Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe. Nancy Bush
demand, so a sullen-looking, male coworker with dark, suspicious eyes joined her. Liv tamped down the tide of fear threatening to wash over her and picked up her coffee, drinking a slug of liquid as if it were water to a lost desert traveler.
Her companion’s eyes were on her face. “I’m fine,” she said.
“You don’t look fine. You don’t have any color, at all.”
“Did you hear about the killing at Zuma Software?” a voice called from somewhere in line.
Liv whipped around. It was a woman’s voice. She was standing at the counter, digging through a coin purse for change, making small talk. The sullen helper was waiting for her to count out the coins, a peeved expression on his face. The two men in line in front of her had already been served.
“It’s breaking news,” another woman answered her, now several people behind her. “Broke in while I was watching TV. The owner, Kurt Upjohn, is in critical condition. Somebody else, too.”
“There were two women,” the first lady said, turning around to gaze at the second. “One got shot, but one wasn’t there. They think maybe she did it.”
Liv nearly gasped. Who? Who thinks that?
“She killed all her coworkers? Mowed ’em down?” the second woman sounded disbelieving.
“They’re looking for her. That’s all I know.”
The man across from Liv was staring at her as if he knew—knew—who she was. Liv warred with herself as several more people went through the line. She wanted to bolt out the door. She needed to escape. They were looking for her. Of course, they were looking for her.
But she didn’t want to be caught. Couldn’t be caught.
Carefully, she took several more swallows of her coffee, then she scraped back her chair, picked up her backpack and stood.
“Leaving so soon?” the man asked her, his lips smiling, his eyes cold. Or was that her imagination?
She didn’t answer, just sidestepped around the tables toward the door that seemed miles away even though it was only twenty feet. She reached the handle, and it burst inward, and she was nearly mowed down by two policemen in uniform.
Her vision blurred. She couldn’t turn around. She heard them address the barista: We’re looking for someone....
Panic licked through her again. She stepped out. On the street it was hot. The sidewalk sent up a wave of heat. A dark gray Jeep was parked directly in front of her. A man was circling the front of it, unlocking the doors, sliding into the driver’s seat, balancing a cup of coffee.
She walked toward the passenger door and flung it open just as he slammed the driver’s door shut and was in the act of putting his drink into a cup holder. “Hey,” he said, gazing at her in surprise.
She slid inside and closed the door behind her, clutching her backpack, her heart jumping crazily inside her chest. “I need you to take me somewhere.”
“Yeah?” he asked cautiously, looking for all the world like he was about to throw her out.
With deceptive calm, she withdrew her .38 from the backpack and leveled it at him. “I’m a pretty good shot. I’m sorry. I really am. You just need to drive me away from here.”
He was good-looking. Black hair, blue-gray eyes, a strong jaw and maybe the hint of a dimple as he clamped his teeth together and stared at her gun. Thirtyish. In dusty jeans and a faded gray T-shirt with a list of words crossed out across its front.
“You are kidding me,” he said slowly.
“You think so?” she asked, a lump building in her throat. “I might not be able to kill you. But I could hurt you. I could do that, I’m pretty sure. If you won’t help me, I could hurt you.” She glanced at the coffee cup and read his name: AUGGIE.
She felt tears building in the corners of her eyes.
He stared at her another long moment, as if assessing the truth of her statement. Then he sat back in his seat, switched on the ignition and silently guided the nose of the Jeep into traffic.
Chapter 6
She kept the gun leveled at him. It wasn’t loaded, but he didn’t know that. She had ammo stowed in her backpack, for all the good it would do her. Not that she wanted to actually hold a loaded gun on someone. For all her words she didn’t think she could hurt him or anyone else. But again, he didn’t know that.
They were driving east, away from Laurelton toward Portland. She felt like she was in some improvisational acting scene where each player just keyed off the situation and made up their own story.
She was crazy. Flat-out nuts. This definitely decided it. This was a crazy thing to do. And yet she wasn’t sorry. They rode in silence. The man—Auggie—seemed intent on the road but Liv could just imagine the thoughts rattling around in his head.
It felt like an eternity, and was probably only a matter of minutes, when he drawled, “Did you have a place in mind?”
“Just drive.”
“I have a quarter of a tank. I can drive for a while, then I’m going to need gas.”
She looked at the gauge, saw he was telling the truth and wanted to rail at him. How could he be so irresponsible? She wanted to scream and cry and pull out her hair, but that made her think of the unfortunate ones at Hathaway House who sank into that kind of behavior and were moved to other facilities. She’d always felt more grounded than they were, more capable, more sane, but maybe she was as wacko as they were. This was crazy.
But right now, she was putting miles between her and her apartment, and for the first time since she’d seen the bodies at Zuma, she felt almost safe. Still, she couldn’t prevent the shudders that wracked her body. Auggie shot her a sideways glance, aware, so she lifted the .38 a bit, just to remind him.
“Would you seriously shoot me when I’m driving?”
She glared at him, resenting his insolence. “Where do you live?”
“Uh . . . not far from here. Toward Portland.”
“Are you lying?”
“ No.”
“You took a while to answer my question.”
“I was just thinking about the exit I need to take. It’s coming up.”
They were driving on Sunset Highway and getting close to the junction at 217. “Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go there.”
She wanted just to keep driving and driving and driving, but that wasn’t prudent, either. She wondered, for a moment, if she could ditch him and just take his car. But what would she do with him?
He passed 217 and turned off at Sylvan, winding the car up the hill. Liv gave a glance around his vehicle, thinking hard, noting the dark clothes he’d thrown into the back and the toolbox. A length of twine was wrapped around the Jeep’s back hatch, holding it down, as if maybe it popped open unexpectedly from time to time.
They drove in silence for about twenty minutes, taking several side streets until they reached his place, a small bungalow that needed some serious repairs if the cracked sidewalk and sagging gutters were any indication. There was a breezeway between the house and one-car garage. The door to the garage was open and he pulled inside, put the Jeep in park, and switched off the engine.
“Now what?” he asked, pulling the key from the ignition.
“Stay in the car. Hands up. I’ll come around.” She opened her door, the gun still trained on him, then walked around the front of the Jeep and stood outside the driver’s door, her muzzle aimed at him through the window. “Let yourself out,” she said.
Carefully,