Dead or Alive (10 page)

“I’m fine,” he answered.  “ Little woozy, but okay.  I can feed myself.”  A few more pickles and olives fell from the bread as he managed to get the sandwich up to his mouth, but he still managed, taking a hearty bite.

Violet nodded, satisfied, before turning back to the side table in Jason’s living area where he had various picture frames and knick-knacks strategically placed.  She ran her fingers over the photos of his friends and family, stopping short when they glided over a tiny porcelain pig.  With an amused pout, she plucked the pig up from the table.  It was baby pink, and barely bigger than the bed of her nail.  Flecks of red paint were scattered across its body.  She admired the unique design feature.

“If this isn’t the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” she cooed.

“My grandma gave it to me when I was a kid,” Jason informed.

“Remy,” Violet beamed, turning to Remy while displaying it.  “Look, Remy, a tiny porcelain pig.”

Remy took in the pig for a long moment, and waited patiently to feel as excited as Violet.  The excitement never came, and he raised an eyebrow.  “Cool?”

Unaffected by his dry reaction, she turned to Jason.  “Do you have any more tiny porcelain animals? Can I have
this
tiny porcelain animal?”

“No.” Jason took the pig from Violet’s hand.  He immediately took a moment when her eyes widened.  “Sorry, it just has a lot of sentimental value to me.  Like I said, it was a gift from my grandmother.  She died a few years ago so… I feel some kind of weird attachment to it.” At the sight of Violet nodding, he set the pig back down, taking her in openly.  “I love your earrings.”

“Thanks.”  She reached up to touch her diamond earrings bashfully.

“They’re beautiful.”  Jason’s eyes shone.  “Someone must like you a lot.”

Before she could stop herself, Violet looked to Remy.  He was listening to their conversation intently.  Too intently.

Violet blushed.

Sensing the tone was turning, Jason cleared his throat.  “Well, hey, you guys should probably get going now that you’ve got something to eat and some fresh bandages.  Not the best idea to have you camping out at your best friend’s lake house.”

“He’s right, Remy.” Violet said, turning to him.  “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Remy stood.

The two friends embraced once more, and this time Violet saw it for what it was. Two people who had a connection that ran deep, one that had sustained a nationwide scandal which had one of them running for their lives.

Jason pulled back.  “You know what? You guys should take my Pop’s old Tundra.  He’s been gone for years, I’m sure he won’t miss it.  Take it to Mexico.  I’ll come visit you at the beach.”

Violet smiled gently at Jason, even as an unexplainable feeling of sick apprehension hit her.  It was a kind offer from Jason, but something about it didn’t sit well. She looked to Remy, relieved to see that he was already shaking his head no.

“We don’t just want to lounge around on a beach, Jason, as nice as that sounds.  Remy deserves his freedom.  That’s what we’re after.”

“Maybe that’s not the smartest way to go.”

“Maybe not.  But it’s the only way for us.”

Jason searched her face slowly before speaking once more. “It’s not a good idea to drive around in a stolen car any longer than you have to,” he reasoned.

Remy shook his head.  “I can’t let you do that. And I can’t leave a stolen car parked in your driveway.”

Jason shot Remy a look.  “How long have we known each other?”

Remy had known Jason since his colorful days as an angry teenage felon, and he had no doubt in his mind that Jason knew just what to do to take a stolen vehicle off the radar.  “I can’t let you--”

Jason had heard enough.  “Stop.  Take the truck.  I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

***

“We’re not taking his truck.”  Violet said, holding Remy’s arm around her shoulders as they made the slow walk back to the stolen truck parked outside Jason’s house.  He was currently searching the house for the keys to the Tundra, which he’d misplaced.  The moment he’d left the house to go search the garage, Violet had insisted that she and Remy leave.

“He’s my best friend.” Remy groaned.

