How to Save a Life(68)

Evan pulled away, his breath coming hard. “We have to go, Jo. We have to go right now.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I’ll explain on the road.”

Our bags in hand, Evan cracked open the door to the motel. The sun was up now. He peered out, looking left and right. When he was satisfied the coast was clear, he beckoned for me to follow him. I felt like a burglar sneaking away with a bag of loot as we crossed the parking lot toward the main drag.

I gave a little cry as Evan yanked me behind the wall of the bail bonds/ fast cash place beside the motel. Over his shoulder I saw a squad car roll into the motel parking lot. My heart crashed against my ribs.

“Are they here for us?” I whispered.

He nodded and took my hand. “Come on.” He led me through parking lots and empty lots behind the little strip mall, until a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire forced us back to the main street.

“What happened to your truck?”

“I ditched it,” Evan said, glancing over his shoulder. “Literally. I drove it south about twelve miles and straight into a ditch. Then jogged back here. It won’t fool them for long but it might buy us some time.”

“I’m sorry. I know you loved your truck. I loved your truck.”

He glanced sideways at me, his smile warmer now. “Small price to pay.”

We boarded a bus and rode it out to the truck stop diner. Looking over our shoulders every minute, we bought a couple of tuna sandwiches and bottled water for the road. Then we hurried out to the truck bays where long-haulers were refueling or chatting amongst themselves. Evan took my hand and led us to the front of the lines, to the trucks that were going to pull out of town first.

“Which one?” I asked.

“Someone going north. To Kansas City.”

“Are we going to Kansas City?”

“No.” Evan searched the line. “How about him?” He nodded at a guy climbing into a chicken truck. The smell carried on the heat and feathers fell like snow from the cages.

I made a face. “Hell no. I’d spend the whole time itching to crash it and set the chickens free.”

“We’re running out of time.”

My eyes picked out a short, stout trucker with a beard, plaid shirt, and a beat-up old cap his head. He was refueling a tanker. “That one,” I said and took Evan’s hand. We headed over slowly, trying our damnedest not to look guilty and in a raging hurry. I made sure my hair covered my scar as we approached.

“Good morning,” I said brightly, as the driver was climbing back into his cab. “Nice tanker.” I jerked my chin at his rig. “My cousin Gerry used to drive one just like it.”

“Oh yeah?” The trucker eyed us up and down, and the bags in our hands.

“You heading north by any chance?” Evan asked.

“I am.”

“Do you think you could take us a little ways?”

The trucker rubbed his beard reluctantly. “Where you off to?”

“Kansas City, sir,” Evan said. “We got family there.” His eyes flicked down the long line of trucks and I saw them widen slightly. I refused to look but kept the smile plastered to my face.

“My mother,” I piped up. “Our car broke down in Dallas and we’ve just been trying to keep going ever since.”

The trucker took off his cap, scratched his head with agonizing slowness, before putting it back on. “I’m going through Wichita. I suppose you can ride with me for a spell.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

We ran around to the passenger side and practically dove into the cab. Evan studied the long, rectangular rearview, his teeth clenched. No flashing lights, but I thought I saw a patrol car way down the line. My heart hammered waiting while our guy settled into his seat, utterly unhurried, checking his gauges and testing his radio and whatever else truckers did before actually trucking.

The guy’s cab was clean and uncluttered, except for the remnants of a few fast food meals. No cigarette butts choking the ash tray, no nudie pics plastered on the dash and roof, unlike Gerry’s old rig. We had room to stow our duffels at our feet. I sat between the two men and Evan kept an arm wrapped tight around me. I could hear his heart thudding too.

“I’m Cal,” our trucker said as he finally started up the engine. It hissed and growled, each shift of gears lurching us forward as Cal slowly—so damn slowly—maneuvered the truck out of the parking lot. “You two got names?”

I froze then blurted, “Jack and Diane.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jack and Diane. Ha! Like the song?”

Evan coughed and I forced a light laugh. “I know, right? Coincidence. Our friends are always giving us crap about it.”

Cal smiled thinly and I decided to shut the hell up before I overdid it.

“Haven’t had hitchers in a good long while,” Cal said.

“We really appreciate it, sir,” Evan said.

Cal waved off gratitude with one meaty hand. He pulled out of Tulsa and I felt the tension in Evan loosen. Cal was a quiet guy. Or maybe he wasn’t used to having company. Either way, he didn’t say much during the ride, and we didn’t offer any conversation.

Having seemingly escaped the police, my adrenaline drained out, leaving me tired. Or maybe it was last night’s lovemaking. I snuggled up to Evan. His left thigh was pressed against my right and even there, in the cab of some stranger’s truck, with the cops on our ass, I had to fight to keep my hands to myself.