Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Forcing her eyes back to her plate was no better. The small pool of catsup near her fries looked so much like blood she felt her stomach start to quiver.

No. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t eat. Not yet. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed her plate aside, up against the napkin stand. Then she peeled off a twenty from the wad of bills in her pocket and got the hell out of there.

Outside, the wind was cold enough to steal her breath. Traffic rushed by and night was on its way. Headlights glowed white, taillights red, the hum of tires on dry pavement ever present. She had to keep moving, keep thinking. Clicking on her phone, she noticed it was about out of power. Time to recharge. She Googled convenience stores and found one a few blocks away.

Did she hear footsteps behind her?

Pulse jumping, she glanced over her shoulder as she walked, nearly running into a woman bundled in a bulky ski jacket who was forced to step out of Ivy’s path. The woman sidestepped her and muttered, “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” Ivy mumbled.

She saw no one else on the stretch of sidewalk behind her. The streetlights were just starting to glow.

Darkness was falling. Quickly.

Spying the convenience store, she waited until a pickup with a camper drove past, then jaywalked across the street. Still no one was behind her. Opening the door, she felt a wall of warmth and smelled the odors of nacho cheese and onions and hotdogs that looked roasted to death coming from a small deli case. Near the back of the store, a single clerk stood behind the counter, a skinny, pimply faced boy of about eighteen who paid more attention to his phone than the near-empty store.

For once she lucked out; the store sold cheap makeup, hooded sweatshirts, hair dye, scissors, and baseball caps. All of which she needed and grabbed. She swept through the few aisles and threw in a cell phone charger, oversized hoodie, and a travel-sized bottle of hair spray. Then, thinking of the long night and day ahead, tossed a couple of bottles of water and three candy bars and a large bag of Cheetos into her basket. Her mother would kill her if she saw the junk food . . . oh, God. Mom.

Ivy’s knees nearly buckled at the thought of her mother. With an effort she forced herself not to break down as she approached the counter.

Nervously, on one foot and the other, she waited for the cashier, whose name tag read COLLIN, to ring up her items. He was incredibly slow and as he scanned the oversized sweatshirt, she heard the front door whisper open, then caught sight of a man perusing the magazine rack.

Her heart nearly missed a beat.

One of the men from the bus.

She recognized his shades and the beard-shadow covering his jaw, the gelled hair.

She didn’t doubt for a second that he’d followed her.

Oh. God.

She had to get out of here. Fast.

“Do you know the closest motel?” she asked the cashier under her breath. “A cheap one that, you know, won’t ask many questions.”

Collin focused on her for a second, then scanned her items, including the hair dye.

“Seriously,” she said. “I need a place to crash.”

“Uh.” He lifted the cap from his head, squinted, and scratched his head. “Maybe the Lakesider?” He didn’t sound sure of himself.

She didn’t care. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, it’s about six blocks that way.” He pointed in the direction of the parking lot, over the top of a shelf holding over-the-counter sleep aids and other medications.

Seeing the guy in the sunglasses approaching, she repeated the name of the motel under her breath, as if memorizing it. “The Lakesider.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t no lake anywhere nearby,” Collin said on a wheezing laugh. “Why they call it the Lakesider beats me.”

“No problem,” Ivy lied, irritated.

The cashier was an idiot and he’d just given away the location and name of the motel to the other patron in the store.

She scooped up her bagged items and change as the man in the hat stepped closer to the counter.

“Pack of Marlboro Reds,” Sunglasses said.