“We can’t trust him.  We can’t trust anyone, Remy.  We shouldn’t even have come here. Everyone thinks we’re dead. We need to
let them
think we’re dead for as long as possible, and take advantage of it.”

Remy was too weak to argue.

“Besides,” Violet began, pulling open the passenger door of the truck and pushing him in. “It’s only a matter of minutes before Jason realizes I disabled his landline and stole his cellphone, so we have to get the hell out of…”

Her words came to a slow stop when, instead of arguing with her, Remy immediately passed out.

A smile touched her lips.  Maybe this was why all of her past relationships with men had gone so sour.  She hadn’t been drugging them enough!

With a perpetual grin, she raced around to the driver’s side of the truck and climbed in, slamming the door shut and zooming down the beaten path before Jason realized they were gone.

***

Some time later, Remy woke up to the sound of rain pattering so heavily against the truck that it became almost rhythmic.

“It’s going to flood soon.”  Violet said, smiling over at him.  “But I’m sure I can make it there before the water blocks off the roads.  This town floods at the drop of a dime.”

Make it where?
Remy wanted to ask.  There was officially no room left in his mind for subject matter with which to hassle Violet, however.  So he got rid of one. “I can’t believe you stole Jason’s cell phone.”

“And disabled his landline,” she added, catching the look of disbelief on his face as she guided the truck through the muddy back roads that were now familiar to
her.
“I threw it in a trashcan about a mile outside his house.  All he has to do is ping it. He seems nice, but I had to do what I had to do.”  Violet said.  “We couldn’t give him the opportunity to call anyone, but we also couldn’t give him the chance to ping his cell phone while we still had it, either.  We’d be sitting ducks.”

“You don’t know him. He’d never do that to me.  He’s a good kid.”  Remy’s frown was unnecessarily dramatic.

She made a quick left.  She knew exactly where she was going now, and that was a relief.  Zooming through massive expanses of land she didn’t recognize with a man who couldn’t even hold his own head up had been causing her more than a little bit of anxiety.

“I like you better when you’re sleeping,” she said.

He grumbled something, running his fingers over his hair, still growing used to the cut.  In moments, he relented to her inclinations, and was back to sleep.

***

Hours later, Violet was pulling the truck up the driveway.  The rain was still relentless, assaulting every inch of land with pools of water for miles.  From what Violet could hear on the radio, which the rain was also taking in its relentless obliteration, was that all roads that lead in and out of there would be blocked for days.

As she looked to Remy, she thought he must have an angel on his shoulder.  No man who was a killer could have this kind of luck on his side.

Right? Not wanting to overthink that, she shook him softly, just as she parked the car.

He kicked himself awake, studying his surroundings in dismay.  The windshield wipers worked overtime under the pounding rain, allotting him only quick, passing glimpses of the old house before them. From what Remy could gather, the house looked to be on its last leg.  As he looked in every direction, he saw that it was the only house in the wet, grassy area, probably for miles. “Where are we?”

“This is a vacation house that belonged to an old client of mine. A friend. She left it to her oldest daughter who lives in London and detests America almost as much as she detests this house.  So I housesit.  It’s basically mine.  It’s just outside Yosemite in North Fork.  It’s not even on a map.  No one will ever think to look for us here. And even if they did, the roads will be flooded for days.  No one’s getting in, and no one’s getting out.”

“What about your crazy, demon baby sisters?  If anyone could figure it out, it’s them.”

“First of all, my sisters are not demon babies, second of all, my family has never seen this place.  When I first started looking after it, it was old, it stank, and it was falling apart.  One look at a photograph of this house and my family didn’t want to hear another word. They wouldn’t think for a moment to look here, and even if they did, they’d have no clue where to find it.  They have no idea that I keep it up.  It’s my secret getaway. Trust me, Remy.  No one will sniff this place out.”

“Do you really think the police aren’t going to come looking for us here? Your detective sister?”

