Kiss Me If You Dare (17 page)

“If this was LA, I’d have never linked the two events. But here in Del Gloria, we pride ourselves on being The Town Crime Forgot.”

He chuckled again, this time almost dousing me with a stray spitball. I cringed, shrinking deeper into my pillow. “So I did my detective thing. Fed the computer your picture, your name, and whatever else I could come up with, made a few phone calls, checked a few sources, called in a couple favors, made some hypotheses. And last night, I ordered personal protection on a woman named Patricia Louise Amble. The officers tracked you to the same block. But instead of a missing ladder, they found a raging inferno.” He shook his head in awe. “I gotta hand it to you, kid, whatever guardian angels you got looking out for you, they’re doing a pretty good job.”

I thought of Portia and her single-mindedness in saving Celia and getting us out of the building.

“How’s Celia? Is Portia alright?” My mouth spoke the words, but only a muffled sound made it through the mask.

His eyes watered. “Ms. Romero will be fine after a few surgeries.” He choked and looked to one side. “They’re not sure about Ms. Long. Her health was fragile as it was. She might not pull through.”

A deep moan filtered through my mask. I squeezed my eyes closed and felt a stream of tears burn down my cheeks.

“It’s like this.” Detective Larson leaned toward me. “I’m the captain of the Good Ship Del Gloria. When a Jonah sneaks on board, I find him and throw him into the sea before any more of my passengers get hurt.”

I should have known better than to stay here. What made me think I could escape a well-oiled drug machine? The day I got involved with Candice LeJeune was the day I signed my own death warrant—along with Jane’s and maybe even Celia’s.

Detective Larson was right. I was a Jonah in this town. I could wait for the cops to throw me overboard, or I could jump ship myself. Either way, the sharks were circling.

“We’ve got an idea who’s behind the bombs,” Detective Larson was saying over the beep of the monitor. “Your classmate Simon Scroll seems to have skipped town. I’m guessing it was his job to make sure you never left Del Gloria alive. And as far as he’s concerned, he succeeded.” “What do you mean?” I asked, my words barely legible through the mask covering my mouth.

“Mr. Scroll has been employed by Professor Braddock as your bodyguard.”

I groaned. Simon was so useless . . . I would get him for a bodyguard.

The detective continued. “We think he got a better offer from someone else to make sure you turned up dead. We’re hoping to get the feds to step in this time with a little more sophisticated version of witness protection now that there’s proof your life is on the line. Professor Braddock had good intentions, but it’s obvious you need another fresh start.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My throat hurt from trying not to cry. I didn’t want another fresh start. I didn’t want any of this to be happening. If I couldn’t stay here in Del Gloria, then I wanted to go home to Port Silvan. I didn’t want another name, another town, another life. I just wanted to be Tish Amble again, whatever that entailed.

But something in the back of my mind warned that if I ever remembered what it was I’d forgotten, I might not be so excited to get back to my old life.

I told that something to shut up.

20

I was released from the hospital with nothing worse than an irritating cough, curling eyebrows, and a section of singed hair, which Maize agreed to shape into a spunky layered style.

“You are so lucky to be alive,” she said while I holed up at her apartment a day later.

I watched more and more hair drop to the ground as she snipped and talked, snipped and talked. “I think that’s enough off the ends,” I told her before I ended up bald. “It looks really good just like that.”

“Sure. Whatever.” She put the scissors down and picked up a yo-yo, performing a bevy of tricks as she kept her hands occupied. “So you’re taking off for a while?”

“Yeah. I hate to abandon Celia and Portia at a time like this, but I really have to check into things back home.” “Do what you have to. We’ll keep plugging away at things until you get back. Probably won’t get very far without someone telling us what to do and how to do it, but we’ll give it a shot—”

I touched her arm, interrupting her nervous prattling. “You guys will do great.”

“Listen,” Maize said, “if there’s anything you need while you’re on vacation, just call Koby. The guy’s a magician when it comes to getting flights out of thin air.

He can probably hook you up with a ride home. I know you have to take the bus there since you don’t have any identification, but he could probably even get you a fake ID if you’re desperate . . .”

