Liars, Inc. (12 page)

The door to the shop trills mechanically, and I resist the urge to whirl around and see who it is. With slightly shaky fingers, I count out the money I owe the clerk and then take my bag and receipt. I carry the food back through the front door of the shop and out into the sun. I saunter around to the back of the parking lot and sit cross-legged against the brick wall of the gas station.

I let out a huge breath and try to relax my back and shoulders. I've been on high alert for so long that my entire body is rigid. As I unwrap the sandwich, my stomach rumbles in anticipation. I eagerly bite off a big hunk of meat and bread.

I watch the highway as I chew. I can see everything coming from both directions. I'm not sure exactly what I'll do if a parade of cop cars appears, but I feel a little better knowing nothing can sneak up on me.

About an hour later, I get a call from an unknown number. Warily, I press the button to connect it, but then don't say anything.

“Who is this?” Parvati's voice. She must be calling on her prepaid. Emotion floods through me and I have to choke back a lump in my throat before I can speak. “Hey,” I say finally. “It's me.”

“Oh my God. Are you all right?” she asks. “Where are you?”

I swallow hard again. “Eagle's Pass. Some place called the Flaming Engine.”

She doesn't say anything for a minute, and I can almost see her furiously googling. “Damn, that's like fifteen miles from the cabin. How'd you get there?”

“The river, mostly. I had to leave my car.” And the laptop. And the hard drive. And Preston's phone. Man, I really messed everything up.

“McGhee and Gonzalez interrupted our family dinner last night. They threatened to charge me with aiding and abetting if I knew where you were but didn't tell them.” She sighs loudly. “My parents
freaked
this morning when they found out you had been at the cabin. I had to tell them you must have stolen my set of keys back when we were dating.”

“Great. My alleged crimes just keep adding up.”

“It was either that or end up under house arrest, and you need my help. When we find Preston and everything goes back to normal, I'll tell them I lied.”

“Sure.” I blink back tears. The lack of sleep combined with the craziness suddenly has me teetering on the edge of hysteria. Inhaling deeply, I lean against the building, watching an eighteen-wheeler swing out to the right in order to make a left turn into the lot.

“Can you find a safe place to hide?” she asks. “I can pick you up tonight, as soon as my parents are asleep.”

“That would mean another ten hours before you can even leave, plus an hour to get here. I'll just start walking, or
hitch a ride with a trucker. If you come, there's no way you'll get back in time for school tomorrow.”

“Screw school. Screw truckers. They'll turn you in,” she says. “And trying to walk all the way to Vegas will take days. Not to mention there's nowhere to hide out in the desert.”

“But your parents will lose it completely if you disappear.” Even worse than my parents are no doubt losing it at this very moment. Which is probably a lot. They seem laid-back, until something bad happens. Then Darla starts to self-destruct. I wonder what Amanda is thinking, whether she knows I ran away from the FBI.

“Let them lose it. It isn't like I'm sneaking out of the house to hook up with you. I'm trying to help you find Preston, and not go to prison for something you didn't do. Getting grounded, even getting shipped off to military school, is kind of worth it.”

I was hoping she would say that, but I don't want her to feel obligated. “If you're sure.”

“I'll call you when I leave, all right?” she says.

“Okay.”

“See you later, Max.”

I disconnect the call without answering. A black-and-white cop car is turning into the lot.

I QUICKLY TURN THE PHONE
off and slip it into my pocket. Pulling the brim of my hat even lower, I walk casually toward the corner of the building. My first instinct is to lock myself in one of the bathroom stalls until the cop leaves. I take a couple of deep breaths and realize I need to give myself an escape route. Street Living 101: always give yourself an out.

I change direction, cutting across the parking lot like I'm going to eat at the Burger Barn. When I'm halfway there I glance casually over my shoulder. A policeman dressed all in navy is striding toward the door of the Flaming Engine with a white paper in his hand.

It could be nothing.

Or it could be a flyer with my face on it.

Once the cop is safely inside the truck stop, I head back to the road and plunge into the wooded area along the side of the drainage ditch. If I see more cop cars I can just run farther into the forest. The police might have dogs, but if I find my way back to the river they'll lose my scent.