“No.  And even if they
did,
they still think I’m your unwilling hostage.   Why would I, your unwilling hostage, ever lead you to the secluded cabin that no one knows the location of? Why would I, your unwilling hostage, lead you to a house deep in the woods where no one would ever find us? Where you’d have a million places to hide my dead body? I wouldn’t. We need this. You need rest.  You’re coming apart at the seams.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Come on.  I’ll help you into the house before I move the truck into the shed out back.  Can’t risk it being seen.”

Remy could only nod and, before he knew it, they were climbing the rickety stairs to the house, and making their way inside.

7

Upon entering the old house, Remy immediately fell into a chair in the kitchen—the closest to the door--waiting for Violet to return.  He ran his hand over his hair, which had gotten damp under the pounding rain.  When Violet returned, shaking the rain out of her own hair, he still hadn’t known what to do with himself, except follow her every move with his eyes as she ran all over the place with familiar ease.

She finally settled in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder to where he was all but collapsed in one of her dining chairs, looking like death.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I make a mean French Roast.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Violet saw a genuine smile cross Remy’s face.  It was a truly beautiful sight, so much so that it had her entranced.

“I would kill for some coffee.”

“Kill? It’s a touch too early for murderous quips like that, Archibald,” she said, with a wag of her finger, as she retrieved the coffee tin.  “We haven’t proven you innocent, yet.”

Remy’s eyes instantly fell to the ass of her cutoff shorts the moment she turned away, frowning deeply against the feelings they enticed. “And here I was, convinced the splitting headache I’ve had since the courthouse was because I got shot in the leg and have somehow been saddled with the loudest mouth in all of California.”

Violet rolled her eyes as she scooped the coffee into the maker. “Isn’t it?”

“No.  It’s because I haven’t had my coffee.”

“Do they serve coffee in prison?”

“Yes, and thank god for that, or I may have really murdered somebody.  And I would’ve been guilty this time.”

“What did I say about those murderous puns?” she teased. “So you’re a coffee head, like me.”

“I can’t function without it.”

Violet started the coffee before joining him at the table.  “Me neither.”  Her eyes ran down his body.  “Why don’t you go sit on the couch?  You need rest.”

He shook his head.  “My mind is going too fast.  And I think these meds are wearing off.”

Violet leapt out of her chair and grabbed the duffle bag from where she’d dropped it in the foyer.  “Don’t worry, I swiped a few bottles on the way out of Barbara’s house.”

“You’re a regular MacGyver.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Believe me.  I’m not.”

“You can admit it, Remy.  You need me.”

“I don’t need you.”  His eyes hardened.  “But I’ll take the pills.”

***

Hours later, Remy awoke on the couch and, for a moment, had no idea where he was.  It had been a long time since he’d woken up on such a soft surface, with the sweet smell of spices and protein beckoning him.  The lingering scent of that floral shampoo Violet wore was also doing it’s part in making this one of the nicest wake-up calls he’d had in months.  From the kitchen, he could hear her humming along to an upbeat song he didn’t know.

His eyes went to the coffee table, and he had to shake his head at the sight of a glass of water and two pills calling out to him.  He swiped them up and swallowed them down with ease, finishing off the entire glass of water before lifting himself off of the couch.  He favored his good leg, and slowly trudged towards the kitchen, towards the sounds of crackling fry pans, towards that shampoo.  He had no idea which was luring him in more, he just knew something in him had to get to wherever they were.  Fast.

Clutching a beam that led the way into the open kitchen, he watched her quietly as she danced in front of the oven.  A funk song he didn’t know played from an old radio tucked in the corner, eliciting swerves of her waist and hips that left him motionless.

As if sensing him, Violet suddenly looked over her shoulder, and nearly leapt out of her skin, placing her spatula clad hand over her heart.

“You scared me to death.”  She smiled.

