The Woman in the Trunk

I wasn't stupid enough to go back to my apartment. Even if I did, I didn't have a key anywhere. It would be just as dumb to go to my father's place.

I had no friends to speak of.

Besides perhaps Liane at the bakery counter.

She was probably my best bet, but she was old and fragile. And I didn't want to subject her to my shitstorm of a situation.

What did that leave me with?

Just the bakery.

That was high-risk as well.

Certainly right now, directly after my escape, it was the worst risk.

But maybe later, when it was closed, armed with the code to the security system, I could dip inside. I could grab whatever money was in the safe. Then I would have enough to run, to get lost in a way that no one could ever find me.

I walked for another half an hour, trying to come up with other ideas that didn't involve mugging someone for whatever they might have in their wallets, but I found myself completely at a loss.

So the bakery it was.

I just had to wait for dark.

Taking a deep breath, I changed directions, taking myself toward the bakery, knowing that, from where I was, it would take me at least an hour and a half to walk there. Then I could hide out in the alley until it was safe, until I was sure that there was no one there.

Night brought no respite from the heat. If anything, the humidity rose instead, making my tank top stick to my back, my hair getting damp.

The foul stench of the contents of the dumpster had woven itself into the fabric of my clothing, the strands of my hair. I was sure I would never be able to wash the scent from my skin.

But that was a problem for another time.

I saw the bustle of closing. Pete, the bakery's all-around helping hand, brought out the trash, missing me squatting behind the pile of cardboard boxes beside it. He walked Liane out the side door, where she paused long enough to see to the security system before the two of them made their way down the alley and toward their respective apartments.

I don't know how long I wasted after that, paranoia freezing me with uncertainty before I finally got up the nerve to stand, my legs seized with pins and needles as I inched my way to the back door, plugging in the code, wincing at the chime as it opened.

When no one came running out to grab me, I moved inside, closing the door behind me, inching through the back hall, moving into the office, feeling every bit like the criminal instead of someone who could frequently be found in this very bakery, in this very office, well after closing on any given evening.

My pulse was pounding in my temples, in my throat, as I squatted down in front of the safe, feeling my sweaty fingers slide across the touchpad as I plugged in the code.

I reached in, the clumsiest of thieves, knocking half the cash on the floor before grabbing a wad of it, shoving the rest back in, pocketing the money, and locking it back up.

My father rarely checked the books.

And with me missing, there would be less pressure for the money.

I would get safe, then contact my father about watching his back as well, as I had no idea what these men were capable of, if the leverage of my captivity was taken away from them.

With that, I grabbed a couple pastries, and made my way back out.

Paranoia had me constantly looking over my shoulder as I made my way through the city, looking for the bus stop that might take me out of town.

As I walked, I realized a few things.

The cash would run out quickly.

And I had no way to make more.

Not without IDs.

Or my credit cards.

Gut churning, I decided at the first stop, I would make a call to Penny in Cape May, ask her to go and collect my things from the house. I might be able to convince her to move my car as well, even though I knew her vision wasn't great, which was why she didn't personally drive.

If I could go to her house to pick them up, there was no risk of being seen, of being caught, if Lorenzo sent men to Cape May to look for me.

Decision made, I ate my pastries, regretting it immediately after the sugar settled, mixing with the fear and uncertainty, making nausea rise up my throat as I sat in the terminal for several hours, waiting for the next bus out of town in the direction I was heading.

At the first stop, I managed to walk somewhere to grab a burner phone, put minutes on it to make the call I knew I needed to. Even if my throat felt tight at involving Penny in any of this.