Pinups and Possibilities (12 page)

I dragged myself from the most dreamless sleep I’d had in years, then sat upright in bed, trying to figure out what had happened. The sudden motion made my head spin.

“Ugh,” I tried to say, but it came out as a guttural slur.

My stomach churned, and I knew without a doubt I was going to vomit. I tumbled gracelessly from the bed and ran to the bathroom. I made it just in time to heave the contents of my stomach into the motel toilet.

“Shit.”

I leaned back against the cool plastic of the tub behind me and pressed my forehead into my hands.

What the hell happened?

My last few memories filtered through the pounding in my temple.

Polly.

We’d been talking about…something. I’d sipped my water, put my head on the pillow, and the next thing I remembered was waking up.

She drugged me
.

I groaned, forced myself to my feet and staggered out to the room. My near-empty water bottle caught my eye. I’d left her alone with it for maybe ten minutes. Clearly, she’d used the time wisely.

My blurry eyes surveyed the rest of the room.

Polly’s flowered bag, overflowing with dresses, was gone.

And so are the keys to the Mustang,
I realized as I looked to the spot where I’d left them.
And my goddamned phone, too.

“Shit,” I repeated, this time a little louder.

I jumped up to check on my car, and immediately caught my foot on something under the bed. I went flying forward, slamming into the door with my full body weight and knocking it off its hinges. The door teetered for a moment, then tipped over, taking me with it. I slammed to the ground with a force strong enough to knock the wind from my chest. I lifted my head just high enough to see that my car was no longer in its parking spot.

I rolled to my back, ignoring the fact that my bare feet were still tangled up in whatever tripped me up in the first place, and stared up at the sky. The sun was already setting. Not only was I phoneless and carless, I’d also slept the whole damned day away.

“Dammit, Polly,” I muttered. “Why can’t you just make this easy?”

“You Painter?” said a voice at my feet.

“Who wants to know?” I replied halfheartedly without moving.

“You’ve got a purse stuck to your feet.”

“Do I?”

I finally pushed myself to a sitting position. A tiny woman, leaning against a motel cleaning cart, stared down at me with a critical eye. I attempted to smile at her, but failed. Her frown deepened. With a poorly disguised sigh, I looked down to my feet. Sure enough, the long strap of Polly’s purse was wrapped around my ankles, and its contents had fanned around the bottom of the door.

I reached for the cards and papers, and my jaw tightened while my eyes widened.

What the hell?

My fingers flipped through no less than five driver’s licences and a variety of other pieces of ID.

Polly Duncan.
Age twenty-five.

Nina Hunter.
Age twenty-one.

Polly Jean Hunter.
Age twenty-six.

Lisa Jean.
Age twenty.

One name was conspicuously missing.

There was no
Jayme Duncan
in the pile
.

But the last one…it made my throat close up.

Nina Blue.

The name was clearly linked to Cohen’s, and my fist tightened around the ID involuntarily.

Who the hell
is
this girl?

I glanced down again. The Polly Duncan licence had a Trent Falls address. The others were expired.

“She asked me to give you a bus schedule.” The woman’s voice cut into my dark thoughts.

“Did she say anything else?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“You two have a…fight?”

“Not exactly.”

“You sure? She looked a little worse for wear.”

Polly’s black eye.

I could tell from the woman’s face that she wasn’t going to believe any story I told her. That didn’t mean I had to own up to another man’s abuse. No way in hell was I going to.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I stated coldly.

She gave me a dubious look. “She said you didn’t give her that bruise. Insisted I don’t call the police.”

Thank God.

I made myself smile. “She was telling you the truth. I didn’t give it to her, and I appreciate that you didn’t call the police.”

“You going after her?” the woman asked.

“I
have
to,” I admitted.

I must’ve sounded convincing, because she gave me a curt nod and reached down to hand me a folded up bus schedule. I unfolded it. Polly had circled the route that would take me right to her home town. She’d also circled the one that would take me back to Cohen. I rolled my eyes.

“She paid my husband, Benny, fifty bucks to give you a ride in to the bus station,” the woman said.

“Of course she did,” I muttered.

“That fifty bucks won’t cover the cost of the door,” the woman added.

“Of course it won’t.” I slumped back down onto the ground. “Put it on my bill. And tell your husband I’ll meet him out front.”

* * *

I kept my gaze focused out the window as Benny drove his old car along the highway at a painfully slow pace. I was grateful for the ride, but I hated relying on someone to get me where I needed to be. When we hit the small town that Benny assured me was just this side of the bus depot, he slowed even more, and I gritted my teeth against an urge to reach my own foot down to the gas pedal.