I work my way deep inside a grove of evergreens and bend into a crouch. The backs of my legs press against rough bark, and the feathery green needles hide most of my form. Through the tightly woven branches, I can just barely see the front of the truck stop. My heart starts up a drum solo. Even though the day is windy and cool, beads of sweat form on my upper lip. Each time the glass door to the Flaming Engine swings open, I am ready to run.

It's a lady carrying a toddler and dragging a kid Amanda's age behind her.

It's a trucker with a carton of cigarettes and a bucket-sized drink.

It's the cop.

My heart stops. The breeze stops. I swear I can hear each of his footsteps on the asphalt parking lot. He's carrying a soda cup and what looks like a sandwich. What he's not carrying is the piece of white paper he brought into the store.

He's in his car now. Wheels moving. Backing up. I hold my breath as he turns onto the road. He's coming toward me. I inch backward, farther into the trees.

He's five hundred yards away.

Three hundred yards.

If I turn and run, will he see me?

Two hundred yards.

I hold my body completely still. My muscles betray me. My legs threaten to buckle.

One hundred yards.

A drop of sweat falls from my upper lip to the carpet of pine needles below my feet.

Fifty yards.

The black-and-white rolls past without slowing down.

I sink to the ground, exhaling sharply. My legs are shaking so bad that I almost wet my pants. Curling onto my side, I try to slow my rapid breathing. I'm fine. Everything is fine.

No, it's not fine. Preston is missing and the FBI is acting like I killed him. Everything is completely wrecked.

Still, there's nothing I can do for the moment except try to calm down and catch up on the sleep I missed last night. Shielded from view by the thick evergreen foliage, I lean back against a tree trunk and let my eyelids fall shut.

I wake up hours later, after the sun has set. Dusting the pine needles from my clothes, I creep out of the woods and cut across the road to the Burger Barn. I lean up against the back of the trash Dumpster and watch the Flaming Engine
parking lot from a distance. The cars parked behind the gas pumps are unidentifiable black blobs. I turn my phone on just long enough to check the time and messages. It's right at 8:00 p.m. Parvati hasn't called.

I order more food and take it back to the woods to eat in safety. Every fifteen minutes I turn on my phone again to check my messages. Just before midnight, Parvati sends a text that simply says
here
.

Flipping the phone off again, I jog slowly toward the truck stop. Parvati is parked around the back in her mom's silver Honda. She's wearing a choppy blonde wig and pointy glasses that sit low on her nose.

“Your mom's car?” I say, sliding into the passenger seat. From grand theft pants to grand theft auto, just like that. I am so dead.

Parvati shrugs. “That's what she gets for confiscating my car keys.” She gives me a pointed look. “Plus the Jetta is purple, and has your license plates, remember?” She leans under the leather brim of my hat to give me a kiss on the cheek. Then she peels out of the parking lot. “Nice look,” she says. “Old-man chic?”

“You should talk. You look like a librarian.” I glance down at her hoodie and baggy jeans. “Masquerading as a middle school boy. Are those your mom's glasses too?”

Parvati ignores me. She gestures to the fuel gauge. “We've
got enough gas to get to Vegas. I mapped all three addresses for Violet Cain.”

“How long do you think it'll be before Colonel Dad notices your absence?”

She looks at her watch. “About five or six hours.” She turns onto a bigger road.

“How long until we get to Vegas?”

“Four hours.”

“We'll have to work fast.”

“That's the plan,” she says grimly. She bears down on the accelerator and then punches the buttons on the steering wheel to activate the cruise control. Trees quickly become desert, and before I know it we're on Interstate 15, the only highway into Las Vegas.

“So did McGhee and Gonzalez get you to give up my hiding place or what?”

Parvati shakes her head, and fake blonde hair swishes back and forth. “Of course not. But they grilled me about my relationship with you and Preston. Some of our wiseass classmates seem to think we have threesomes.”

The videos on Pres's hard drive of Parvati and me having sex flood my mind. I swallow hard. Now is not the time to bring those up. “What'd you tell them?” I ask finally.

“My parents were listening, Max. I told them that you and I broke up and that the three of us are all just friends who
hang out together, mostly in school.”

