The girl lowered her phone and toyed with one of her short blonde ringlets. “I have a one-hour lunch break.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
Exhilaration coursed through her as she dug through her duffel bag and removed a wad of cash. “I’ll pay you two-hundred dollars to drive me to the next town.”
“Okay.” The girl shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”
Yes! Mind spinning, she turned toward the cash machine in the corner. “Does that work?”
“Last I checked.”
Perfect. She would withdraw enough cash to get her by for a few days and destroy her credit card. “Do you have a trash bag?”
“Umm…” The blonde’s eyebrows knitted. “Yes?”
“I need that, too.”
The duffel bag would stay here, and only the things she needed would go in the plastic bag. Things that couldn’t have been bugged.
If Tommy or anyone else was tracking her, she was going to make it as hard as possible.
For the next three days, Rylee holed up in the shittiest motel room in Texas. Restless, overstrung, and nearing her wit’s end, she paced the stained carpet and chewed her nails down to nubs.
When she’d paid for the ride here, she had the girl drop her at a corner store a mile down the road. There, Rylee had bought a range of everyday items, including a cheap, prepaid smart phone. After paying in cash, she carried it all on foot to this smelly, dilapidated, out-of-the-way motel.
By the time she’d checked in, her body throbbed everywhere, a reminder of the beating she’d taken in the desert. Her immediate concern had been taking care of her basic needs—shelter, water, food, hygiene, pain-killers, sleep.
So much sleep.
God, she’d needed that rest. After asphyxiation, extreme thirst, starvation, and unthinkable stress over the past week, she slept through most of the first two days. She never wanted to wake up.
But she couldn’t hide forever.
The prepaid phone burned in her hand as she paced the room. She hadn’t stepped outside once since arriving. Hadn’t called Mason or Evan or any of her colleagues. Hadn’t logged into her email at home or the systems at work.
The television stations reported no major news. A web search on Paul Kissinger turned up exactly nothing. As if he didn’t exist. She didn’t know who had hired him or why. She didn’t have names, physical descriptions, eye-witness reports, behavioral habits, a motivation… Absolutely nothing to profile.
She had no plan. No solution. Not a single goddamn thing to go on.
Desperate, she’d pulled up an internet browser and typed random search strings.
How do I identify who’s stalking me?
What types of devices are used to track cars?
Can bugs be hidden on a person?
If I’m being followed, what should I do?
Every answer led to the obvious course of action. Call the cops. Ironic, considering her occupation. She wanted to call her colleagues but didn’t know who to trust. Dean had already helped her, so contacting him was the most logical option.
She wasn’t ready to do that. Maybe paranoia was getting the best of her, but something about their interaction in his truck made her scalp tingle.
If only she had family or a close girlfriend to call, someone she could ask for help.
She had no one.
She was utterly, completely alone.
What was happening outside her little bubble? Was Mason looking for her? Was Evan still collecting her mail? She knew in her bones that Tommy was out there somewhere, hunting her right now.
She’d worked herself into a corner with nowhere to go. Her cash was dwindling. Her panic was rising. She was running out of time.
The only thing she’d achieved by coming here was healing her body back to full health. But if Tommy found her, when he found her, he would hurt her all over again.
It was horrifying that someone had monitored her for six months. But even more frightening was the thought of Tommy crashing through that door.
The fear he instilled in her was crippling, and she fucking loathed him for that.
Stepping to the covered window, she inched the curtain aside, just a sliver, and scrutinized the empty parking lot. The setting sun created shadows across the cracked pavement and arid wasteland surrounding it.
Nothing in sight for miles. No looming danger. The world went on without her.
As if the past week had never happened.
Maybe she was delusional. Overacting. Wasting her time here. Hiding for no reason.
She released the curtain and yanked down the neckline of her shirt. Stroking her thumb over the curve of her breast, she traced one of the dozens of bite marks that covered her body.
Tommy had positively happened. He was real. His rage, passion, and intensity had been as authentic as hers, and if she didn’t do something soon, he would show up here more furious than ever.
Mason still lived in El Paso, a three-hour drive away. She could call him, and if she detected anything suspicious in his voice, she would have time to ditch the phone and put distance between herself and this town. She would steal a damn car if needed.
But was it worth the risk?
Just to ask why he’d reported her missing?
She really needed to know.
Moving to the bed, she sat on the edge and dialed his number from memory.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Why did you file a missing-persons report on me?”
“Rylee.” The relief in his sigh chafed her nerves. “Thank God. I’ve been worried sick. Where are you?”
“Answer the question, Mason.”
“Tell me where you are. If you’re in trouble—”
“I’m on vacation. So imagine my surprise when Dean Hodge showed up, looking for me.”
“Why did they send him? I hate that sleazy creep. He has a hard-on a mile long for you.”
“You know what’s creepy? The fact that you know everyone I work with, even though we’ve been divorced for ten years, and I have a restraining order against you.”
“The restraining order expired.”
“I’ll file another one.”
“On what grounds? I love you, Rylee. My life is a goddamn meaningless pit without you. How long are you going to make me pay for a mistake I made when I was a kid?”
“You were thirty-one when you cheated on me, and as you already know, my grudges last forever. Why did you call my place of employment and report me missing?”
The sounds of his breaths rasped through the phone for several seconds. “Your neighbor contacted me.”
Shock chilled her spine as she lurched to her feet, heart racing. “My neighbor?”
“Evan Phillips. He said you were acting scared and disappeared.”
“That’s not at all what happened.” Her lungs crashed together as she raced to the window, obsessively checking the parking lot. “If he was so concerned about my whereabouts, why didn’t he call the police himself? Why would he call you?”
“You’ll have to ask him that question.”
“It doesn’t make sense. He’s collecting my mail. I told him I was leaving and where I was going.”
“Because you’re fucking him.”
“What?” Outrage whooshed through her veins and rang in her ears. “Are you watching me, Mason?”