As we eased past a car dealership, my jaw dropped and I was suddenly thankful for Benny’s snail crawl.

“What the…turn the car around!” I ordered.

“Sir?”

“Turn the goddamned thing around!”

Benny slammed on the brakes, and as the car rolled to a stop, I jumped out. At double time, I ran back in the direction of the car dealership. I stopped in front of it, staring incredulously at the familiar black Mustang. Even in the increasingly dim light, and without the plates, I knew it was mine. If I had any doubt, the tiny white mark under the driver’s side bumper would’ve given it away. Six months earlier, a little old lady in an oversized SUV had tapped me head-on, and I’d never had the ding repaired.

I ran my hand up the familiar curve of the car.

Why the hell had Polly dropped it here?

There was no way she’d stop in this town instead of driving straight through to Trent Falls.

“Good evening, sir!”

I turned to face the smiling car salesman. I gave him a cautious nod.

“Name’s Barry,” he said. “You like the ’Stang? That beauty was dropped off this morning. Can’t part with her, though. Promised the lady I’d keep her. And I’m a man of my word.”

I found that last statement hard to believe, and I wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Are you also a man who deals in stolen goods?” I asked.

His grin fell away. “Hey now.”

“I only ask because
my
car, which happens to look
exactly
like this one, went missing just before breakfast. Today.”

Barry frowned. “You don’t look much like a painter.”

“Don’t I?”

Polly told him my name. Why?

“Lady said to expect her brother to come along looking for the ’Stang. Said he was a painter named Darren.”

Her brother?

In spite of my irritation and raging headache, a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“What else did she say?” I asked.

“She told me it wouldn’t take long for you to find me and insisted that I stay here until you came by. Asked me to keep the car out on the front of the lot. I was worried it might get damaged from all the highway traffic, but she said you could afford repairs, no problem. Don’t know too many painters who’re in the financial position to be able to replace a smashed window, just like that…but she said you were a special kind of painter. No offense, but I’m glad she’s not
my
sister.”

“She can be a bit difficult,” I agreed. “She likes to tease me about my name. I’m afraid she’s having a bit of fun at both of our expenses.”

“That right?”

“Yep.” I grinned. “Did Polly happen to leave me anything else?”

“Polly?”

“My sister.”

Barry narrowed his eyes. “This girl was named Jayme Duncan.”

“She said her name was Jayme Duncan?” I asked.

For one second, I was outraged. Then I had to grit my teeth to keep a laugh from bursting out. Of course she would’ve owned that particular name when I couldn’t be there to gloat. She probably thought it was hilarious, too.

“You sure you’re the right guy?” Barry asked suspiciously.

I was tempted to ask him what he would do if I
wasn’t
the guy. Instead, I put out my hand.

“Give me the keys,” I growled.

“Right,” he gulped, and scrambled to retrieve them from his pockets.

I did my best to take them calmly and failed utterly. Barry jumped back as my thick fingers closed around the key ring and snatched it away forcefully.

“Where’d you put the plates?” I demanded.

Barry stammered out a reply. “Your sister put them in the trunk herself.”

I strode around to the back of the car and popped it open. I yanked out the plates, then paused. My wallet and a note sat on the bottom of the trunk.

PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT OUT ON BARRY. I PAID HIM NOT TO TALK TO YOU. AND I GAVE HIM BAD INFORMATION, ANYWAY.

I wheeled back to the car salesman. “She paid you
not
to tell me where she was going?”

“S’right.”

I frowned at the note. It didn’t make any sense. I knew
exactly
where she was going.

“What did she pay you not to tell me?”

“C’mon now. Whatever’s going on between you two is family business, and I said I’d keep my mouth shut.”

I gave him a toothy smile and grabbed him by the collar. “You made it your business when you took her money. And when you took my car.”

Barry swallowed nervously. “She got on a bus.”

I let him go. “A bus?”

“Yeah. I dropped her off at the station two miles out of town.”

I frowned again. Why would she send
me
to the bus station if she was going there herself? Why would she ditch the Mustang to get on a bus anyway? It would take her twice as long to get back to Trent Falls. It was a huge waste of time.

Time.

Shit.

That was her plan. To buy herself some time, and to waste all of mine. So how did she get home?

“Did you actually
see
P—Jayme, I mean, get on the bus, Barry?” I asked.

