Mine is much less flattering. It’s a still-shot taken from the front-door surveillance camera. I’m in the process of chopping wood, and I must’ve looked up for a second. My facial expression is blank, my eyes are hard, and my hair is in disarray from the wind.
With the unkempt beard, I look like a psycho.
“Please help us bring them in,” the mayor says. “Any tip leading to the location of one or both will result in a cash reward.”
$50,000 pops up in bold red letters under Rosalie, then another $25,000 under me.
An officer moves to the podium and starts rattling off physical descriptions. Heights, weights, and birthdays for both of us. They even talk about our distinguishing features—Rosalie’s naturally light hair and her different colored eyes. The gap between my two front teeth and my premature graying.
Fuck.
I run my tongue over the space in my teeth. I never had braces. Wasn’t a luxury a kid in the system got to have.
I can restyle my hair, shave my face, and change my clothes all I want, but teeth always stay the same. It’s why dental records are a good way to identify a body.
Or, in this case, a missing person.
I made a classic rookie mistake in underestimating Loralee. When I assumed she wouldn’t alert the cops, I exaggerated her sanity in my mind. My hopeful thinking got in the way of reality. The fact is, she’s unhinged and desperate. The only person in this world that matters to her is missing, so she literally has nothing to lose. She’s willing to risk getting caught if it means a chance at capturing Rosalie.
“She lied about me.” Rosalie’s voice is rough with emotion. “I’m not dangerous, armed, or unmedicated. But she told those lies, and now people are going to be scared of me.”
“Exactly.” I spin to grip her trembling shoulders. “Don’t take this personally, Rosie. Fear is a strong motivator. People are more concerned if their own well-being is involved. If they’re scared of you instead of scared for you, it’s a more effective tactic to get people to cooperate. That, along with the reward money, Loralee’s making her best play. You’re an adult and you left on your own, so it’s not like she can declare you a missing person.”
“So many people are going to be searching for us,” Rosalie says morosely, looking so young without her makeup on.
While I was asleep, she must’ve washed up.
Foundation, blush, and eyeliner are scattered on the round dining table, like she was about to get ready for the day.
“Change of plans. There’s no time to do your makeup.” I quickly scoop everything up and shove it into her waiting hands.
“Are we going to get caught?”
“No, we’re fine. We’ve got our covers, but to be extra safe, we have to keep moving. No more motels or public places until we get farther away.”
Good thing I never unpacked my stuff. My keys and wallet are still in my pockets, so I grab my leather jacket and the duffle I brought in.
With a helpless expression, Rosalie glances around the room. “But you need to sleep.”
“I did sleep.”
She crosses her arms. “For like an hour.”
“It’s enough.” Striding across the room, I do a quick once-over to make sure she’s not leaving anything behind.
She follows me, chasing me around like a puppy at my heels. Goddamn cute. “What if the motel guy recognizes us? Or those people in the gift shop?”
Valid concerns.
Every time someone does a double take, anyone that stares too long… I’ll be paranoid as fuck.
But I’ll carry that concern in silence.
There’s a pink toothbrush next to the sink. I hand it to Rosalie along with her backpack. “That’s why we’re leaving. Problem solved.”
“Won’t it be a problem everywhere we go?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?” Rosalie seems sluggish. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth suddenly stretches with a yawn.
That couple hours of sleep she got in the car wasn’t enough.
Well, she’ll have at least a couple more before we get where we’re going.
“Do you trust me yet?”
A couple seconds go by, then she replies, “Getting there.”
“Watch this.” I whip out one of my burner phones and dial the police station in Maryville. A woman answers. Laying on a thick southern accent, I drawl, “Hiya, darlin’. I just seen that crazy girl from the news. Uh huh. Yeaup. She was with that man, too. The bearded guy. They were gettin’ some snacks from the Hartman’s General Store off exit forty-five on I-59 up north. I overheard ‘em say they were headin’ to Canada. You’re welcome.” Pause. “Hang on a sec, now. Don’t you want my information? If you catch ‘em, I could use that reward money. Elton Calhoun. Yes, ma’am.”
I give her a random phone number before hanging up, and I shoot Rosalie a triumphant look.
She gapes at me. “How do you do that?”
“Just make up a story on the fly?” I pick up her Hello Kitty backpack and head toward the door.
“Yeah. You’re an amazing liar. It’s actually kind of scary.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not sure if that was a compliment. How will I know when you’re lying to me?”
Gripping the doorknob, I gaze down at her beautiful, suspicious face. “Simple. I won’t lie to you.”
“But the whole Jessa thing—”
“That was before. I won’t do it again. Promise.”
“You could be lying now.”
“I’m not.” I give her a charming grin.
She tries not to smile back. “I think you missed your calling. You should’ve been an actor.”
I affectionately pinch her chin. “But being your hero is so much more fun.”
For the second time today, I wake up in an unfamiliar place. The clock on the dash says it’s after three in the afternoon, and we’re parked on a street lined with cute little houses. Some have cars in the driveways. Others have sidewalk chalk drawings and tricycles on the pavement.
The stress of the day and all the sudden change is catching up with me. My medicine has officially worn off and instead of feeling rested after the nap I just had, I’m achy. My muscles are sore from the long hike, and my head hurts.
“What’s going on?” I ask sleepily, glancing over at Preston.
“We’re at a friend’s place,” he replies, seeming way too energized for having missed an entire night of sleep.
He can’t be fueled by caffeine. Aside from the fast-food place this morning, we haven’t stopped anywhere else for food or drinks. But his eyes are alert behind his glasses, and his shoulders are squared as he looks at a small blue house outside the passenger window. It has a one-car attached garage, a flowerbed of yellow mums, and a fall leaf wreath hanging on the door.
“I’m hoping we can stay here for the night,” he says. “We’re switching names again, just in case the guy at the motel suspected anything.”
A new ID lands in my lap. It has the same picture as before, but the last name is different and my first name dropped an ‘h.’
Sara Clare.