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“We find Manuelo before Rodarte does.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Swerving in front of a truck to take an exit, Griff muttered, “Wish the hell I knew.”
The pancake house was open all night. At any hour it was well lighted and crowded, and so was the parking lot. A car left there didn’t attract attention. Griff parked, and they got out.
“Welcome to the glamorous world of a fugitive.” He took Laura’s hand and led her around to the back of the building, where the odorous Dumpsters were open and overflowing.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a half-mile walk. Are you okay with that?”
“A half mile is a warm-up.”
He smiled down at her, but his expression was grim. “I didn’t say it was an easy half mile.”
Leaving behind the commercial area, they entered a residential neighborhood. Over the past several days, through trial and error, he’d learned the safest route, if not the easiest. It took them through yards with dense shrubbery and large trees but no exterior lighting, fences, or barking dogs.
They came upon the house from the rear. Griff was relieved to see that no lights were on inside. Each time he came back to his refuge, he was afraid the owners had returned during his absence.
The backyard was enclosed by a stockade fence, but when they reached the gate, he opened the latch without difficulty. “It’s never locked.” He ushered Laura through the gate, then closed it silently.
“Who lives here?” she asked, speaking in a whisper. The houses on either side were obviously occupied. Lights shone through windows. Somewhere close a sprinkler was swishing. They could hear a television show’s soundtrack.
“I used to.” He led the way to a back door, opened it, and pulled her in behind him. The alarm system began to bleep, but he punched in a sequence of numbers and it went silent. “They never changed the code. All these years, it’s been the same.”
“This was your house?”
“My high school coach and his wife. They took me in when I was fifteen.”
“The Millers.” At his look of surprise, she added, “I read about you.”
He didn’t risk turning on any lights, but there was enough light from the neighbors’ houses straining through the kitchen window curtain that he could make out her features as he searched her face. “You read about me?”
“When Foster recommended you to father the baby. I researched your background.”
“Oh.” He waited a beat, then said, “I guess I passed. In spite of the fact that my dad was a wife beater and my mother a whore.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“People say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Generally speaking, people are unfair.”
“Not in this case. I turned out rotten, too.”
She shook her head and was about to say something when the refrigerator cycled on, creating a buzz that sounded as loud as a chain saw in the silent house. She jumped. He touched her arm. “It’s just the fridge. It’s okay. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her behind him as he made his way from the kitchen into the living area, where the drapes were drawn and it was much darker.
Still speaking in a whisper, she said, “So this is where you’ve been staying all this time?”
“Since my escape from Turner’s house.”
“They’ve been sheltering you?”
“Hardly. They don’t know I’m here. I came to see Ellie not too long ago. She mentioned a trip to Hawaii. I guess that’s where they are. Anyhow, I showed up here, prepared to throw myself on their mercy. I didn’t have to.”
“You may when they return.”
