Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) (24 page)

“You shouldn’t open something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Hmm. I can and I did.” He tilts his head to the side. “Did you lose some money?”

I stay silent and put on my best haughty face. It’s tough because I know how I must look to him—like the wet, pitiful dog you decide to feed at the back door of the trailer.

He waves the small change purse in the space between us. “Twenty dollars and odd change. Your driver’s license has an Arkansas address, so I’m guessing that’s home. No credit cards.”

“So?” I hold out my hand for the bag and he places it in my palm.

“Exactly what did you plan to use for a bus ticket? Sell your soul? Twenty bucks.” He mutters the last two words like he’s scolding me. His tone jabs me in the throat, making it tighten uncomfortably. What does he know? Nothing.

“It’s none of your business.”

His mouth tightens while he pins me with his unfriendly glare. His dark eyes study me as if he knows what I’m thinking and doesn’t like it.

Collin turns, strolls to his car, and calls over his shoulder with the confidence of someone used to telling people what to do. “Follow me. You can’t go anywhere with twenty bucks. I’ll take you.”

“Take me where?” I race behind him with my heart pushing out the front of my chest.

“The place the bus was going to take you with your nonexistent load of cash.”

“You don’t know I couldn’t buy a ticket.” He doesn’t have to know I planned to sleep in the bus station. I chase him and grab the back of his shirt. “And you don’t have to help me.”

He pivots and closes the distance with a step toward me. “Do you want to go to the address on your license? It’s not far.”

I’m silent, my mind racing with possibilities. Would he take me a couple of miles down the road? To the next town? I need to be farther away from Shelby City and somewhere I can disappear into a crowd. “Not there.”

His dark eyes accuse me like he’s got X-ray vision into my mind. “Anywhere but home?”

I stay silent, thinking. Collin sighs as if I’m trying his patience. “You all right?”

“Um-hmm.” I glance back to the bus station door. The guy from earlier isn’t exactly chasing me outside. I let myself get spooked for no reason. He was most likely harmless. Harmless as feeling a daddy-long-legs crawling up your arm.

Collin’s car makes a series of beeping sounds as he unlocks it. “Hold on,” he says. He gets to the door before I do and opens it again.

“This isn’t a date. You don’t have to open my door.” My eye begins to twitch in nervous anticipation.

“Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Stop opening doors then,” I say as get into the passenger seat. “Please.” The seats are still damp from the crazy gusher I fell into this morning.

“Can’t. Sorry.” He shuts the door and jogs around the car to the driver’s side. I don’t look at him as he settles in and starts the engine.

My eye muscle jerks in a twitching protest, my nerves revolting against the strain of the past twenty-four hours.

“Sure you can.” For reasons I don’t want to think about, it makes me want to cry if people like him exist in a world parallel to my own.

He’s a nice guy with manners. A thought tiptoes into my brain. Maybe he’s fooled me and he’s every bit as creepy as Weird Waldo.

I envision a hacksaw in the trunk he keeps on hand for girls who keep getting into the car with him. Tiny spatters of blood coat the side of the well-used tool.

A piece of some girl’s hair caught in the steel teeth.

“How long since you ate?” he asks.

“Why?” Suspicion tinges the word, making it come out gruff. I clear my throat and mind. “Sorry. Why do you ask?”

He remains silent as he starts the engine and leaves the parking lot. “Let’s decide where I’m taking you.”

A large lump in my throat prevents me from answering right away. I swallow, hoping to push it down. “I have a problem.”

He shakes his head. “It’s clear to me that you have lots of problems.”

Is there such a thing as a nice jackass?

We stop at a red light a couple of blocks from the bus station. I glance over at the car next to us to avoid looking at Collin. It’s a family in an SUV. The dad is driving and he’s nice-looking. The woman beside him looks like a supermodel. There are two toddlers in the back.

The American-dream family living in Midwest suburbia.

The light turns green and I return my gaze to the road ahead. There’s a life out there I want to find. A life without hardship, fear, and secrets. A life I can deny exists until I see proof sitting in the vehicle beside me.

We pass by a restaurant and my stomach, seeming to know we are yards away from something mouthwatering, emits a Mt. Vesuvius-volume protest.

He glares at me as if the sound offends him.

Collin presses his turn signal and slows the car.

“What are you doing?” I nervously glance around to see where he’s taking me.

He turns the Audi into the parking lot of a fancy restaurant. “You’re hungry.”

I don’t have money to waste, and this place has a menu beyond my budget. My stomach roars its displeasure at my hesitance. “No.”

Collin parks the car in a spot near the door and kills the engine. “Meal’s on me.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

We sit for a few moments in silence. Finally, he shrugs and speaks without looking at me. “I left my place too early for breakfast. Since then, I’ve been on the road or dealing with—” he hesitates with a wry smile, “whatever fate sends my way. So maybe I’m hungry and you can eat with me.”

I ignore his statement. “We’re going in? Can’t you order it to go?”

“I don’t eat in my car. Ruins the upholstery.”

My gaze travels to the stained seat where I sit, my muddy and rumpled clothing the cherry on top. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I wave my hand across my body in a declaration of how ridiculous his statement is.

He smirks. “No. Not kidding.”

“I can’t go in there. Look at me.”

“And I won’t be able to eat in a car.” His eyebrows dip and he looks at the restaurant door.

“You go ahead. I’ll wait here.” I fold my arms over my miserable stomach. I’m already mortified at looking like he picked me up from the side of the road—and since he did exactly that, shame fills me.

I’m a pitiful charity case.

“Wait here.” Collin looks at me for fifteen seconds after saying it like I might flee the minute he leaves the car. He hops out and disappears.

The afternoon summer sun filters into the car and heats the air. Collin took his keys when he left and the window’s rolled up. I crack the door open.

