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“Not until you actually cover for him by lying to the cops,” I remind myself sternly, pointing at my reflection with my phone. “So don’t lie to the cops. Don’t help an escaped convict get away. Don’t help a murderer go free. Why are you even having this debate? How is the right choice not obvious here, you dumb chicken?”
It is obvious, and with a sigh I tap my phone screen, knowing I have to make the call.
Then I almost jump out of my skin when the phone vibrates in my hand.
It’s the prison calling.
Fate just chose.
Destiny just decided.
The cookie just crumbled.
I answer the phone, dread pulling at my heart. Sure enough, it’s the prison Warden. He asks if I’m driving, if I’m on speaker. I say no, and then he asks if I’m all right, tells me softly that they suspect a prisoner escaped through the loading dock, that he might have hitched a ride in one of the delivery trucks. Gives me two code-sentences to choose from in case I’m being held hostage and can’t speak freely.
“Listen carefully, Connie. If you’re a hostage, say the words, ‘I am all right,’” instructs the Warden. “If you’re not a hostage, say the words, ‘Everything is fine.’”
My brow furrows as my heart hammers away behind my breasts. My lips taste salty like Xavier’s masculine essence. My ass still quivers from the way he dug his strong fingers into my flesh. My pussy is somehow still wet even though I just dried myself.
My lips part to respond to the Warden, to make a choice that feels monumentally large, like it’s about more than simple life and death.
My brain instructs me to speak the truth, to tell him I’m a hostage, a captive, a prisoner. But although my lips move, the words don’t come out. Instead, a thought pops into my head, loud as a bullhorn, clear as a billboard.
“You promised,” whispers the thought. “You promised.”
“Everything is fine,” comes my answer, the words popping out like it’s my heart speaking instead of my brain. “That’s the line for not being a hostage, right? I’m in a crowded gas station, Warden. I was just in the back of my truck and there’s definitely nobody there, thank God. Thank you for checking on me, but I’m all right. I hope you catch him before he hurts anybody. Is there anything else you need from me?”
The Warden sighs. “Yes, the police will want to talk to you, Connie. It’s just procedure—nobody thinks you’re involved, of course. They’ll check your truck for signs that Xavier was there.It’s possible he got out of the truck at the gas station without you realizing it. Maybe he even escaped by hiding beneath your truck—though I don’t think your little cookie-truck has enough ground clearance for that. Still, the police will have to check, probably ask you some questions too, Connie. You understand.”
My throat tightens, the blood leaving my head so fast I have to grab the handicap-rail to stay upright and not fall head-first into the toilet. “Sure,” I manage to squeak, my brain panicking as it warns me that I’m going down a very dangerous path, that I’m about to cross the line between captive and criminal. Maybe I can still qualify as a hostage scared for her life if I come clean right now. But the moment I hang up with the Warden, I’ve committed to the lie. And if I double-down by also lying to the police, I’m so far past the line there’ll be no turning back.
“Great,” says the Warden. “Which gas station are you at right now? I’ll inform the police. They’ll check your truck, probably search the immediate area too. Stay put. Shouldn’t be more than a half-hour.”
“Today’s Valentine’s Day,” I blurt out, the anxiety making my pitch rise. “I’ve got three big deliveries and then I need to open my store. Can you tell the police to meet me at my store later? The truck will be parked in the alley out back. They can still check this gas station if they want. I just don’t want to wait. Please, Warden. Making these deliveries on time are a big deal for me right now.”
The Warden hesitates. He takes a breath, then sighs it out. “I guess that’s all right. We don’t even know for sure that Xavier made it out of the prison grounds. He might still be hiding somewhere inside. In fact, I hope he is. Yeah, OK, Connie. I’ll tell the police to put you at the bottom of the list, to check all the other delivery trucks first and then meet you at the store. I’ll get the address from your invoices. Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Relief floods me when the Warden hangs up. Then fear almost drowns me when I realize that I’m now officially an accomplice, that although I’ve kept my promise to Xavier, I’ve broken my promise to society.
I’m an outlaw now.
The realization sends a strangely thrilling ripple through my body as I exit the restroom and step out into the brightly lit gas station. The smell of fresh coffee is still in the air, but everything feels different now.
BecauseI’mdifferent now.
I’m his now.
His captive.
His partner.
His . . . woman?
Stop it, I tell myself angrily as I stop near the coffee machine and fill a large Styrofoam cup with piping hot Colombian Supremo. You’re all turned around from everything that’s happened today. Relax. You’ve still got plenty of opportunities to turn Xavier in. Nobody’s going to press charges for what you’ve done so far. Hostages and captives often obey their captors without question. Fear can have a hold on a captive even if she’s not in immediate physical danger.
“Besides, Xavier is probably already gone,” I mutter to myself as my trembling fingers struggle to fit the plastic lid onto the cup of hot coffee. “He can’t possibly trust that I’m actually going to keep my promise and not turn him in when I have the chance. He’ll be gone, which means in about three minutes everything will be back to normal.”
Except now “normal” feels like death.
