“Don’t turn around, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
My hands shot up without thinking. Fingers spread. My pulse slammed so hard it blurred my vision.
I glanced in the rearview mirror.
A man in a fucking ski mask sat in the backseat of my car!
I felt ice cold, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on top of me.
“Start driving,” he said.
Slowly, I lowered my hands to the steering wheel where he could see them.
My head raced. This was Myers. No doubt about it. The mask hid his face, but he was wearing the Florida sweater Kelley had mentioned.
Here I was. Finally. WiththeMyers.
“Where to?” The words barely made it out.
“You stupid or something?” he barked. “To the Seacoast Inn.”
Of course.
I started driving. At the first stop sign, a cop pulled up next to us.
“Don’t say a fucking word,” Myers growled as he ducked lower in the back. “I’ve got nothing to lose anymore.”
The way he said it left no room for doubt.
I waited. Forced myself to breathe. Watched the light turn green. Then drove, eyes locked ahead as the cop took a turn.
Once we hit the highway, Myers sat up straighter in the backseat. He twitched. Shifted. Sniffed hard. Over and over. His smell filled the car. Booze. Sweat. Something foul. He looked rough. Worse than I expected.
“I hear you’ve been fucking looking for me,” he said.
The metal of his gun caught the highway lights as he pointed it at me. I kept my eyes forward. Said nothing.
“You fucking deaf or something?” he snapped.
“No. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to say anything,” I said fast.
“So why you looking for me?” He snorted. “Just like your fucking grandma back then,” he added with hate.
“I-I was told you were in the area,” I said. “And, all things considered, it’s only logical I’d try to find you, no? To see if we can’t make a deal that benefits us both.”
Staying close to the truth felt smarter here. If he’d wanted me dead, I wouldn’t still be breathing. So he wanted something else from me.
“That bitch cunt Harlow talks too much,” he muttered. “Can’t trust him.”
“Nobody can trust Harlow,” I said. “I’m sure he told you he will get your charges dropped. Said that if he can find you, the cops can find you too. And then it’s too late for him to help you.”
His knee bounced. His hand tightened around the gun, then loosened, then tightened again. Neurotic. Jittery. Not a good mix when someone points a gun at you.
“Well,” I continued, “I guess we have one thing in common.”
Our eyes met in the mirror.
“I mean, we both can’t trust Harlow. He is a liar. Says whatever people want to hear to get what he wants.”
