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Crap!
She’d sunk down in the Toyota’s battered driver’s seat, barely peeking over the dash as Didi had driven into the garage. Counting out three minutes in her head, she’d waited for Didi to head into the house. The second her mother was inside, Remmi had slipped into the open garage and thought she could sneak into her room, as it was just a few steps down the short hallway. Once Didi was past the kitchen, Remmi would be able to quietly ease the door open and make her way to the bedroom.
No one, especially her mother, would be the wiser.
She’d thought.
Listening over the thudding of her own heartbeat, Remmi had wrapped her fingers around the doorknob when she’d heard the distinctive click of Didi’s heels approaching her direction.
Crap!
Rather than try to make it outside, where, if Didi chose to lock up, Remmi wouldn’t be able to get back into the house, she’d slipped away from the garage door and silently opened a back door of the monster of a car. Without thinking, she’d rolled into the back seat of the Caddy and engaged the secret lever Didi had installed. The seat back had flipped down, and Remmi had forced her body into the cramped cargo space. Without really thinking, she’d found the inside latch, and the rolled leather seat had sprung into place once more, clicking into place as Didi emerged from the house with one of the baby carriers.
Remmi, peeking through the specialized peephole, had held her breath and silently prayed, Don’t let her find me, oh, please God, don’t let her—
The Caddy’s back door flew open. Muttering to herself as she’d secured the carrier into position, Didi didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. She’d quickly returned to the house. Remmi had reached for the lever but never got the chance to escape. Less than a minute after strapping in the first carrier, Didi had reappeared with the second.
Once both car seats had been locked into place, Remmi had been trapped.
Only then did she notice that Didi was dressed in her favorite Marilyn Monroe costume, all pink and shimmery. She’d climbed behind the wheel and jammed her keys into the ignition. The massive car with its huge engine had roared to life, and Didi had backed out of the garage without a word.
Five seconds later, she’d rammed the Cadillac into drive, hit the gas, and headed to the desert. With her infants strapped into the back seat of this boat of a car, and Remmi hidden in the trunk, Didi drove as if the devil himself were chasing her.
Why?
What was with the full-Marilyn regalia?
And where to?
Remmi bit her lower lip nervously.
Where the hell was she headed?
* * *
“Son of a bitch!” Noah kicked a rock hard enough for it to hit against the weathered side of the barn and bang so loudly that the dog sleeping on the porch gave a startled bark. Roscoe, who was a mix of some kind of sheepdog and who knew what else, raised his speckled, shaggy head, yawned, wagged his stub of a tail, then settled back on the old rag rug that was his bed, his nose buried in the faded fabric, eyes bright and focused on Noah.
“It’s okay,” Noah grumbled, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Noah was itching for a fight. He was supposed to meet a girl. Not just any girl, but a girl he’d just met the other day at the lake. She wasn’t his usual type, was a little on the nerdy side, and young, too, but she was smart and hadn’t been intimidated by him. The daughter of some weird showgirl, a woman impersonator, he thought. Didi Storm. Yeah, that was the mother’s name. Like him, the girl, Remmi, had no real dad in the picture, and he could see she would soon become a knockout. Her brown hair was streaked a reddish gold—naturally, he’d guessed, from the blasting Nevada sun. Freckles dusted a long but straight nose, and her eyes, somewhere between green and gold, flashed with intelligence and humor. He’d tested her, and she could give as well as she could take. Built tall and lean, with small breasts and hips that barely flared, she didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t as curvy as some of the girls she hung out with.
Including that bitch Mandi Preston, who, while they’d all been swimming in the lake, had made a point of pressing her impressive boobs up against him. She was a tease, and as those massive breasts, held in place by a slip of a red bikini bra, had grazed the bare skin of his back, he’d had an immediate reaction, a hard-on forming despite the cool water. He’d tried to hide his boner, but it had been impossible, and Mandi had known just what she’d accomplished. It was a game with her, but he wasn’t interested in her. Never had been. All blond tousled hair, bubblegum-pink lipstick, and high-pitched giggling, he’d fo
und her too . . . commercial? Too much like a TV bimbo? No, maybe she was just a fake. He knew she was smarter than she pretended to be; he’d seen flashes of it, and the flirty dumb act bothered him.
Not so Remmi.
She said what was on her mind and didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought. She’d seen the display in the lake as she’d lain on a towel and read a book. Over the cover, she’d watched as Mandi had splashed and rubbed up against Noah. Arching a dark eyebrow, she’d caught Noah’s eye, given her head a shake, and closed the paperback. As she’d scooped up her towel, flip-flops, and small cooler, he’d waited for his damned cock to cooperate; then he’d followed her to the parking area.
“What?” she’d asked when she unlocked the door of a beat-up Toyota and slid into the sunbaked interior.
“I don’t know you.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” She’d jabbed her keys into the ignition.
“You got a license?” he asked. If she was sixteen, he’d be surprised.
“So how is that any of your business?” She’d flashed him a cool smile and started the engine, stomping on the gas and backing up so quickly she’d nearly hit him—he’d jumped back, just in case—then, sliding her sunglasses over that long nose, she’d nearly clipped a signpost that listed the rules of the swim park. He wondered if she’d done it on purpose, as if she were thumbing her nose at authority.
Or maybe he’d just hoped so.
