Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

She was cutting it close as it was, didn’t want to linger too long, didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention and cameras.... Didn’t they have cameras in bus stations? No, she planned to get to the station with only five minutes to spare.

So there could be no slipups.

She changed into her still-damp clothes, then slipped into her jacket before adding the zippered, extra-large hoodie. Most of her money was tucked into her bra, with spending money in her jeans pocket with her bus ticket. She thought about wearing sunglasses but decided they would create more interest in her as it was the middle of the night and they reminded her of the man who’d been following her.

Instead, she went with thick, dark eyeliner, dark gray eye shadow, and heavy mascara coupled with pale face makeup and no lip color. With her newly dyed and cut hair, she looked far different from the girl who had registered a few hours earlier. Tugging the baseball cap low over her forehead, she snagged the few items she owned, made certain she still had her cash and bus ticket, and worried for a second about discarding the garbage, the leftover packaging from her hair dye and other trash, in a dumpster somewhere, to cover her tracks. But that would take time.

Which she didn’t have.

No.

Whoever had been following her knew she was in Albuquerque already, and the police . . . Oh, hell, she’d deal with all that later. Now, s

he had to get going. But first she slid the scissors into the side of her boot and made certain her hair spray was in her pocket.

She checked the street again, through the blinds. Spying no one, and noting the same five cars and one pickup that had been in the parking lot earlier hadn’t moved, she headed out, moving quickly past the other second-floor rooms on the long exterior porch and down a set of stairs at the far end of the building, away from the office where the lights glowed brightly, the interior counter and waiting area awash in fluorescent light.

No one seemed to be following her through the near empty streets.

Traffic was almost nonexistent.

She headed straight for the bus station, past a tavern where a couple of men in jeans, western shirts, and cowboy hats leaned against the building while smoking. A couple of trucks growled to life in the parking lot, the bar shutting down for the night.

She walked past the smokers, feeling their eyes on her, but their low conversation never faltered and they didn’t bother her.

Just keep moving. The bus will be leaving soon.

No doubling back. No sneaking through alleys. Just a steady line for the next eight or so blocks. She didn’t run, but walked quickly, seeing no one, hearing no footsteps behind her, the map on her phone guiding her with its small illuminated map.

Still her heart thudded and her nerves were strung tight as bowstrings. She heard a train chugging on far-off tracks and felt the chill of winter in the wind. A block from the bus station a police cruiser rolled through the intersection and Ivy slowed near the darkened doorway of a pawnshop, now closed, lights dimmed. Her gaze followed the police car. God, wouldn’t that be the worst if right now she were picked up?

She swallowed hard.

Had the cop seen her?

Would a lone woman on the deserted streets give an officer pause on this quiet night?

Would he circle around and—

A huge hand grabbed her face!

What!

She tried to scream. Reacted. Flailed as another arm wrapped around her waist and drew her into the alcove.

God, no!

Who was this?

He’s going to kill you.

Like Mom. Like Paul.

No! NO! NO!

She fought. Twisting and turning, her arms reaching backward, as she clawed, catching the edge of his sunglasses, sending them clattering to the sidewalk. Panic screamed through her blood. Where was the cop car? The one that had just passed? Oh, God, please let the officer have seen her and be at this moment rounding the block!

Her screams were muffled by his thick glove.