How to Save a Life(74)

Bolstered my plan, I ate the rest of my potato salad and washed it down with Diet Coke. I was still hungry. All of my appetites, it seemed, had returned with a vengeance.

Evan emerged from the shower with a towel slung low around his waist. I stared at his naked abdomen, the six-pack of ab muscles tapering into a delicious V. A lethal combination guaranteed to turn a woman—at least this woman—into a rabid sex fiend.

Evan was oblivious to my drooling. He stood toweling his hair and asked, “How did it go? How’s your friend?

“Fine,” I said. I told him about the fake IDs. “If this is how we can start a new life together, we should take it, shouldn’t we? We have the money.”

“Not yet,” Evan said. “We can’t go back to Louisiana yet. We head north. To the Center. To go back now would be…wrong. And dangerous for your friend, too.”

“Then we’ll go to the Center…” The word sounded strange in my own ears. “And then make our way back to Louisiana to get the IDs from Del. Deal?”

Evan went back into the bathroom without agreeing. “Did she say anything about us?” he called. “What the police are doing?”

“I believe all-out manhunt were her exact words.”

Evan remerged without the smaller towel. “I figured as much. About the manhunt. We need a car. Tomorrow, let’s see if we can’t find a salvage yard or something. I’ll bet there’s a junker somewhere I can buy for cheap and fix up.”

“We only have eight hundred bucks between us. We can’t afford the IDs from Del’s friend if we spend too much on a car.”

“We’ll get a super cheap car,” Evan said, a small smile on his face. He still hadn’t put any clothes on. “Our getaway car. But that’s tomorrow.”

I rose off the bed and stood in front of him, my hands resting on the cut of his hips above the towel. “Okay fine.” I tugged the towel off and let it drop to the floor. “Tomorrow, the getaway car. Tonight...”

“Tonight we lie low,” Evan said, backing me to the bed. He lifted my tank top off over my head and flung it away, and laid me down. His mouth burned a path between my breasts.

“Yes,” I said, drawing out the S in a hiss as ripples of heat skimmed over my skin.

“Very low.” Evan said, trailing his mouth down my stomach now, and down… “Can’t let anyone know we’re here. You need to stay quiet, Jo. Very, very quiet…”

I tried my best. But by the time Evan was done with me, I was pretty sure the entire tri-state area knew exactly where we were.

Lying in the drowsy, delicious aftermath, I thought getting caught would’ve be a small price to pay for that last shuddering orgasm. It would be worth the pleasure of being held by Evan afterward, how he looked at me and kissed me, the things he whispered as sleep came for us.

But bad dreams ruined my sleep that night. Filled it with sinister laughter, flashes of bloodstains spreading over carpet and Lee’s dead body at my feet.

Don’t test me, woman.

He used to say it all the time, usually right before working himself into a fit. Don’t test me, woman, if you know what’s best for you.

In my dream, dead Lee sat up, like a vampire rising from a coffin. His dented head leaked old blood, and he cackled through teeth rotted by drugs.

Don’t test me, woman. You made this mess. He picked up the bloody skillet from the floor beside him. Clean up your mess, Jo, if you know what’s best for you.





I woke up shivering, a nasty dream hovering at the edge of my memory. Evan, still half-asleep, folded me into his arms until I was warm again and the dream forgotten.

With no cell phones or computers, we were Internet-poor and I never realized how much I took information for granted. All the information in the world, usually at my fingertips, now out of reach. Evan needed to find a salvage yard, we both needed a laundromat, and we hadn’t the faintest idea where to find either one. The scuzzy-looking guy at the front desk wasn’t much help, so Evan and I took a walk.

The laundromat was easy but we quickly realized we needed every stitch of clothing washed—including what we were wearing. We found a secondhand clothing store and I bought a tank top and another pair of cargo pants. On my way to the register, I spied a sundress in lavender and turquoise. It was rayon—cheap material, but soft. And only ten bucks. I bought it with the money Evan had given me and stuffed it in the bottom of the bag before he could see it. I didn’t have any plans for when I’d wear it, only a vague idea I wanted to look pretty for him sometime.

Evan bought a pair of jeans and a few t-shirts, but I could tell he was trying to conserve money. Our eight hundred bucks seemed like a lot until we had to buy a car with it. I don’t think either of us had high hopes we’d find even the most decrepit junker for much less than that.

While our clothes were being laundered, we ate lunch at a little Mexican place, taking a corner far from the windows. When he went to pay, Evan struck up a conversation with the guy behind the register. The guy told Evan about a salvage yard that sometimes sold used cars. South end of town, a few miles out. We thanked him for the tip, took our newly-laundered clothes back to the motel and headed out.

On the bus to the salvage yard, I was conscious of eyes on me. Evan kept the bill of his baseball cap low over his eyes, but there wasn’t much I could do about my scar except keep my hair over it. Around Evan, I often forgot about my face. Now it was a dead-giveaway to any regular news-watcher or police-blotter devotee. I rested my cheek against Evan’s chest to hide my scar and to listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat.