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Chapter OneCozetteThey say it’s the most wonderful time of the year… but whoever they are know nothing about my life.
It’s a few weeks until Christmas and I’m running away from the only life I’ve ever known.
Saying I’m scared is an understatement. Terrified might be a better fit. But freaking the eff out is probably more accurate.
I’ve been driving for three hours in a stolen car and I’m exhausted. I need food, gas and sleep. In that order.
Getting off the highway, I pull into the parking lot of the first grocery store I can find. I have less than a quarter-tank of gas, and I’ll get to that after I get some food. My stomach growls as I put the car in park, step out and I zip up my winter coat. It’s nearly freezing out. Then I triple check that I’ve locked the doors.
I have fifty bucks in my pocket — I don’t even own a wallet — and I figure that’s plenty to get me a few bags of groceries. After that I plan on finding a motel and holing up through the holidays. Then I’ll figure out the rest of my life.
The bag of shoes in the back seat seems like the last place anyone would look for a big bag of cash. They’d have to sift through my boots and heels to find the stolen money. Carrying fifty grand in cash with me inside a grocery store might look suspicious. Besides, the parking lot is nearly empty and it’s broad daylight and near freezing.
Joe and Max were passed out cold when I left this morning. Still drunk and probably high from the night before. They thought I wasn’t brave enough to leave, and until last night I wasn’t. But I heard them talking. About me. About their plans. And I decided then and there that the unknown was less scary than what I did know. And what I did know was that they planned to trade me to their boss because they were short ten grand. They thought the drug lord who basically owned them might as well own me too.
I blink back tears as I walk into the grocery store. Now is not the time to fall apart. Instead, I grab a cart and fill it with comfort food. Hot cocoa packets, marshmallows, oatmeal, mac and cheese and cans of chicken noodle soup. This year I can’t make the recipes I remember my grandmother preparing for the holidays — roasted turkey and mashed potatoes, glazed carrots and rolls fresh from the oven. Pecan pie and egg nog and…. Stop it. Thinking about what I can’t have this holiday isn’t going to help me.
I need to be realistic. And grateful I’m free and not being sold to the highest bidder.
I don’t even have a smartphone to get a fancy vacation rental, let alone a checking account or credit card to finance my stay. All I have is cash — which means a dive motel that won’t ask questions. Which also means whatever I eat is going to be cooked in a microwave. I can’t risk a restaurant where the guys might find me… or more likely whoever they hire as a hit man.
I know my worth at the moment. And it’s not just my virtue as a twenty-one-year-old virgin that has a price tag. It’s the money I stole before I left. When they realize what I’ve done, they’ll stop at nothing to find me.
Swallowing, I realize I need to get back to my car, and fast. I’m too visible at the moment. Grabbing tins of fruit and vegetables, I grip the cart and head toward the checkout.
“You okay, ma’am?” the cashier asks. He’s a gray-haired man who wears a friendly smile.
“I’m fine,” I say nervously, fiddling with the cash.
“Your knuckles are white and you look like a deer in the headlights. You sure you don’t need any help?”
“I’m sure,” I say as I grab my change. I have six dollars left. I’ll have to dip into the stolen money to get the gas.
“Have a candy cane,” he says, adding it to my paper bag of groceries. “My treat.”
“Thank you,” I choke out, appreciating his kindness. I’m not used to men like him, who want to make my world a sweeter place.
As I leave the grocery store, my heart drops.
The lot is empty, but the back door of my car has been left open. I take careful steps, not wanting to slip on the icy pavement of the parking lot. Terror rises inside of me as I peer into the door. I drop the bags to the ground, tears filling my eyes.
Everything has been riffled though. My bag of shoes is emptied out, and my hiking boots stick out of the broken window like a sore thumb.
I unlock the car, my heart pounding, and fearfully conclude that whoever broke into this car found everything. Took everything.
