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“Ten minutes, folks.” He steps outside as we shuffle forward.
Finally, it’s my turn again. “Anything else? You bought those before.”
The attendant points at my water and sandwich, some bored young kid from the closest town.
“I know. Do you have a phone?” Stupid question. Everyone has a phone, but it’s better than demanding its use.
The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, yeah. I do. You’re not fucking using it.”
My cheeks heat up. Not the best start. “I don’t want to use it. I need you to look up a phone number for me to use the pay phone outside.”
“Pay phone’s broken,” he grunts. Of course it is. Could my life get any worse? Chewing my lip, I swallow down the tears that are threatening.
“Do you still need the number?” He’s looking at me with pity. Ugh, stupid tears. I blink them away, nodding quickly as he digs his cell phone out of his pocket, looking at me. Shit. Viper’s number won’t be listed online.
“Uh, the Wild Hawks clubhouse?”
The guy’s eyes trail over me, and he makes a face. I’m too tired, too keyed up, and too out of fucks to give to bother reading what it might be. He shrugs, typing something into the search engine on his phone and digging a marker pen out of a junk drawer.
As he recites the number, I scribble it on my arm, dropping the pen into his waiting, expectant hand. Outside, everyone is climbing onto the bus. Shit.
“Thanks!”
“You should rethink using that number!” the guy calls after me. Why the hell would I do that?
Ripping open the sandwich packet, I scarf it down, discarding the wrapper in the bin and scrambling onto the bus, my bottle of spring water hugged to my chest. The bus rumbles to life, pulling out of the stop as I collapse into my seat. That was cutting it too close. I don’t want to be stuck in the literal middle of nowhere. Viper would never find me.
Sipping my water, not wanting to run out and not wanting to need the bathroom too badly, I stare at the hazy scenery whipping past, swallowing down the tears that threaten me every so often.
When the panic starts pressing down too hard on my chest, I stare at the scrawled black marker on my forearm. The Wild Hawks clubhouse number anchoring me. I only need to use the next pay phone I find, talk to Lisa, and get the hell out of here and back to San Remo.
They could wire money for a return bus ticket and maybe a motel room so I can shower. I’m burning these clothes when I finally get home.
The sun is on the other side of the sky when the bus rolls into Provo, the snow-capped mountains rising in the background. The bus pulls into the station, and the driver stands, stretching as he turns to address us all.
“Two hours here. Your next driver will take you through to Salt Lake City.”
Oh, hell no. I’m not going to Salt Lake City. No way. Scrambling off the bus, I walk until I find a pay phone. Snatching it out of the cradle, I sigh with relief at the sound of the dial tone.
Dropping some coins into the slot, I hold up my arm, punching the number in and blowing out a breath.
“Wild Hawks Clubhouse,” a gruff voice rumbles, and I suck in a breath. What? No. Who the hell is this? Lisa answers the phone.
“I-I’m looking for Viper.”
The guy snorts. “There ain’t no Viper here, love.”
Uh, what? What the hell is going on? Is Lisa okay? “H-he’s secretary….”
“Secretary is Vince.”
Who the hell is Vince? I am exhausted and panicking. I don’t have time for this.
“Look, my name is Naomi White. I’m looking for Viper, who is the Wild Hawks secretary.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. Oh god. Please don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up.
“I’m going to need a return number.”