My best plan for escape self-destructed faster than a house doused with gasoline. I’d planned to use my car as a temporary place to sleep until I could get far away.

Tears blur my vision in the first bout of self-pity I’ve allowed myself since leaving home. I inhale and sit straighter. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to get me anywhere.

The sound of footsteps approaching the car surprises me. Collin gets in and starts the engine. A blast of warm air blows from the air conditioning vents. It’s still cooler than the inside of the car and goose bumps prick up on my skin.

I turn away from Collin and wipe my hand under my eyes.

“Man. I’m sorry. I should’ve left the car running. It’s a sauna in here.” He clears his throat. “The heat is brutal.”

“I thought you were going to eat.” I refuse to look at him in case he can see I’ve been crying.

He shoves a heavy, white bag onto my lap. “Here.” Then, he places two paper cups into the cup holders between us.

“You brought me food?” The lump is back in my throat.

“Well, yeah. And I should’ve asked you what you wanted. I got us the same thing.”

My hunger ignores my embarrassment at having to take something else from this guy. I open the bag and find a salad, a chicken sandwich, and a baked potato. “This is all mine?”

He’s watching me and not opening his own container of food. “Umm … hmm. Eat up. But first, here.”

He produces a package of wet wipes from the console and hands me one. I don’t argue and clean my hands. My mouth waters and my hands shake as I dig out the package of plastic utensils and a napkin.

I’m completely absorbed in the wonderful sensations of mayonnaise, fresh lettuce, and tomatoes. My taste buds do a river dance each time I take a bite. I stop chewing. I’m halfway through my sandwich before I glance over at Collin.

“You have twenty dollars, no car, no food. You’re not telling me a specific destination where I can take you.” Collin deliberately opens his own white bag and pulls out the baked potato container. He looks around the car as if he doesn’t know what to do with his food.

“I only need to find a place to stay for tonight. I was going to sleep in my car, but well … it’s probably been towed by now.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s gone.” He doesn’t say anything for almost a full minute. “I don’t know how to help you. What can I do?”

I consider my choices. I’m out of a car, out of money, out of resources. I’ve never been to a shelter before, so I don’t know what they will want from me. With my hunger pains temporarily satisfied and my sense of self-preservation on high alert, I put the rest of the sandwich inside the bag. Maybe I can keep it cool and eat it later.

“Veronica?”

“I’ll go to a shelter. Please.” I have no choice.

He seems satisfied with this answer and removes the lid from the potato container. “They’ll help you. Everything will be fine.”

“You ever been to a shelter?”

“Well, no. But I’m sure they are terrific people there.”

I nod. “If you think so.” For some unknown reason, I trust his judgment. He may be a stranger, but he has a kind heart. My earlier imaginings of what could be in his trunk were plain silly.

“I’ll find one after we eat. If I can figure out how to manage my food without a table. I don’t know why anyone would eat in their car.”

“You never eat in here?” One corner of my mouth lifts before I can suppress it. “Not even a burger and fries?”

He smiles at my amusement. “No. I’m particular about where I eat. Also, I don’t like crumbs on things. “

“Crumbs.” I repeat the word while shaking my head. “You get crumbs on your table. What’s the difference?”

“When I finish a meal, I wipe down the table.” He says this like it should make perfect sense to me.

Because he may be the nicest guy I’ve met in my life—though, granted, I don’t get out much and lived in the smallest bump in the road in all of America—I let it go.

“I like things clean,” he says as I stare at the baked potato caddy he balances in one hand.

“Ah.” I brush some errant breadcrumbs from the seat into my palm.

“It’s okay for now. I’ll have the car detailed tomorrow.” He makes a brisk bobbing gesture with his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll come clean.”

I smooth my muddy T-shirt. I’m probably the messiest thing that’s been inside his car in forever.

I can’t wait to find this homeless shelter and let him get on with his day. He’s a nice guy … a little bizarre with the crumbs comment, but we all have our quirks. He’d be wise to get rid of me and my trouble fast. My eye twitches at the thought.

I’m one huge crumb.

Collin

Next item on the Rescue Veronica Agenda is finding a homeless shelter. I access my cell phone’s browser and search for anything nearby. I had no idea there’d be so many of them.

“You have a preference on how many days you’ll need to stay?” I ask.

She gives me a blank look. “One,” she finally answers.

“Oh. I thought you didn’t have anywhere to go.” I’m confused now. Maybe I heard her wrong.

“One night and then I need to leave. I don’t want to go somewhere they think they can force me to stay.”

“No one’s forcing you. Listen. You can stay a night and maybe you’ll change your mind. This would be a good place to get yourself back on track. They’d probably let you stay for weeks.”

“This is a mistake. I can sleep outside. It would be exactly like camping. I have some friends I can stay with later.” Veronica rubs her fingers across her lips. “Thanks for everything. Really.”

She opens the door with one hand and grabs her duffel bag with the other. I grab for her arm without thinking. She makes a small hurt animal sound that startles me. We both look down at my fingers closed around her forearm. I’d forgotten about the purple mass of bruises I’d seen earlier.

“I’m sorry.” I release her arm.

“We’ll check one out. If you don’t want to stay, we’ll find another,” I say.

Veronica gets back into her seat and pulls the door shut.

I navigate to the first one on my cell phone list. It’s a Victorian-style home in need of repair. A sign on the door says ‘Out of Business’ in large block letters and a giant cobweb covers the front window.

The second one on the list is only a couple of miles away. It’s a utilitarian brick building with a high chain-link fence surrounding the yard. Veronica leaves her duffel bag in the car as if she’s declaring she hasn’t committed.

“They forgot the razor wire on the top,” she says, glancing at the fence as we open the gate.