I didn’t even want to know how she knew all that. With a nudge from my hand, I stopped her monologue. “Thanks. I’ll keep his number handy. You guys have been so understanding. Thanks for not being mad at me for misleading you about my name and stuff up front. Just, you know, try to keep it a secret until I can figure out how to make it all go away.”

“No problem there. I never tell secrets. And even if I did, no one would listen to me anyway, since I’m always talking so much. They barely hear a word I say as it is, unless it’s something really juicy like the time I found out about the college president . . .”

I smiled, letting her ramble on, tuning out the gossip as I focused on plans that would get me safely home to Brad.

The Sacramento station was hopping at four thirty in the afternoon. The cab driver stopped across the street in the dimming light. “Watch yourself in there. And don’t use the bathroom.”

I thanked him and stepped into the cool December air. On the way downtown, we’d passed a towering Christmas tree—the only indication it was time to deck the halls. I wrapped my black slicker close. No snow, just chilling, damp air so close to dusk.

I stepped toward blinking neon lights and pushed through the glass entry door. Bodies milled aimlessly through the overly bright interior. I couldn’t tell if they were homeless folks or passengers restless for a getaway driver. I sat on a plastic seat defaced with ink and carvings. A smell like ripe baby diapers permeated the air. I kept my nose tucked close to my collar. As the 4:50 departure time neared, more passengers trickled in, waiting for the only cross-country transportation that eluded Big Brother’s radar.

I adjusted the black flapper-style wig on my head and pushed my sunglasses a notch higher on my nose, hoping to avoid eye contact with my fellow travelers, who looked as directionless and despairing as I felt. I kept my luggage on my lap and both eyes peeled for trouble.

I’d planned the perfect escape—so far. I knew I couldn’t leave from the Del Gloria station without Denton or Detective Larson tracking me down. So I’d hired a cab to drive from the nearest big city and pick me up at the Del Gloria McDonald’s, then drop me here. With so many cab drivers in this city, what were the chances they’d question some guy named Ferdinand Olivares? And it had been easy enough walking into the fast-food restaurant as Alisha Braddock, and exiting the bathroom a few minutes later as the temporary me, Tasha Stewart. The name seemed both mysterious and boring, and hopefully would never have to be uttered before my arrival in Michigan.

A loudspeaker announced the bus’s arrival. Passengers filed past the driver, handing him their tickets and boarding.

I hovered at the back of the line, contemplating if I really wanted to be in an enclosed area with the fellow up ahead who kept mumbling to himself and waving his arms. Or the woman with the cleft chin and Adam’s apple.

“Watch your step,” the blue-jacketed driver muttered as I nudged by, passed him my ticket, and climbed the three stairs inside.

I took a seat as close to the driver as I could manage, whispered a prayer for protection, and geared up for a trip scheduled to last two days, ten hours, and forty minutes. If I didn’t jump out a window first.

Somehow I’d misread the itinerary. Had they really meant I’d be arriving at 4:30 in the morning Manistique, Michigan, time? The bus pulled away and I stood outside the twenty-four-hour gas station, wondering how I’d managed to mess that up.

The sign of a major hotel chain glowed in the distance. I started walking. Snow melted in my sneakers as I cut along US-2 toward shelter.

The clerk gave me a strange look when I told her I didn’t have a credit card. But I flipped enough bills on the counter to satisfy her need for a security deposit while I slept the next four hours. During my stay at Cliffhouse, Denton had provided a monthly stipend to cover my day-to-day expenses. My frugal nature meant I had enough set aside to make a run for it.

I stuck the plastic hotel key into its reader, got the green light, and pushed in. A shower before bed. The thought of sleeping in sheets contaminated with whatever germs I’d picked up over the last two and a half days didn’t sound appetizing.

While steam cleared the grime from my nose, I scrubbed with soap and a washcloth, hoping some plan would form before I turned the water off. Warmed through and squeaky clean, I slid beneath the sheets and pondered my next move. Sleep came before any strategy.

I woke up rested some time later.

A glance at the clock told me I’d slept past ten.

