A Stolen Chance (3 page)

The aroma of spicy food hit his nostrils. His stomach growled in protest. Hans lifted his head, nose twitching in interest.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m sure Aunt Leona laid in some chow for you. I’m not going to share Uncle Buck’s Mexican stew.”

Fifteen minutes later, Carson savored his uncle’s spicy dish with corn cakes while Hans crunched on his dry dog food. He didn’t miss the expression of reproach his furry friend shot him while he chewed. Carson ignored the mutt. Some things a man just didn’t share. Plus, the highly seasoned food would play havoc on the dog’s intestinal tract. He didn’t want to be getting up in the wee hours for Hans to go out. He took a hefty slug of beer and let the icy brew cool his burning throat.

When he was finished with the meal, Carson stood and carried his dishes to the sink, where he rinsed and stacked them to wash tomorrow after breakfast. His jacket lay across the back of the sofa. He grabbed it, stuffed his arms into the sleeves, and then opened the door. “Come on, boy. One more trip outside.”

Hans loped out the door and made for the bushes that bordered the drive.

Later, stretched out on the bed, Carson tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. The mattress must be older than his thirty-eight years. He’d buy a new one first chance he got, queen-sized, as the double didn’t accommodate his six-foot height. How Gramps had managed to get a decent night’s rest was a wonder, since the man had stood two inches taller than his grandson. Carson finally found a spot on his side, knees drawn up in a curled position. Hans, on the rug beside the bed, sighed deeply.

He’d just dozed off when a sound woke him. Moonlight outlined Hans standing by the bed looking at the doorway. The ruff on his neck and back stood on end. A low throaty growl rumbled from his throat.

His voice a soft whisper, Carson asked, “What’s the matter, boy?” He peered into the moonlit room and didn’t see a thing, but he trusted Hans. He reached out and touched the dog’s flank. Hans sat. Carson eased from the bed and reached for the Smith and Wesson .38 revolver he’d placed on the bedside table. His bare feet touched the cold floor as he moved from the rug to the other room and flipped on the light. His eyes scoured the dark corners but found nothing. He lowered the gun.

“Nobody here, Hans. You must have been dreaming. Come on, look for yourself.”

Hans trotted into the room and searched, seeking his dream’s scent. Carson laughed, but paused in mid guffaw when Hans barked, and with front paws on the table, sniffed at a small object.

Damn. Where’d that come from? He’d wiped the table down after eating. He’d have seen it if it had been there then.

Carson picked up the tiny stone and held it in the palm of his hand. He had to examine it carefully to decide what it was, but with the protrusion of the tiny beak and a turquoise eye, he concluded it was a miniature black raven, a Zuni symbol for magic and great mystery. He stared down at the table. Grains of cornmeal were scattered around where the fetish had sat—food for its journey.

****

The clock on the dashboard read just after two a.m. Still in Illinois, Susan stopped at a large truck stop on the outskirts of Pontiac, where she filled up with gas and retreated to the back of her camper van to the porta-potty closet. Though tempted to visit the restaurant inside, she resisted, afraid she’d show up on the security cameras. After cleaning her hands with disinfectant wipes, she grabbed a soda from the mini fridge and snacks from the cupboard. In the driver’s seat, she fished through Lauren’s monster purse in search of one of the sandwiches her friend had provided for the trip.

Two stops to stretch her legs and almost five hundred miles later, Susan reached the outskirts of Joplin, over halfway across Missouri. A billboard advertising an RV park caught her eye. She turned into the tree-studded entrance and stopped at the park office. Ten minutes later she pulled into space number fifteen, far from view of the highway. Getting her van connected to the utilities didn’t take long, a skill she and Lauren had perfected while camping. With the expandable roof cranked up, Susan could stand easily. While heating a can of tomato soup on the two-burner butane stove, she munched on a ham-cheese-and-lettuce sandwich.

