Rules of Survival(9)

He dragged the chair close to the bed and gestured for me to continue.

I used his earlier analogy—because really, it was pretty perfect. “He was aiming to make a corpse, not a capture.”

Shaun’s right eye narrowed while the left brow rose slightly. Suspicion. One of the lessons Patrick obviously failed to teach this guy was to never take anything at face value. He clearly didn’t think little old me could have possibly escaped a situation like that. “So what happened? How did you get away?”

“He had me cornered. We were on top of an overpass on the highway and I jumped. Landed in the back of a construction truck. I knew some people in the area, got help, and ran like hell.”

He didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Oh, is that all? Sounds nice and easy.”

“It wasn’t,” I snapped. He was beginning to piss me off. I didn’t deal well with condescending. “It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever had to do. Trust me, that’s saying a lot.”

“Okay…fine. You got away. But that doesn’t tell me why you went back to the cabin.”

“I know my mom was no angel.” The letter mentioned getting information to someone. But what—and who? I’d lost it before getting to the key parts. It mentioned being wanted for murder, and I had a feeling whatever was on that page proved she was innocent—and probably named the real killer. I’d bet my fingers it was the same person who’d killed her. And the same person trying to kill me. It was mostly theory, since I’d lost the letter, but it was all I had to go on. “I’m not stupid. One of the jobs she got mixed up in got her killed. Somewhere along the line, she screwed up covering her tracks.”

“And you thought you’d find what—evidence at the cabin? The police were all over that place. I hate to say it, but the stuff they found points to you.”

“I know there’s no crime scene evidence. All that crap is long gone. But Mom knew someone was coming. We only went back to that cabin when things got hot. Just before—” I swallowed the lump creeping up my throat and blinked back a rush of involuntary tears. I would not cry in front of this guy. I would not. “Just before she died, she told me to come back when it was safe. That she’d left me something.” There was more to it than that, but it was none of his business.

His eyes widened. “Did you find— That paper…the one you almost got your head shot off trying to get. That was it, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I blew it. I knew from day one that I had to go back to clear my name, but I was biding my time until it was safe. After those guys tried to cut me down in Texas, though, it really sank in.”

“What did?”

“I’ve been running for a year now by myself. I’m tired and I’m getting sloppy. I needed to find a way to end this before it ended me. I risked everything to go back, and I lost the damn letter.” I rattled the chain. “I failed.”

He actually looked sympathetic. “Maybe not. Maybe there’s another way?”

“I’m as good as dead without it. I can’t prove I didn’t kill my mom, and if I can’t prove it wasn’t me, then I can’t get the real killer off my back—not that any of that matters now.” I pinned him with my best evil glare. “You know, since you bozos are going to hand me over to the killer.”

He rolled his eyes again. “So what did it say? The letter?”

“I didn’t get to read much of it, but I do remember seeing a name. Mick. And another name. It began with a T—didn’t see the rest of it.”

Curiosity turned to skepticism. He slouched forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I lied.

“And I’m guessing you don’t know who this Mick guy is?”

“No idea.” I twisted my arms and wiggled my fingers. The feeling was nearly gone from the left ones. “Could you please undo this? I can’t feel my hand anymore. I swear I won’t run. I don’t even know where we are.”

“You just got finished telling me someone stabbed you and you hopped off a bridge to get away.”

“Overpass.”

“Whatever.” He stood, frowning. “Somehow I doubt a little thing like lack of location knowledge would stop you from getting away.”

He was smart—I’d give him that. And it would have been an admirable trait if it wasn’t getting in the way of my escape. “Okay, you have a point, but—”

Shaun’s hand shot out and covered my mouth. After I got over his audacity, I did the first thing that came to mind. I bit him. He jumped and cursed quietly, turning back to me with a look of pure shock. I was about to tell him he got what he deserved when I heard it. The faintest rattle. Clinking metal. The kind of noise a doorknob made when someone was trying to quietly open a door—or pick the lock.

He removed his hand and held a finger up to his lips. I nodded, twisting around to tug furiously—although quietly—on the cuffs again as he tiptoed toward the door.

“Is that the pizza?” Shaun called out. He crept across the room and peered through the peephole. After a minute, he turned to me and mouthed, “Someone’s blocking it.”

When I had no luck freeing the cuffs from the bedpost, I pointed furiously at them as Shaun made his way back from the door. “You have to uncuff me!” I snarled.