Page 93 of Wild Escape

“I want to go,” Daphne said.

“And leave me here all by myself?” Jack said, feigning abandonment.

“Something tells me you’ll be just fine.”

“Stay out of trouble,” I said to him.

“Me? When do I ever get in trouble?”

My skeptical eyes narrowed at him before I hustled out of the frat house with Daphne.

The street was lined with cars.

We hurried to the Porsche, and I grabbed Daphne’s door, then slid behind the wheel. I cranked up the engine, and the exhaust purred as I pulled away from the curb.

I drove across town, turned into the Mega Mart, then backed into a space near the entrance. From there, I had a view of the entire lot. Again, not the most inconspicuous vehicle in the world, but most people went through life oblivious. Too preoccupied with their own drama to notice anybody else.

We sat in the car, listening to classic rock, watching people come and go. The Mega Mart was open 24 hours, though at this time of night, there wasn't much traffic.

Overnight camping was allowed in a section of the parking lot. There were RVs, vans, and trucks with camper beds. It was a convenient place for nomads to call home for the night. With access to bathrooms with showers and all the food you could buy, it was paradise for the bare-bones traveler, looking for gritty adventure. It was mostly kids experiencing van life, but there were a few old-timers who had no intention of ever rejoining the system. They sat in lawn chairs, drinking beer, gazing up at the stars, shooting the breeze.

“Is this all you guys do? Harass people, go to frat parties, get hit on by beautiful women?”

“Some variation thereof,” I said with a smile.

“Living the dream.”

“It’s not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes we run into trouble.”

“Like unruly informants?”

“Exactly. You might have a future as a place kicker in the NFL.”

She frowned. “Sorry about that. Does it still hurt?”

“I’ll live.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

She sure knew how to send a thrill through a man. “Trouble with a capital T.”

She laughed.

“How did you get out of the handcuffs?” I asked.

She hesitated, then came clean, wiggling her thumb. “Gymnastic accident as a kid. My thumb subluxes easily now. I can just slip them over my hands.”

She had nice hands.

“Tell me about this dagger,” I said.

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know who in their right mind would pay that kind of money for it?”

“It’s special.”

“Define special,” I said.