“No.”

“How much money did she give you?”

“Why?”

“Just tell me.”

“Three grand,” he said with a sigh.

“Didn’t that seem like an awful lot of money to stay at work a little late and to not tell me something that you were just going to tell me the second I showed you my fist?”

Barry nodded. “I told her I’d watch the car for a hundred bucks and keep my mouth shut just because she had a pretty smile. She insisted.”

I drummed my fingers on the hood of my Mustang. “Do you happen to be
missing
any cars priced around the three-thousand-dollar mark?”

“What?”

“My sister is clever. And has some annoying ideas about morality. Have a look around,” I suggested.

Barry’s eyes scanned the lot quickly, and then his face went red. He scurried off to a line of beat-up cars. One spot was conspicuously empty.

“What was it?” I asked.

“An older hatchback,” he replied miserably. “Good shape, too.”

“What was the price tag on it?”

“Twenty-seven five.”

“So she gave you a deal, then.”

I shot him a dark grin, slapped him on the back, and headed back to my car.

As I pulled into my driveway, Painter’s phone rang for the eleventh time. It had started with two calls every hour, on the hour, and one on the half hour. Then it bumped to every fifteen minutes. This call was the third one in the past ten minutes.

I knew who it was, and I knew he would be getting more frustrated and angrier by the second. I finally decided to get it over with and answer it.

“Hello, Cohen,” I greet with false confidence.

He didn’t sound at all surprised to hear my voice. “Hello, darling.”

I bit my lip and refused to acknowledge the endearment. Even a denial would be enough to make him smugger than he already was. I also ignored the way his familiar voice made me want to cower in fear. I just sat in my car and waited for him to speak again.

“You sure are causing trouble for me,” Cohen said.

He sounded amused rather than irritated. But I knew better.

“Likewise,” I replied.

“I sent my best man after you, you know that? You want to tell me what happened to him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Is he…doing well?”

My eyes widened, and I almost laughed at his implication. “Not everyone kills as easily you do. I left Painter in a hotel room, sleeping like a baby.”

“Does that mean you’re on your way home?” Cohen asked.

I didn’t see a point in lying. In twenty minutes, I’d be on the highway, and on to some other town.

“I
am
home, actually.”

“It seems like you’ve had an awful lot of homes over the past five years.”

I knew he was baiting me into an argument, and for one second I indulged him.

“It’s been six years,” I corrected. “And given the opportunity, I’d gladly stay in one place.”

“
My
door is always open.”

“Unless I’m trying to get out, of course,” I retorted.

His responding chuckle made me shiver, and his next words sent a chill straight down my spine. “You have something that belongs to me.”

It took me a moment to recover, and when I did, I was careful to answer in a steady voice. “I have something you
want
not something that’s
yours.
”

I could practically hear his shrug. “It’s the same thing to me.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Not from my end.”

“Cohen…why can’t you just leave us alone?”

He sighed. “Which reason do you want, Nina? Or is it Polly now? I’ve got a few. One, you just plain pissed me off with your refusal to stay put. Two, your life was payment for your mother’s debt, and that woman has
still
never shown up with my money. Three, I don’t like being tricked. And how about four? Jayme.”

His name on Cohen’s lips made me want to retch.

“You’ll never find us,” I whispered.

“You’ve thought that before, haven’t you?”

The phone clicked, and I sat staring at it with my heart in my throat.

Quickly, quickly,
I urged myself.

I flung the door open and scrambled to the front door.

“Misty?” I whispered.

I’d called her just an hour ago to let her know I was on my way, so I knew she’d be waiting. But I wasn’t expecting her to grab my arm, yank me inside, and hug me so hard it took my breath away. I let myself relax against my friend for a second. It felt good to come home. And heart-wrenching to know it was only for a few minutes.

“Jesus, Pol,” Misty swore in a hushed voice. “You wanna explain this?”

I stiffened and pulled away. “You know I can’t.”

“I don’t know
what
I know,” she replied with a frustrated shake of her head. “For the past year and half you’ve kept me at arm’s length. I mean, I guess I
know
we’re about as close to friends as you’ll let anyone be. But I sure as hell don’t know anything else. I assumed you guys were running from something, but I didn’t think it was the cops.”

“The cops?”

“Didn’t you get my text when you were at work the night before last? I
told
you Mike said a cop came by the shop. Which is why I didn’t push the questions when you kept calling, talking for five seconds and hanging up, and why I didn’t mind stalling Jayme. But now you’re here and…”

“He’s not a cop, Misty. Not even close. He’s just—” It was my turn to shake my head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. I have to pack. Is Jayme in bed?”