Her appetite satisfied, Susan eyed her bed, tired beyond measure and longing to crawl into the sleeping bag and fall into oblivion. Instead, she grabbed a towel, her toiletries, and a pair of sweats. She locked the van and walked two spaces down to the bathhouse. She’d sleep better after a warm shower.

Full, clean, and warm, Susan curled onto her side in her sleeping bag. Though her body cried out for sleep, her brain ran rampant, sorting through files of past hurts and escape plans. At the moment, she rode an emotional high. After all, she’d left Dewayne behind, a major accomplishment. Would she crash and fall in a few days? She’d left her parents and friends—well, Lauren, the only friend she’d allowed to see her true existence—and had no one to call on if she needed help. Her stomach twisted as anxiety built inside her. Her skin prickled and her heart fluttered. She shook the sensations away.

Yes, she’d be sick of her own company before long. Right now she’d love to be sharing a cup of tea with her mother, feel her father’s reassuring hug. Heck, she’d even enjoy one of her father’s lectures about the hazards of traveling alone. Would she one day beleaguer her children about safety? Without a doubt she would. It came with the territory, she supposed. She just hoped she’d have the opportunity to have children.

What if Dewayne found her? The memory of his last words, his voice filled with menace, echoed through her head. “
I’m coming for you, darling.”
Nausea choked her. Heart pounding, she gasped for breath.
Stop it!
She sat up in bed and mentally shook herself.
Suck it up, girl. Don’t let him continue to control your emotions. You got away undetected.
She plopped back down, the action shaking the van on its chassis a little. A number of scenarios ran through her mind, making her question her strength and determination. Would she have the backbone to stand up to him before he tried to kill her?

She reached down and touched the .38 Smith and Wesson on the floor beside her fold-down bed. God, she hoped so.
Hoped so? Girl, you better know so. There will be no second chance.
She didn’t intend to go down without a fight this time. Even if she went to prison for killing him, being released from fear would be worth the risk.

Long ago she’d found daydreaming helped to ease her into sleep. She closed her eyes and focused on building a safe haven in her mind, one she hoped to find in her exile.

She drove into a small town somewhere in Texas or New Mexico. A nineteenth-century courthouse stood regally in the center of the town square. Families picnicked in the park across the street while others...

The sound of car doors slamming woke her. Startled, heart pounding, gasping for air, she sat up and took in her dark surroundings.
Where am I?
A ray of light from a break in the closed curtains cast a line across the floor, illuminating the shoes she’d kicked off earlier. Her van...she was in her escape vehicle...safe.

She lay back on the bed. Her breathing slowed as she listened to the activity around the trailer park. A child cried. A dog barked but stopped at a man’s harsh command.
A dog. Maybe in time I’ll be able to get one. It’d be good company and possibly a good alarm system.
She smiled at the picture of a hound sitting in the passenger seat of her van. Yes, it was a nice image to dwell on.

Better get a move on. She quickly rolled up the sleeping bag and stored it so it wouldn’t bounce around, but she left the bed folded down. While water heated for her instant oatmeal and coffee, she checked her phone for any messages. None. Her parents wouldn’t try to contact her. They knew she’d planned to leave Monday night, had been told what it would mean when she called and said she and Lauren were having a pizza party, but she’d not revealed any details. The less they knew the better. When she could, she’d contact them.

Today she planned to make it to Amarillo, Texas. So far she’d traveled on Route 66 when she could. The Mother Road had always intrigued her, plus she hoped the less-traveled road would help her remain undetected. Dewayne wouldn’t dream of her taking this path. He’d figure she’d take interstates and travel as fast as the speed limit would allow. The old road, potted and in poor repair in spots, ended completely in places, sending her to the interstate, often weaving from one side of it to the other. She wished she could travel only during the day to see more of the old highway and the vintage buildings, most crumbling skeletons of their former glory, dotting the landscape. She sighed. Maybe someday she’d have a chance.

