did that guy just call again? Did you pick up the phone?”

“I—”

“You know they can trace us, right?” He dropped my mug so quickly on the desk that the contents spilled over the side. “You know it’s only a matter of time now.”

“Sorry, but I just—” My thoughts were all tangled up. It was all happening too fast. I couldn’t explain why I’d
done what I’d done, or tell him what I’d just seen on his phone.

“Were you going to turn us in? Don’t you think you could’ve asked me first? I mean, aren’t we in this together?”

“We are. I wasn’t going to turn us in. I wanted to find out more about my mom.”

“The guy’s FBI, for chrissakes. Do you even get how screwed we are? Get your stuff together. We have to leave.”

He stormed upstairs.

I fumbled around in the office to find a pen and paper. Quickly, I scrawled a note.

Dear Mr. Beasley,

Thank you for the use of your home. We will repay

you for your services. Consider this an IOU.

I briefly thought about using another name, or not signing it at all, but what the hell did it matter now? Corbin said they knew I was involved. I put the pen back to the paper and wrote,
Best, Sly Fox.

Aidan thundered down the stairs. He was wearing a sweater-vest and a driver’s cap I didn’t recognize and carrying his backpack. He threw me the (stolen) clothes I’d picked out the night before. “Get dressed. Let’s go!”

As soon as we got back into the Volvo, we could hear the sirens, a distant whine.

“Is that for us? They couldn’t have traced us that quickly, could they?” I asked, panicking.

He shook his head. “It’s probably the local police. Maybe the guys from the hotel. Unless you want us to turn ourselves in, I’m just going to gun it.”

I nodded, giving him my assent. “We’re not giving up now.”

He hit the gas and we tore up the driveway and out into the street. It was still early morning and the fog was thick, curdling close to the ground. Overhead the sky was gray. Darker than overcast. The asphalt was barely visible beyond a few feet.

The sirens were getting louder, but I couldn’t see much behind us. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, but I’m heading away from town. There’s gotta be more cops down there.”

“We need to get rid of this car,” I said.

“Later. No time now.”

We had no GPS, but if I had to guess, it seemed like we were driving north into the mountains. I turned around again and I could just make out the red and blue lights bouncing off the fog.

“They’re catching up.”

I had a flashback to the night I was caught breaking into Kellie’s house, how the police chased me down, first on my bike and then on foot as I ran through the desert—how terrified I was in the dark, pure adrenaline fueling me onward. Then the horrible moment when
they caught up with me, literally dragging me down into the dirt before they dumped me in juvie. No way was I going through that again.

“Faster,” I urged Aidan, my voice scratchy and ragged.

“I can barely see.”

“C’mon!” I shouted.

The yellow lines of the road seemed to drop off as we hit a fork. Aidan braked suddenly and scrambled to steer the car, choosing the right turn. “God, I wish I had my Mercedes right now,” he said. “This thing’s got no suspension.”

We snaked around to the left, then around another long hairpin curve that had me grasping the roof handle so as not to slam my head against Aidan’s. The turns were making me queasy. I’d never been good on long car rides and this one was like a roller coaster. The sirens droned behind us like a swarm of angry wasps.

“What if they shoot?” I asked, realizing suddenly that there was a fate worse than getting caught.

“They won’t,” Aidan said. “We don’t have a gun, and we’re just kids.”

I wasn’t so sure they saw us as “just” anything. And I didn’t know how much longer we could keep going like this. Driving fast wasn’t enough. At some point we would have to do something to shake them.

At the same time I felt sick. And sicker. Nausea gripped me as the car weaved and bobbed along the windy road. I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to gulp down some air.

“What’s wrong?” Aidan asked.

“Carsick,” I said.

“You picked a great time for that.”

I waved him off. “Just keep going.”

Aidan veered onto a small dirt road. The car bumped and rattled as he drove over rutted ground.

“How do you know where it’s headed?”

“I don’t,” he said plainly.

The road was so rough that Aidan had to slow down. We could feel the engine vibrating as the old Volvo tried to weather the rustic conditions. My insides lurched with every bump.

The cops were undaunted by the off-roading. They were getting closer. I could see their car now from my side mirror, the headlights growing larger in the little square.

“You have to go faster,” I said, wiping the sweat that collected on my brow.

“I can’t go much faster. Not without blowing a tire here. This road is really rocky.” He made another sharp turn, throwing the car to the left.

My stomach heaved. “I—”

“What?” he said, glaring at me. “You what?”

“I’m going to be sick now.” I pulled down the window as quickly as I could and stuck my head out to barf.

