Tears prick at my eyes. “I can’t. I don’t have time for that. I need money now.” I lift my gaze and look him directly in the eye. “Please. Whatever you can give me. I need money to get home.”
I tell myself to hold still as his eyes travel over my face.
“The best I can do is ten-K.”
I blow out a breath. Ten thousand dollars will be plenty. I don’t even care that Sal’s offer is significantly below value. I’d donate those rings to a homeless shelter if I didn’t desperately need the cash.
“Okay, I’ll take it.”
Sal lifts an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m sure. I need the money, and ten thousand will be more than enough.”
“Okay, then.” He jerks his head to the left. “Step into my office. We just need to fill out some paperwork, and you’ll be on your way with ten-grand in your pocket.”
Sal’s office is really just a drop-down desk at the end of the glass case. He slides a piece of paper across the surface and points to a mug filled with pens on my right.
“These are standard forms, stating where you got the ring, how long it’s been in your possession, an oath that you didn’t obtain it by illegal means, stuff like that. I’ll need your ID because I have to notarize the affidavit at the end.”
Thankfully, I had the sense to grab my cell before leaving the apartment. I don’t like carrying a purse on the streets of New York, so I opted for a phone case that doubles as a wallet. I start to pull my license out but pause when I think of a potential problem.
“You’re not going to share this information, right? Nobody will know I was here?”
He scratches the scruff on his jaw. “I’m required by law to report any incoming items, but it’s not like I’ll be broadcasting it on the streets or anything. As long as the rings aren’t reported stolen, I don’t have to release your name.”
I take a moment to weigh the consequences. I suppose it doesn’t matter if Sebastian ever did know I was here. It’s not like these forms mention where I’m going. Mia suggested I disable the locator feature from my cell so Sebastian couldn’t track me. I’m thankful she thought of it because I wouldn’t have. If I’m honest with myself, he’ll figure out where I’m going sooner rather than later, but if I can get out of New York first, I feel like I’ll have a better shot at making it to my destination. Once I’m there, I’ll no longer be alone, which makes me less vulnerable in Sebastian’s eyes.
Hopefully.
With that decided, I hand Sal my license and start completing the forms. Fifteen minutes and ten thousand dollars later, I’m back in Joey’s car.
“You figure out where you wanna go next?”
I pull the money from my pocket and count ten bills from the stack. Handing them to him, I ask, “How do you feel about taking me to the Newark airport?”
JFK and LaGuardia are too obvious. I hope flying out of Jersey will throw Sebastian off my scent a little.
Joey smiles. “For a thousand bucks, sure. E-W-R, here we come.”
A while later, Joey drops me off at the airport, and I make my way over to a nearby check-in area. I feel like bugs are crawling over my skin the entire time I wait in line. I keep the brim of my hat low, but I know people can see how beat up I am, regarding me with sympathy or whispering something to their companions. When it’s finally my turn, I walk up to the counter and have to remind myself not to react when the attendant gasps as she gets a close-up look at my face.
“Ho—How can I help you, ma’am? Are you checking in today?”
“I’d like to buy the first available one-way ticket to Atlanta.”
I can tell the lady’s trying not to gawk while her fingernails tap on the keyboard, but she’s not all that successful. “The first flight with any open seats departs at 6:05 p.m., which would arrive in Atlanta at 8:32 p.m.”
Crap. I can’t wait that long.
“Do you have any earlier flights? Maybe to Montgomery?” I lean forward and lower my voice. “Please. I really do mean anything. I don’t care how many planes I need to take; I just need to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.”
Her fingers fly across the keyboard again. “I have a few seats left on a nonstop to Charlotte, leaving in just under an hour.” More typing. “From there, I can get you to Atlanta. The layover in Charlotte is about three-and-a-half hours, so you’d be arriving in Atlanta at 6:55.”
I sigh in relief. “I’ll take it. How much?”
“With taxes and fees, three-hundred eighty-seven dollars and twelve cents. If you’re checking a bag, that’ll be an extra thirty dollars for the first piece and forty dollars for the second.”
I discreetly count out enough cash and hand it to her. Easier said than done when you’re not supposed to move one shoulder. “I don’t have any bags. It’s just me.”
She takes the money from me. “I’ll just need to see a piece of government identification, please.”
I pretend I don’t notice her bewilderment as she attempts to match the picture on my license to the woman before her now. I’m sure this whole thing is suspicious as hell in her eyes. It takes the ticket counter lady a few minutes to type everything into the computer before she hands me a boarding pass.
“They’re boarding in twenty minutes at gate C-4. You’ll need to hurry.”
“Thank you.” I pocket my ID and pull the brim of my hat down before heading toward the security screening area.
I barely make it to my gate in time because, of course, I’m flagged by TSA for additional inspection. I’m the last person to board, and my seat is in the back of the plane, so I have to fight through the sick feeling in my stomach as hundreds of curious eyes look me over as I walk down the aisle. Once I’m finally seated with my seat belt securely fastened, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I know once I arrive at the ranch, there’ll be a whole new set of shock, pity, and questions I’ll have to endure, but the weight that’s been crushing my chest all these years finally feels a bit lighter.
Chapter Five
Presley
– Age 13
“Great job today, girl.”
I close Magnolia’s stall door and hang her halter on the hook. Beck finishes stalling his mare, Cinnamon, and meets me at the end of the stable. Cinnamon isn’t technically Beck’s, but she’s taken a liking to him. He assisted his dad with her delivery a few years back, and they bonded right away.
Beck removes his snapback and runs a hand over his head. “Do you know what your mom’s cookin’ for dinner tonight?”
Beck’s dad works late this time of year, so my mom insists he eats dinner with us every night. Then, she sends him home with leftovers for his dad. She’s the ultimate mother hen—you’re going to get a hot, home-cooked meal every evening whether you like it or not. Beck never seems to mind, though. I swear that boy does nothing but eat these days.
“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, I think.”
He gives me a crooked smile. Dang, he’s cute when he does that.