Just like that, he saunters away, bending down to collect the remains of my laptop.
Pushing down on the pedal, I accelerate up to a reasonable amount past the speed limit.
We need distance.
I’ve been driving west for the past three hours. Soon, we’ll go south, but there’s somewhere I want to see first.
Along the coast of Lake Michigan, there’s a string of lighthouses. Now that I know how much Rosalie hates water, getting close is out of the question, but we can drive by the one that’s on the way to our next stop.
I have another storage unit in a touristy town near the last lighthouse by the Indiana border. I chose the place on purpose because the town is too small to have a heavy law enforcement presence but big enough to pass through without getting odd looks. There, we’ll check in to an inconspicuous motel, eat, sleep, and change our clothes before we get back on the road.
By now, Loralee has woken up. She’s noticed Rosalie is gone. I can imagine her running around the house, finding the trail of Rosalie’s escape. She’ll go out to the garage and find me gone as well.
I’m not sure what she’ll do after that. It’s not like she can go to the police and tell them the child she kidnapped all those years ago ran away.
Then there’s Ivan. He probably won’t be aware of my deceit until tonight’s check-in when he finds out my phone is disconnected.
Honestly, I’m a little worried about how he’s going to react. I won’t breathe easier until we’re out of Michigan.
Fortunately, I’ve got it all planned out. In fact, my backup plan has a backup plan.
What makes me so good at my job is that going unnoticed is second nature for me. I’ve been ignored my entire life. Blending in is easy.
Rosalie? Not so much.
I glance over at her sleeping form in the passenger seat.
I’ve seen her in daylight before because of the couple times she approached me while I was working. But then, I barely looked at her. Didn’t want to make it obvious that I was interested.
Having her up close like this, it just makes me realize how gorgeous she is.
She’s stunning, with her straight nose, her high cheekbones, and the cleft in her chin. She’s got the kind of face that can stop people in their tracks.
And that could be a problem.
She lets out a light snore. Shifting, she mutters something unintelligible.
Damn, she’s cute.
She’s snuggled up under my jacket, and I like that she probably smells like me now. Her head’s leaning against the door, and her hood is halfway off, revealing her gorgeous light strands that are still tied together in a long braid.
Although she got dirty and sweaty during our hike, her face is still all done up. Thick eyelashes coated with black mascara are fanned out on her upper cheeks. Her lips are a deep pink—I think I kissed the lipstick off her, but the color remains, probably because she’s chapped from the cold or from our hot make out session.
My body’s still buzzing from that kiss.
Last time I had any physical gratification with someone, I was a reckless, selfish teenager. I’d been afraid I would be clumsy and out of practice with Rosalie. At first, I was. I literally mauled the girl.
I’m sporting a semi just thinking about it.
When I remember what it felt like to have her pinned up against that tree, I ache, and not just in my pants. There’s a weird hollow feeling in my chest.
Putting my eyes back on the interstate, I rub at my sternum while trying to figure out why I’m hurting. It’s a pain I haven’t experienced since I was a kid, back when I wanted a family more than anything.
Longing. That’s what it is. A yearning so intense it causes a physical sensation in your heart because you can’t go on living without it.
I’m so fucked.
From the very beginning, I felt a pull to Rosalie when I saw her picture. Then we had a connection as soon as we started chatting online.
But this is different.
This is worse.
It’s better.
It’s amazing and terrifying all at once.
I like her. Like, really like her. She’s stubborn and determined as hell. She’s equal parts intelligent and gullible. I’m sure she’ll be inquisitive and curious once she gets enough sleep.
The interrogation she threatened me with failed miserably. All the questions she claimed she’d throw at me after we got on the road never happened. After toying with the radio and settling on a classic rock station, she rested her head on the door. She was zonked out before we were two miles from the small town.
I’m glad for the reprieve, because I don’t know all the answers to the questions she’ll ask. Most of what I’m assuming about her past is an educated guess. Her life is like a puzzle, and I don’t have all the pieces.
Dropping that bomb on her about her birthday was a risky move, though it delivered my intended effect. Rosalie’s got some pent-up rage. She’s traumatized in ways she doesn’t even realize.
Someday, I’ll dig until I find out exactly what happened in her past. Until then, I just want to be with her. I want to show her the world isn’t always terrible, and that she has a place in it. She belongs.
She can belong with me.
I wake to a loud sound. When I open my eyes, it’s dark and I’m still in the car. Outside, there are walls surrounding us, like the entire vehicle is enclosed in some kind of concrete capsule.
Startled, I try to sit up straighter, but the seat belt strap goes taut across my chest and shoulder. A shriek bursts from me when I look to my left and see an unfamiliar man in the driver’s seat.
“Shh. It’s me.” Preston takes off his black-rimmed glasses.
I blink at him. “You look totally different.”
“Good.” He runs a hand over his freshly shaved jaw.
His usually messy hair is slicked down and parted on the side. The dark-blue suit he’s wearing fits him well, and the white shirt underneath is unbuttoned at the top to complete a business-casual style.
He’s gone from rugged laborer to wealthy nerd. Both looks suit him, but I’m a little sad at the loss of the facial hair. I liked the way it made my face tingle when I kissed him.
As I lay my palm over my racing heart, I’m disoriented and confused. I don’t feel like I know the person next to me, and I need a true fact to ground me. “Tell me something real.”
“My eyes are actually blue,” Preston says. “I had colored contacts in before.”
That’s what’s throwing me off. His eyes. Though I have to admit, his natural color is kind of beautiful.
I look down at my dirty jeans. “Do I need a disguise, too?”
“Yes.”
Digesting the new information, I observe our surroundings. When I look behind us, I realize we’re under the shade of another storage garage. Parked outside, there’s a gray sedan.
I point at it. “Is that what we’ll be driving instead?”
“Yep.” Preston lovingly rubs the steering wheel of the spiffy car.
I feel bad that we’re leaving it here. “Preston—”
“It’s Kent Jones now.” He holds up an ID to prove it before handing me my own.
“Sarah Jones?” I’m shocked because my picture is on it.