“Oh my God,” Aidan said, breaking into a grin. “That is so nasty.”

“Shut up,” I said, wiping my face. I was grossed out, and truly humiliated. “I couldn’t help it.” Did he think I actually wanted to do this? In front of him? And did he
have to act like a ten-year-old, now of all times, with the police chasing us?

“No, not you. Look behind you.”

I turned. “I don’t see them. Did they pull off?”

“You puke-bombed them.” He broke into hysterical laughter.

“I what?”

“It’s too good. I wish I’d thought of that.” Aidan’s eyes darted up to the rearview mirror. “They swerved. They’re not behind us anymore. I thought my skilled steering might do the trick, but it was your projectile vomit. Classic.”

I was still too stunned to laugh. My throat hurt and my mouth was sour. “Do you have any gum?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Unless our buddy keeps some in his glove compartment.”

I checked but there was nothing. Ugh. “Now what?”

“We keep driving.”

We were headed into the deepest part of nowhere and yet the road continued to climb, with steeper drop-offs on either side. After a while, the ocean came back into view, and the openness felt like a temporary relief. At least we could gauge which direction we were headed in.

“Is this even a real road?” I asked.

“It’s a real road. Whether it’s meant for real cars or not, I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

“Of course it’s going somewhere. All roads go somewhere.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. I was thinking of dead ends. Cul-de-sacs. Circular drives. And a Talking Heads song my mom liked.

Aidan reached over to turn on the music. The car swerved a bit as he leaned away from the steering wheel.

“Do you mind if we don’t?” I asked quickly. “I just feel like we should be concentrating.”

“Since I’m the one driving and doing the concentrating, I’d like to have some music. It helps me concentrate better.” He flipped it on, and started to fiddle with the buttons.

“At least let me do that,” I said. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Bossy bossy.”

“Look, I just don’t want us to die, okay?”

And then, like some kind of evil sign from the cosmos, it started to rain. Hard. The water pounded in translucent columns into the earth. Within minutes, I could feel the dirt dissolving beneath us into slippery mud.

Aidan turned on the windshield wipers and they left a dusty smear across the glass. The Volvo went sloppily around yet another curve and I could feel that we were slipping. Sure, we’d lost the cops, but now we were driving the most treacherous course I’d ever seen.

My entire body was clenched in fear.

“You could maybe slow down a little bit now,” I suggested.

“Ah, now she wants me to slow. You can’t have it both ways, Colorado.”

That nickname again. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought I was special. Like I was the only one he’d ever kissed. Please.

Why should I be surprised? Everyone said he was a player.

My bottled-up fear exploded into anger. Why was I letting this person, this person who probably didn’t even have any real feelings for me, be in charge of my destiny?

But being pissed at Aidan was a luxury I couldn’t afford right now. We had to make it out of here first.

Aidan swerved to avoid a big pothole. The Volvo, losing traction on the back wheels, fishtailed, and we swung around violently. Aidan slammed on the brakes but the car careened sideways, skidding in the mud.

I screamed. He screamed.

We were face-to-face with the very edge of a cliff and, several hundred feet below, the ocean.

And the car was still moving.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the plummeting fall. I gripped the door handle and bit down on my lip.

Dead. We were dead.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

ELEVEN

I COULDN’T BEAR
to look. Not until the brakes squealed, Aidan yanked the wheel back, and we slammed into a tree.

The crash was so sudden, so forceful, that I was heaved out of my seat, the seat belt cutting into my chest the only thing bracing me from the windshield. That, and Aidan’s arm, which was thrown across me.

Somehow, even in the insanity of the moment, I felt acutely aware of this gesture.

He’s trying to protect me.

There was the ferocious sound of ripping metal and shattering glass.

Then, quiet. The sound of our breathing. The eerie stillness of the forest. The patter of fat raindrops drumming on the windshield.

I clutched at my stomach and chest and turned to him. He had a hand on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” My words sounded high and tight, my voice hoarse. It must have been the screaming.

“Seems like it.” He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head around on his neck. “You?”

“I think so.” There was feeling in my fingers. And my toes. That was a good sign.

I reached down to unbuckle myself.

We slowly opened the doors and inched our way up and out of the car. Standing gingerly, I felt around to make sure I hadn’t broken any bones. Aidan turned around and I examined him, too. Neither of us had any cuts. I could feel a bruise starting on my rib cage. I felt along my torso for other tender spots.

“Sorry if I hit you there,” Aidan said. “I just didn’t want you to go flying.”