“I guess they didn't buy it.”

“Guess not.” Parvati jabs at the radio's power button. “When they were done interrogating me they asked to speak to my mom and dad alone. I tried to call you to warn you, but you didn't pick up the phone.”

The ringing sound from my dream—it was Parvati trying to call. I swear it felt like McGhee and Gonzalez busted in just seconds later.

“Still no ransom note?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Parvati makes a face as she flips through her mother's presets. She mashes the tuning arrow with her finger until she finds a station playing something she knows we'll both like.

Miles of dark highway fly by. In the moonlight, I can just barely make out the mountains of sand and rock on either side of us.

“Are you tired?” Parvati asks me suddenly, tweaking the volume down on the radio just a hair.

I shake my head. It feels weird not having my bangs flop in front of my eyes when I do it. “I crashed out in the woods for a while today.”

“You look exhausted. You should sleep more,” she says. “I know the way to Vegas. I'll wake you when we get there.”

“Really. I'm fine,” I tell her, but I take off my hat and settle
back against the seat anyway.

“Oh my God. Your hair,” Parvati says. “It looks ridiculous. I love it.”

You would
, I think, letting my eyes fall shut. Parvati loves anything that most people consider weird. Something about the way the Honda purrs its way across the desert lulls me to sleep. The next time I open my eyes I see a line of bright lights in the distance.

THE CLOCK ON THE DASHBOARD
reads 4:11. Less than two hours before the Colonel wakes up, notices Parvati and the Honda are missing, and calls the cops. By now McGhee and Gonzalez have me on obstruction charges and whatever crime it is to point a loaded gun at two FBI agents, not to mention what they might have tacked on to the list if they found my car and the blood in my trunk. I'm seriously screwed if we don't find Preston in a hurry.

“We made it?” I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“Almost.” Parvati tosses me a Megaburger from the Burger Barn.

My mouth waters on cue. “You are the best girlfriend ever.”

That makes her smile. “It's a couple hours old. I went
through the drive-through right before they closed. You didn't even wake up.”

I sit up in the seat and start to unwrap my burger as Parvati takes the exit for North Las Vegas. The burger is gone in about five bites. Time to check out our three Violet Cains.

The first listing is for a simple brick home in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. These people are going to think we're crazy waking them up so early, but there's no time for skulking around. I head straight up the driveway to the porch and bang on the front door. A wreath made of tiny green bells jingles each time my knuckles meet wood. No one answers. I knock again. I see the curtains flutter out of the corner of my eye.

“What do you want?” a female voice yells through the front door. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Sorry,” I say loudly. “It's an emergency.”

Parvati stands beside me, one hand resting on my lower back. She transfers her weight from one foot to the other as we wait to see if the woman will open the door.

The door opens a crack. A woman peeks out. She's got brown hair instead of blonde, but she looks about the right age. “Yeah?” she asks sleepily.

“Are you Violet Cain?” I ask.

“I was. It's Violet Armstead now.”

“Are you friends with Preston?” I ask.

“I don't know no Preston.” She rubs her eyes. “Is this some kind of joke?”

I take a closer look at her. Her face is the wrong shape, and even in baggy pajama bottoms and a T-shirt I can tell she doesn't have the same body as the girl in the pictures.

Parvati comes to the same conclusion. “It's not her,” she says.

“Not who?” the woman asks.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” I say. “I think we have the wrong house.”

The next address is in an apartment complex. We head up three flights of stairs and knock on the door, but no one answers. Parvati rests her ear against the wooden door. “I think I hear the TV,” she says.

I press my face next to hers. Sure enough, I can make out occasional snatches of what sounds like the early morning news. I cup my hands around my eyes and try to peer through a crack in the curtains. Nothing but darkness and the slightly distorted reflection of my own face.

Parvati pulls her sleeve over her hand and tries the knob. The door is locked.

“Think we should try to break in?” she asks.

“Let's try the other place. We can always come back.”

The last address on the list is in a neighborhood just a few
blocks off the Strip. It's a little green-and-white cottage with a mailbox shaped like a birdhouse. It isn't the mailbox that catches my eye, though.

It's the wall of fire, extending upward from the roof.