Remy didn’t smile back.  She’d washed the straight style out of her hair, leaving it in thick, curly spirals that she’d thrown up into a high bun, showcasing her defined jaw and baby face even more. The matching black cotton shorts and t-shirt set she wore wasn’t figure hugging, but still did nothing to disguise her beautiful body. His heart churned.  “When are you going to come to your senses and leave me?”

She seemed disappointed.  “When are you going to get it?  It’s not going to happen.” She motioned to a chair in the kitchen.  “Now sit down.  Food’s almost ready.”

***

At first Remy made an attempt to mind his manners and eat properly, but with each bite of Violet’s home made meal he took, the more ravenous he became.

With a shake of his head, he cleaned the second helping off of his plate, and Violet was quick to push the serving platter piled with skirt steak towards him in silent offer.  He took more without question, digging in. “How do you have the supplies on hand to make such a delicious meal?”

“I told you.  I secretly come here all the time. I was just here last weekend, so the fridge is stocked. I make sure to keep lots of food in the freezer, and cans in the cupboard. I’m a big foodie.”

“Yeah, I can tell.  This is really delicious, Chambers.”

“You just haven’t had a real meal in half a year.  God only knows what kind of slop they were tossing at you in the slammer,” she said, blushing modestly.

“It’s not just that.  No. This is, truly…” He pointed his fork down at the plate.  “Really good.  Take it from the former pilot.  I’ve travelled all over the world.  I’ve eaten really good food, and I’ve eaten really bad food.  This… is really good food.  You have a gift.”

“Well.” Violet’s heart soared. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be a chef, but Daddy was having none of that.”

“No?”

“No.  I come from a judicial family. We’re one of the largest and most respected judicial families in Redding.”

“Are you from Redding?”

“No. I was born in Louisiana.”

Remy raised his eyebrows.  No wonder she’d been able to do such a good southern accent back at Barbara’s.  She
was
a southerner.

“We left when I was five,” she said.  “Thank god my father got us out of that hellhole.”

“Hellhole?  I’ve always heard Louisiana was beautiful.”

“We’re from a very small, backwards town.  Our house sat next to this beautiful, small stream, with ducks, and frogs, and colorful turtles.  Everyday we’d cross the bridge over the stream to get from one side to the other, and it would be so hard not to stop and stare at the animals.  The beauty.  But we weren’t allowed to stop.  It was forbidden.”

“Why?”

“The bridge was open on both sides, it had no handles.  Long story short… There’s only so many times a white man in a pickup can try to run a seven year old girl with a backpack off the side of a bridge, for no reason, before you decide it’s probably time to pack up and go.”

“They tried to run you off?” Remy tried to imagine anyone wanting to run the round, porcelain face that sat across from him off a bridge, let alone a younger, sweeter version of that face, and he couldn’t.  His heart hurt for the ignorance she’d faced, the unfairness, the injustice.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  Like I said, we got the hell outta dodge.”

“Hm…  And Redding is better?”

“Redding isn’t the most open minded of places, but… there was more opportunity for Daddy in California.  He’s not done climbing.  He never will be.”

“And he hates chefs?” he laughed.

“He
loves
judges, lawyers, justices, detectives… any of the above will do.  But a chef?  Nah. A chef doesn’t count as a real profession in my family. Most professions don’t. They almost had a heart attack when I told them I was quitting my job as a lawyer to go work at the station.  Pretty sure my father still hasn’t completely forgiven me for it.”

Remy’s eyebrows squeezed together.

Violet’s eyes fell to her food, feeling suddenly shy at his unwavering attention. “That’s why I was so desperate to do well when my boss gave me the
Remington Archibald
case.  I thought that I’d finally gotten my chance.  My chance to really climb, maybe even get my own show, and prove to my father that I’m not a total fuck-up.”

Remy cringed.  “You’re a college graduate. You have an enviable position at a news station.  You’re a public figure.  ‘Fuck up’ is not the term I’d use.”

“Well, anything but a doctor, lawyer, or detective equals fuck up to my family.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She shrugged.