“Uhh.” I’d better get moving before the maids came knocking at my door. I stared at the phone, knowing I’d have to pick it up sooner or later if I were ever going to get to Port Silvan.

I grabbed the handset. Dial tone blared long and loud as I hesitated.

“If you’d like to make a call . . . ,” the recorded voice kicked on.

I pressed the disconnect and waited. The phone dangled by its cord from my hand. Calling Brad was out of the question. Even if I knew where he was right now, I couldn’t call him. He’d be so mad at me for . . . something. Coming back before he gave me the green light. Leaving when I should have stayed. Something.

I swung the phone back and forth in a gentle motion. Who would be most understanding? My cousin Joel? My grandfather? Maybe I should call the snowplow guy. No one would suspect I’d contact him.

The handpiece banged my shin. I scooped it up and dialed my grandfather. My heart thumped like crazy as the phone rang.

He answered. “Hello?”

I almost burst into tears at the sound of his voice.

“Hello?” he said again.

I cleared my throat. “Um, hi. I heard you helped women who are in trouble.”

Silence at the other end.

Tears streamed down my face. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Can you come get me?”

“Who is this?” His voice held a note of panic.

I evened out my breathing before answering. “Ti—” I almost said my real name. “Tasha . . . Stewart.”

More silence. I prayed he knew from my voice that it was me.

“You’re at the Econolodge?”

I nodded, knowing he had caller ID. “Yes,” I spoke into the handset.

“I’ll be right there.”

I hung up the phone and broke into loud sobbing. My chest heaved and my back shook and tears and snot got everywhere. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my family. How much I missed my life. I was so grateful to be back. Puppa would help me work through the hurdles facing my return. I was so glad to be home.

A little while later at the sink, I splashed cold water over my face hoping to bring the redness and swelling down. I pulled the wig over my hair, packed my luggage, put on my sunglasses and slicker, and waited at the window, watching for Puppa through sheer curtains.

An eternity passed before his black truck arrived. The vehicle hesitated, finally pulling slowly down the row of motel units. I opened the door and stepped into the parking lot. His brake lights blinked red as he stopped and backed up. I pulled open the truck door and climbed into the passenger seat. I kept my eyes straight ahead so I wouldn’t look at him and start crying again.

“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid to say more.

The truck made a circle and headed west on US-2. The road curved toward the lake. Out in the harbor, waves washed over thick ice already covering the jetty. The lighthouse stood lonely and cold, bleeding red against gray water and white snow.

A sorrowful sense of déjà vu crept over me as we passed places it seemed I’d only just left. But it had been nearly a year since I’d first returned home. Perhaps the scenery hadn’t changed much, with ice and snow and cold being the same from year to year. But the people would be different now, having lived through another year of experiences. I knew I was different.

Sneaking a glance toward my grandfather, I wondered if he’d be happy for the changes I’d made in my life or if he’d be angry at me for continuing to make the same mistakes over and over. Life could be so frustrating when the old adage “the more things change, the more they stay the same” came into play.

Puppa’s hair had whitened in the last ten months. And from my angle, his face looked weary and sad.

“How have you been?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question, though I wasn’t sure I could bear the answer.

He stared at the road ahead, driving another mile or so in silence. I fidgeted, worried he was passing judgment on me.

At the passing lane, he swung his eyes in my direction, staring at my profile. I pulled off my sunglasses and returned his look.

So much sadness in his eyes. What had happened while I was gone?

“Where have you been?” He croaked the words.

It never occurred to me that he had no idea where I’d been all this time. I just assumed Brad had let him in on the plan. Or Denton had contacted him so he wouldn’t worry. But what good would disappearing from the face of the earth do if everybody knew where you were?

I bit my lip. “Puppa. I’m so sorry. I hope you weren’t worried. I thought Brad would have told you.”

At Brad’s name, he snapped his head in my direction and blinked hard. “Brad? How could he tell me?” He looked straight ahead. “We’ve all thought you’ve been dead since June. They told us you died in a car crash in Minneapolis. We had a funeral.”

I shook my head. “No. I was in a car crash, but I’m fine. I got away to California, where Brad told me to go so I’d be safe from Frank Majestic.”