Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(19)

In the distance, she heard the wail of another siren, spurring her to movement. She staggered to the closet, pulled Kellen’s clothes off the hangers, threw them into the open suitcase on the luggage rack. She shrugged out of the cabbie’s jacket and stripped.

The blast’s heat had branded and blistered her shoulders where her metal bra adjustments rested. And why? She wasn’t busty enough to worry about a bra. Gregory had insisted she wear one. For decency, he said. So men wouldn’t stare at her. What men? He never allowed her around other men. To hell with him.

She eased her wedding ring off her finger, his grandmother’s wedding ring, and stared at the blisters raised by the heated platinum. Even his family wedding ring had burned her. Yes! To hell with Gregory. She flung the ring into the trash can.

Willy-nilly, she chose an outfit from Kellen’s wardrobe. She sat on the bed to pull on the jeans. When she stood, they slipped off her skinny hips. She had to notch Kellen’s belt on the last hole and it was barely enough to keep the pants up.

More sirens.

Panicked, she ran into the bathroom for the toiletries. She flipped on the light and—No wonder everyone stared and wanted her to go to the hospital. She put her hands to her head. Strands of hair cracked off in her hands. She rubbed her face. Her eyebrows…gone, burned off by the blast. Her skin looked thin, mottled, as if the explosion had slapped her. Her blue eyes…were haunted.

Leaning over the sink, she used Kellen’s brush and gingerly brushed what was left of her hair. In Kellen’s overnight bag, she found a pair of scissors and cut off the random long strands. Now she looked like a Halloween monster in June. But not so wounded, more like a fashion statement gone bad.

In the bedroom, she tossed the toiletries into the suitcase. She swooped down to get two pairs of shoes off the closet floor—and came face-to-face with the locked room safe. She froze. She had no money. Like the key, the money had disappeared with her pocket. She sank to her knees. She needed what was in that safe. But she had no way in. She couldn’t break into a safe…

Wait. Maybe she didn’t have to break in. Aunt Cora Rae and Uncle Earle had always used the same password for everything—ECKC. Earle, Cora, Kellen, Cecilia. 3, 2, 5, 3. The family knew the code. Maybe Kellen had used the code.

With shaking fingers, Cecilia pressed 3, 2, 5, 3.

Nothing happened.

She dropped her head into her hands. What other code would Kellen use? Maybe her girlfriend’s name…but she didn’t know it. If Cecilia and Kellen had been able to drive away from Greenleaf, roll down the windows, let the wind blow their hair…then she would have known. She would have rejoiced in their relationship. Instead, Cecilia was grief-stricken, and Kellen’s girlfriend remained a mystery.

Desperate, Cecilia punched in the same code. 3, 2, 5…2.

The safe sang a little song and the door opened.

She’d done it wrong the first time.

Gregory’s voice sang in her head. You’re incompetent. You’re not fit to be out on your own.

“Shut up.” Inside, she found Kellen’s credit card, five neatly folded twenties, a black velvet box with a blue enamel wedding band inside… Cecilia stared at that band. Kellen had wanted to marry her girlfriend, and…the young woman Kellen loved would suffer a loss she would never comprehend. With a snap, Cecilia shut the box and placed it in a side pocket of the suitcase.

At the bottom of the safe, she found Kellen’s computer. She smoothed her hand across the black matte finish. She hadn’t been allowed to touch a computer for so long, to communicate, to discover, to learn. A tear dropped onto the lid. She wiped it off. She was glad to be alive, glad that Gregory was dead. That didn’t mean that she was glad Kellen was dead, but…she was grateful. Kellen had sacrificed her life to give Cecilia her life back.

Cecilia placed the computer on the bed. She emptied the dresser drawers into the suitcase. The underwear and bras would never fit; she and Kellen had looked alike, but they had never worn the same size. Not the point. Somehow, it was important not to leave a trace of Kellen in this room, in this town.

The suitcase bulged; Cecilia sat on it to close the zipper. She slid the computer into the side pocket, did a last, rushed search of the room and dragged the wheeled suitcase down the corridor to the elevators. In the elevator, she pushed the button for P1 three times. When the doors opened, she entered a concrete cavern filled with cars, vans and freedom.

Kellen’s car surprised her. Kellen had always liked fast cars; a Mini sat in the spot. Cecilia hadn’t driven for two years, yet she remembered how to unlock the door, stow a suitcase, start the car. Everything in her screamed, Hurry! Hurry! But she needed out of this town without incident, so she would be cool…

In the rearview mirror, she saw someone walk out of the hotel elevator. Panic clutched at her. She backed out too fast, squealed the tires, took too long to figure out where Drive was located, found it, put the car in gear and ripped out of the garage without looking. She drove out of town and onto the highway, heading south. She didn’t know where she was going. But she knew where she’d been, and she swore she would never return to Greenleaf.

*

The van’s steering wheel jerked in Kellen’s hands.

With far too much acuity, Birdie said, “Whatever it is, it’s not worth all that.”

Kellen was here, now driving through Washington. But… “Sometimes it is.”