It bothered him that someone so amazing could be so unwilling to fight for herself.  “I’d say you’re doing pretty well for yourself.”  He went back to this food, then looked up at her. “Did you just say you were a
lawyer
before becoming a newscaster?”

“For a few years.  I told you this house belonged to an old client of mine.  I helped her work her way out of an airtight prenup a few years back. She walked away with a cool 200 mil.  I think she loved me more than her own daughter.”

Remy snickered.  “You said her daughter lives in London?”

“Yeah. She hasn’t been back to the states since her mother’s death. She’s convinced that her father did it, but that’s a whole other story…” Violet waved.

“Did you like being a lawyer?”

“I convinced myself I loved it for a long time.  The truth was, I loved that my
father
loved it. But that stopped being enough pretty quickly. I finally got out when I realized I’d rather slit my own wrists than wake up and go to work.”

“Well that certainly explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you’re such a bull-headed, stubborn, impossible, loud-mouthed, perpetual pain in my ass.”

“Aw, Archibald.  You always know just what to say.”  She paused.  “I’m a woman with my own mind.  If that makes me a loudmouth, then so be it.”

“It definitely does,” Remy said, allowing a shy smile to cross his face.  “But it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

They smiled at each other across the table. Unable to help the blush burning her cheeks, Violet broke their gaze just in time to catch a familiar face flashing across the muted TV screen in the living room.  She dropped her fork before swiping up the remote control and turning up the volume.

“It’s the man from the boat.  They’re covering him on the news right now.” Relief washed over Violet’s eyes as she listened to the man from the speedboat giving an interview to a newscaster.

Remy set his fork down, as well, turning to the television. “He’s okay. That’s good.”

Violet grinned when the old man went on what could only be described as a verbal rampage, his eyes wide with fury as he screamed into the camera before him. “Well, he has
no
good things to say about you.”

“Can you blame him?”

Violet snickered as she switched the channel. Every station seemed to be doing their own segment on Remy’s escape.  “I guess they know we’re alive now.”

“I guess so.”

“We got here not a moment too soon.”

At those words, Remy stopped eating and just stared at her.

Violet came to a stop on CNN, where they were playing a piece of live footage from the courthouse the day of his escape. In the footage, a blonde female newscaster was speaking into the camera just as Remy appeared in the distance behind her, stepping out of the courtroom’s double doors, gun in hand.  The newscaster, clueless, continued on speaking even as Remy was walking by with the gun in his hand, looking determined.  Not for one second did the newscaster realize what was happening just two feet behind her, nor did her, apparently worthless, cameraman.

They freeze-framed Remy breezing right passed in the background, then zoomed in on him, gun in hand.  In the background, the commentators voice was filled with disbelief.  Violet snorted, again.

“What’s so funny?”  He looked back to the television, groaned, and brought his eyes back to hers.  “Not my finest hour.”

Violet motioned to the television, smirking. “You took a bailiffs weapon, escaped the courtroom and thought you were going to breeze right out of there like you owned the place?  Look at this.”  She motioned to the freeze-framed image of him on the screen.  “Look at that guy breezing on by.  That is not the walk of a guy who just broke out of a federal courtroom.”

“I had to keep a low profile.”  Remy grumbled.  “I knew that a bunch of ego-manic reporters wouldn’t even realize I was there if I just kept my cool, so I did.”

“And you would be correct. Wow.”  Violet sang, taking a huge bite of her food.  Out of nowhere, she chortled again, causing bread and lettuce to fly out of her mouth.  Embarrassed, she covered it and immediately looked to see if Remy had noticed.

He had.  “That was disgusting.”

Violet muted the television, once more, and they went back to their plates.  She was only able to take a few more bites before she was setting down her fork.  “So can you tell me about that night?  The night Meredith died?”

“I actually found her dead the next morning.”  He’d begun staring a little too hard at his food. “And I really don’t want to talk about it.”