On cue, the bedroom door creaked open and he shuffled out, bleary-eyed. His hair was askew, and his pyjama pants hung off his too-narrow hips in a way that made me wonder if he’d eaten at all in the past twenty-four hours. But he was still the person I loved most in the world, and my heart flooded with guilt-laden love at the sight of him.

I stood back a bit, waiting cautiously for him to demand to know where I’d been for the past day and a bit, but he just cocked his head to the side and let out a resigned sigh.

“Guess you were right,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Again.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” I replied. “I wanted to be wrong.”

“I know.”

“I packed already.”

My heart wanted to break at his announcement. I wished that our moving on wasn’t a foregone conclusion, and that Jayme didn’t know it. I forced myself to stay strong as I answered him.

“You knew we were going?”

He shrugged. “I figured I lost when I hit you again. But I don’t like losing.”

My heart went from feeling it was going to shatter to feeling like it was going to cave in on itself.

“That’s not what happened.”

“I gave you that black eye.”

“You didn’t mean it.”

Jayme narrowed his eyes. “What if I did, though?”

“You didn’t,” I insisted.

“I was mad. Which probably means I did.”

He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with his rolling suitcase in tow. I turned to Misty.

“There’s a month’s rent in the coffee canister under the sink,” I told her. “Keep anything you want—food, clothes, whatever. Everything else…I’ll call someone to haul it away in a couple of days. The cell I called you on earlier…did your phone record the number?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I can’t keep the phone,” I said. “They’ll probably track it if I do. But I’ll hang on to it for another few hours.”

“You’ll call me when you’re settled?” Misty asked.

I hesitated and looked from her to Jayme. I hated the fact that if I said yes, it would be a lie. I hated the fact that saying no was going to hurt her feelings even more. Jayme saved me.

“She won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “We just can’t afford to keep friends. It’s not safe.”

Oh, God. How many times had I repeated that same phrase over the past six years? Too many to count. But with Misty, I’d broken the rule. I’d let myself care about her.

And look where it got you,
I reminded myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Before either of them could notice the tears in my eyes, I ran to my bedroom to grab my things.

With more time than I had, and calmness I didn’t feel, I collected my few personal items and laid them out on the bed. I always had to decide which things to keep, and which to leave behind. I just wasn’t used to doing it with only five minutes to spare.

A few were a given. The framed photo of my mom. A snow globe that Jayme and I picked up at Niagara Falls, and a rock, worn smooth and shaped like an
S
, which we’d found at the Atlantic Ocean. A piece of charred metal that looked like garbage but which was actually a piece of burned licence plate that I just couldn’t throw away no matter how hard I tried. They all held too much meaning to leave behind. I ran my fingers over the tiny gold chain Misty had given me for my birthday earlier in the year. I would take it, too.

Some of the other stuff was sentimental, but probably unnecessary. I turned away from it to face my closet. From inside, I grabbed my one pair of jeans, a few newer T-shirts, my pyjamas and underwear. Quickly, I tossed everything into a backpack that didn’t look big enough for more than a two-week vacation, let alone an entire life.

I paused when I was done, struck by the fact that even though I’d escaped from Cohen, I had never managed to truly personalize my life. What kind of twenty-four-year-old woman had so little to connect themselves to the world? I’d had so many identities over the past six years, but none of them were really
me
.

I shoved down the morose realization and pulled the bag onto my shoulder.

There wasn’t any time to dwell on it. Not now. Maybe never.

I checked my face in the mirror and decided I’d composed myself enough to face them again. But as soon as I walked out into the living room, and Misty pressed a soft-sided cooler bag into my hands, the tears started up again.

“It’s just sandwiches,” Jayme pointed out.

“I know,” I replied.

But when was the last time anyone cared enough about us to bother making sandwiches?
I wondered.

Misty winked. “They’re
my
sandwiches. So they’re extra special.”

Jayme rolled his eyes again. “Not special enough to cry over.”

My friend smiled. “There’s also a thermos with iced coffee in it, some orange juice and plastic cups, and some fruit.”

“Thank you,” I said, hoping she knew I meant for more than just the food.

We carried our things out to the hatchback, where I ignored Misty’s raised eyebrow, and threw everything into the trunk. I gave her a quick hug, wiped away another wayward tear, and pulled out of the driveway without looking back.