Just after noon, she drove into Amarillo. She eyed the historic Neon Diner with longing but, fearing exposure, passed it by and opted for a large chain restaurant instead. She relaxed when she spotted several blonde women eating by themselves. She didn’t want to stand out. It was best to blend in with the other diners, in case Dewayne caught her trail and asked the proprietors if they’d seen her. The frazzled waitress quickly took her order and rushed to tend to other customers. Susan sighed with relief. The woman wouldn’t be able to identify her. You had to see a person to do that.

She laid a twenty on top of the check, stood, and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Avoiding eye contact, she exited the restaurant and walked to the van parked near the back.

Next order of business was a little shopping. First of all for a laptop computer. She’d left her old computer at home, minus the hard drive. It added additional weight to the already heavy handbag sitting on the car seat beside her. A new purse was another item on her list.

As she drove down the historic highway, she scanned the storefronts, looking for a place where she might buy a computer. One of those supercenter places sat a block off the road, its large sign strategically placed to draw in customers, and thirty minutes later she walked out of the store with the most powerful laptop they sold and a handbag, a mid-sized shoulder bag. Her identification allowed her to pay, using her new debit card, with no problem.

She passed a trailer court, pulled into the parking lot of an economy-priced motel, and checked in. Inside her room, she brewed a cup of coffee in the little two-cup coffeemaker and sat at the desk with a cup of the hot brew and her laptop. Before anything else, she removed the hard drive and inserted the old one. Locating the files she needed to maintain her online clients, she saved them to a stick drive. Then, she typed in a government code and erased the drive. She removed the old drive and set it aside to toss later, along with the wig.

With the new hardware in place, she set up the email account. A message popped up on the screen.

You’ve got mail.

She opened her account and, sure enough, she had one message. It was from Lauren.
Why had she emailed?
They’d agreed not to get in touch for a month or so.

She clicked on the message.

Dear Shannon,

I have kept something from you, so please forgive me. I have terminal cancer of the liver. I didn’t tell you before, as I knew you’d alter your plans, and I couldn’t allow you to do that. Your friendship has been dear to me. If you hear of my sudden demise, don’t fret over the circumstances. It was my choice. Hopefully, my way out of this world will have erased your problem.

Be happy.

Chapter Three

An icy chill inched up Susan’s spine. She shivered and rubbed at the goose bumps covering her arms.
Not Lauren. Dear God, not my cherished friend. Please...please, God...she can’t die.
She read the message again. Her
sudden demise...erased
your problem
.... What did Lauren mean? Sudden demise?
Calm down, Susan. Don’t buy trouble. Get the facts before freaking out.

She pulled up the
Chicago Tribune
online and searched their website for an obituary for Lauren Walker. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was tempting to stop with the
Tribune
, but to be safe, she checked two other newspapers. She relaxed against the chair back.
Thank you, God.

Maybe Lauren meant to warn Susan of what would come—her dying of cancer. The idea seemed surreal. She’d appeared healthy enough, but memories now flooded Susan—Lauren, who rarely took medicine, popping pills. When questioned, Lauren said the doctor gave her vitamins to take while she dieted. Her comment made sense at the time. Lauren had lost close to twenty pounds in the past two months. In Susan’s opinion, Lauren took the weight thing too far. Her appearance bordered on malnutrition.

Now Susan knew why. Her friend wasn’t dieting, she was deathly ill, and she’d not wanted Susan to know, to worry. Her “vitamins” were painkillers. Tears gathered in Susan’s eyes. She longed to get in the van and turn the vehicle toward Chicago and be with Lauren when she passed. That’s why Lauren hadn’t told her about the cancer. She could be dying, but Lauren wanted Susan to survive and be happy.

She sniffed and brushed tears aside. If Lauren wanted her to live, she’d not disappoint her. She closed the laptop and, through watery eyes, stared unseeing out the window at the few cars in the parking lot below. It’d be several hours before guests started checking into the motel.

The urge to speak to Lauren gripped her. She returned to the chair and struggled to resist picking up the cell phone on the desk beside the laptop. She fisted her hands and put them in her lap. They’d agreed to wait six months before making contact. Hopefully Dewayne would give up the chase by then.