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She held her breath, and silently prayed the driver didn’t see him as he collapsed onto the street.
No! No! No!
“I’m supposed to be on this bus!” she yelled.
Oh, God, the figure was on his feet again, heading this way, the aura around his head still visible.
The driver seemed to make a decision and opened the doors. Scowling, more at himself than Ivy, he said, “Fine. Come on, then.”
“Montana?” she asked, stepping inside, climbing the steps. “Missoula?”
“That’s where we’re heading.” He eyed the ticket, then turned his attention to her, still regarding her warily. “You look like you should go to a hospital.”
“I will,” she lied. “Once I get to Montana.”
He stared at her with eyes that suggested he’d seen it all in his lifetime. “You’d best do that. You don’t look too good.”
“I’m fine.”
Thick eyebrows quirked over his eyeglasses.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get here on time.... It was my boyfriend,” she babbled, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t notice the injured man, wouldn’t throw her off the bus. “He, um, he . . .”
“Hit you.” His lips tightened. “Honey, he’s no ‘boyfriend. ’ More like a psycho. You should call the police.”
“I will, but I have to get away,” she said, pleading, her voice shaking. From her vantage point, in the mirror she saw a flare, the glow of shifting light as the dark figure of a human scrambled forward, his hair afire as he crumpled to the ground.
Stay down. Just stay down.
“Well, okay then. Take a seat,” the driver said, squaring a baseball cap with the company’s logo of a racing greyhound above the brim and apparently not noticing the figure in the street a few blocks behind. “I’m getting too old for this crap.”
To keep her balance as the bus started forward again, Ivy held on to the sides of the seats lining the aisles. The bus was mostly empty, only a few seats occupied by people trying to sleep, only a few interested eyes following her. As the bus lurched ahead, gaining steam, she sat in the last row and heard the first wail of a siren.
Oh, no. Just keep going!
Surely the driver wouldn’t stop the bus again.
Heart in her throat, she stared out the back window and down the empty street. The man, head still glowing, had fallen into a crumpled heap in the middle of the street. Headlights appeared, a pickup rounding the corner, screeching to a stop.
The pickup driver flew out of the cab, and a cop car, siren blasting and lights flashing, appeared and slid to a stop.
Keep driving. Oh, please.
If only the bus driver wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t feel compelled to stop. The distance was getting farther by the second, but if he did stop, would he put two and two together? He’d seen her wounds, knew she was running from something . . .
But the bus kept moving, engine loud in her ears. Huddled in the corner, she stared through the glass. She caught a glimpse of the coyote again. Nosing out of a side street, the shaggy beast eyed the scene, then turned quickly, avoiding the vaporous lamplight to vanish into the shadows.
Chapter 13
Morning came early.
As it always did for Pescoli.
With the dawn came the need for a warm bottle of formula, a fresh diaper, and now a gallon or two of coffee, as she was no longer nursing, all coupled with lots of baby smiles and baby coos.
Thank God for those toothless grins, Pescoli thought as she made her way to Sarina’s kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee was lacing the air with its morning fragrance. A good thing, too. Pescoli was exhausted from the interrupted sleep and long hours worrying over the case.
Not your case. It belongs to the SFPD.
