Page 26 of Jasmine Street Blues

Mac leaned down, moved closer, and for a long moment she thought he’d kiss her again. He didn’t. “Sure as hell feels like it.”

She touched his cheek with one, easy hand, hoping there was some comfort in the simple contact. “I’m so sorry. If I can help, I will. We can find her.”

The last thing she needed was to get involved with a man, any man. Normally she started making plans to move on when anyone had the smallest inking of what she could do. And here she was, touching Mac, offering to help, actually believing that there could be more here, with him. With them.

But not tonight.

His posture changed a little, his eyes lit up. “Can I take a photograph of the painting? It doesn’t help that I don’t have a decent picture of Carrie past the age of seven.”

Loran’s heart leapt. No! He’d show the portrait to who knows how many people, as he looked for the girl. There would be questions; there were always questions. That could be potentially disastrous.

Mac must’ve seen the panic in her. “Just the face, and I won’t tell anyone where it came from.”

“Then… okay. If it will help.”

“It will. I’ve never been able to show a recent picture to the people in Seawolf Beach to see if they remembered seeing her, if maybe they knew her. The sheriff’s office, other small departments nearby, they might recognize her. It’s been a while since she was here, but a picture of that portrait is better than nothing, which is what I had before now.”

The night was supposed to end in Mac’s bed. At least, that had been the plan. She still wanted him, but not like this. Not when he was reeling. “Take your picture, then go home and check on Bubbles.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

A simple no would suffice, but she said, “Not tonight.”

He stood, nodding as if he understood. Maybe he was relieved. He walked into her studio. She didn’t follow, didn’t watch as he took pictures of Carrie’s portrait with his phone. If she watched, she might panic and change her mind.

On his way out, Mac stopped at the door. He turned to face her. His brow furrowed, he pursed his lips. “You said we.”

“I did?”

“You said we’d find her. Did you mean it?”

Did she? Or was she going to run again? The answer was simple. “I did.”

* * *

She’d gotten too comfortable here; comfort was dangerous, and it didn’t last.

Carrie stared up at the ceiling. The last two years had been some of the best of her life, the easiest, the safest. Definitely the easiest since her mom had died, and to be honest, even before. There had been a few rough years with her mom, before she’d OD’d.

Though honestly, not as rough as a life on the run. Even when her mom had been at her worst, they’d had each other. Carrie sometimes hated being alone. Completely, horribly alone.

Thanks to pure luck she’d ended up here. Where would she be right now if she hadn’t found Lila? Not in a soft bed in a solid house, with a bit of cash under the mattress thanks to the job at Lila’s Cafe and a boss who didn’t mind paying her cash. That and tips added up, especially since she paid so little to rent this room.

She was going to have to live this way for the rest of her life, or else turn herself in and go to prison. Working in a cafe, getting paid under the table, renting a room from her grandmotherly boss… it was the perfect set-up, and not one she’d likely find again.

In a couple of months she’d be twenty-one. That birthday was a milestone, she supposed, but it made no difference at all in how she lived her life. Day to day, always on edge, always waiting for a cop two or an armed SWAT team to walk in the door and announce that they’d come for her.

Would it be as awful as she imagined, or would it be a relief?

It didn’t matter how comfortable she’d gotten, her life was about to change. Lila would soon retire, not because she wanted to, but because her health demanded it. If she sold the cafe to someone who was willing to continue paying an employee cash, everything might work out ok. What were the odds?

A faint flickering light near the window caught Carrie’s attention. Out of the corner of her eye it reminded her of a flash of pink sequins. She’d seen that pink light often since she’d started running from what she’d done. She’d tried to tell herself that it was just a trick of the light. Might be an eye issue. How many ways had she tried to explain the oddity away over the past five years?

The flickering light often appeared when she was in crisis, when she didn’t know which way to turn. Sometimes it guided her to a safe place, the way it had in Seawolf Beach. Now and then the light felt like a warning to stay away. How did she know when it was a warning and when it was a guiding light? She couldn’t say. It just felt different.

That pink flicker had led her to Lila’s Cafe, two years ago. Instinct or guardian angel? Anything was possible, and it didn’t really matter. Thanks to the occasional alarming documentary Lila liked to watch, Carrie knew women on the run normally didn’t have the kind of luck she’d had.

She’d decided the pink sparkle was her mother, dropping in from wherever to say hello, because every time she saw the light she thought of her mom. Her mom had loved pink! And sequins. Anything sparkly would do. What would it hurt to believe that she wasn’t really as alone as it felt like she was?