I Know Lucy (A Fugitive #1)(67)

The days to follow had been an isolated, soul shattering slog. The only thing that kept her moving forward was the idea that her killer might be just behind her, still hunting, still determined to finish off the Tate family in style.

She’d worked her way north-east of San Francisco, snatching and stealing as she went. It was enough to buy her a little food, but she quickly grew tired of the stressful game. One day she veered into a national park and that’s where she’d been ever since. Sleeping under bushes, spending the day in the trees so no one would see her. She’d pilfered food from campsites, nicked water canteens and managed to stave off two animal attacks using a knife she’d stolen. She was getting quite good at throwing it.

Blowing on her cold hands and rubbing them together, Lucy checked the watch she’d stolen.

06:12 AM.

FEB 8

She needed to get some food in—

Her breath caught. She looked back at the date and sniffed, a sad smile fluttering over her lips. “Happy Birthday, Lucy.”

Eighteen. Wow. This was never how she pictured her 18th birthday. She should have been waking up to her mother’s out of tune version of Happy Birthday. She should have skipped down the stairs and straight into her father’s embrace. He would have kissed her cheek and told her he was proud of her, that she’d grown up to be a beautiful woman.

They would have been discussing college applications as she worked through her last semester of high school. Maybe she would have had a boyfriend and been hoping he’d ask her to prom later in the year. Maybe she’d be going dress shopping with Maria.

Maria.

What was she up to now?

Tears swelled in her eyes as she pictured her best friend from so many years ago.

Had she cried for Lucy? Did she remember her middle school friend at all?

And Patrick De Luca.

Lucy closed her eyes and sighed.

He was probably still gorgeous.

She never did get that kiss. No, her first kiss had been a practice with Marlin before sloppy Howard gave it a go, his awkward hands groping her ass.

Would she ever get a real kiss?

One that made her insides sing the way she knew Patrick’s would have?

Would she ever get to feel the euphoria of falling in love?

A cry spilled from her mouth, spittle lining her lips as she covered her eyes and quietly sobbed.

She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. The questions…the memories…were killing her. If she even let her mind wander near Marlin or Shorty she found it hard to breathe. Last time she ran free with her memories, she couldn’t move for a day. She became trapped in a sombre, catatonic state. If a family hadn’t walked right past her hiding place, she’d probably still be playing statue, but their chatter had scared her, making her scamper away like a rabbit.

She was good at running.

That’s all she seemed capable of.

Running.

Except she hadn’t been able to leave the park. It was too hard to imagine joining the world again…and on her own too. Who would talk her through a con? How could she possibly survive without someone to protect her?

If she went out into the real world again it wouldn’t take long for death to catch up to her.

Pressing her aching head into the rough trunk behind her, she actually found the thought appealing.

Death.

It would be an end.

A relief.

But Shorty would be pissed. He’d asked her to live. To make it. To beat him.

“You can’t let that bastard win, Lucy,” she whispered. “It’s your freaking birthday and you’re huddled up against the trunk of a tree.”

She closed her weary eyes with a sigh and sniffed.

Rubbing a grimy hand over her face, she nibbled on her lip. “I don’t know if I can keep going.”

Her lips trembled and then a thought flickered through her mind.

What do you want?

She’d never let herself answer that question, because she’d always said she had no choice. But she did. She was all alone now. No-one could demand anything from her. She wasn’t working for anyone. She was her own boss and if she really thought about it, she probably had everything she needed to succeed. Shorty had taught her the art of conning. As much as she hated working for him, he’d gifted her the ability to survive…and Marlin had believed in her.

“You can keep going.” Her raspy voice grew with confidence. “You just need a plan.”

She’d been too exhausted to form one, but damn it, it was her 18th birthday and she needed a freaking plan!

She rubbed a dirty finger over her bottom lip as her brain ignited for the first time in weeks.

What did she want?

An education. A college degree. The chance to earn money the honest way. She wanted to start afresh somewhere. Somewhere safe. She wanted a life where no one around her would be in danger…which meant she had to get out of California.

“Mexico.” Isn’t that where criminals always escaped to? She just needed to make it to the border and she’d be home free. She could find some little bungalow on a gorgeous beach. She imagined waking up in the morning to the sound of the ocean, the taste of salt on her tongue. She imagined running through the surf. Maybe she’d finally overcome her fear of water and learn how to surf.

“You need to start swimming again. Give yourself options, Lucy.”