Torch (Take It Off) (16 page)

“Well, that is a problem.”

I shrugged. “I’ll call a cab. While I’m out, I’ll stop by and bug the police for my car.”

“You’re not taking a cab.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no idea who drives those things. They probably don’t even have real driver’s licenses.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Isn’t that illegal?”

“So is arson and murder,” he said seriously.

I felt the color drain from my face.

“I’m not trying to scare you.” He sighed.

He didn’t really; I was already scared.

“You can take my truck.”

My eyes about fell out of my head. “I thought no girls were allowed to drive your truck.”

“You’re not just any girl.”

“I’m not?”

He shook his head.

I glanced out the window toward the driveway where his very huge, very shiny truck sat. “It’s too big.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’ll hit things.”

His eyes narrowed. “You better not.”

“I’ll just stay here.”

“You’ll be bored in five minutes.”

I’d rather be bored than driving that thing over curbs.

“Come on,” he called, going out the front door. “You can drop me off at work.”

14

Three telephone books.
That’s how many he had to pile on the seat so I could see over the dashboard.

I wasn’t embarrassed.

Nope.

Mortified, uncomfortable, and vaguely amused just about covered how I felt while firefighters piled out of the station to watch their chief stack phone books into the driver’s seat of his cherry-red pick-up and then hoist me up inside.

Never mind the fact I felt like I had to stretch my leg all the way out to press the gas pedal.

I giggled as I turned into the parking lot of Target (it’s my favorite store) remembering the slightly greenish cast to Holt’s skin as I drove away. When I raised my hand to wave to him, the green turned much deeper and he yelled, “Both hands on the wheel!”

I mean really, why did he insist I drive the truck at all?

It was a nice vehicle, but it was really big and I imagined driving it felt a lot like driving a boat. It seemed to bounce over the road, dipping over every little bump or unevenness in the pavement.

I parked about a mile away from the entrance. I was terrified of sideswiping another car or getting it stuck in a spot I wouldn’t be able to back out of. So I settled on the very last space in the lot and pulled through so I would be able to drive right out when I left.

I didn’t really feel like shopping, but I didn’t have anything better to do, so I wandered around for quite a while, looking at things I didn’t need and looking at other things I wish I could afford. I wandered into the home section and caught myself picking out things that would look great in Holt’s place. Throw pillows for the bed, art for the walls, kitchen utensils that could possibly withstand his attempts at a meal. When I realized what I was doing, I stood there looking around like someone caught me with my dress tucked into my pantyhose and toilet paper trailing from the bottom of my shoe. I hightailed it to the makeup section before I ended up at the jewelry counter staring at diamond rings.

Not going to happen,
I reminded myself because clearly, I needed a reminder.

After that, I got down to business, selecting razors, tweezers, hair products, and all the other basics a girl might need. My eye strayed to some really beautiful hairclips, but I didn’t bother to pick them up because they cost too much money.

Sighing, I turned away, catching movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked swiftly, only to see something dark disappear around the end of the aisle. I couldn’t help the way my heart rate picked up or the slight tremor in my hands.

It’s just someone shopping.
I reassured myself.

Even still, I headed away from the section, peering down the aisles as I passed. About three rows down, I saw him.

A man with a dark hoodie.

Everything in my cart toppled over with the force of my halting stop.

What the hell are you doing?
my mind demanded.
Run!

But it was too late. The person heard my fumble and turned, pushing back the hoodie and looking in my direction.

Long blond hair spilled out around her shoulders. She gave me a strange look as I stood there and gaped. I tried to smile and not sound like a complete stalker. “Sorry! I thought you were someone else.” And then I moved away, silently cursing myself.

I grabbed a couple boxes of the power bars that I noticed Holt liked to eat and then wandered over toward the sleepwear. I gazed at all their cute pajamas, with the tank tops and matching bottoms. The nightgowns were feminine and pretty with bows and polka dots. I thought about getting something… something I could wear to bed in case Holt decided to sleep with me again tonight.

But in the end I didn’t.

Because if I bought those pajamas, I wouldn’t need his T-shirt.

I made my way to the checkout counter, feeling tiny pinpricks of warning on the back of my neck. I felt creepy… I felt watched.

I glanced around, but no one appeared to be staring.

Quickly, I paid for my items and piled the bags into the cart. I could have carried them all, but with my wrists still hurting and the mile I had to walk to the truck, I decided I would just use the cart.

Outside, the summer southern heat blasted me, and I paused to dig in one of the bags for the new pair of sunglasses I picked out. They were white with wide oval-shaped lenses. Once they were in my hand, I checked the street and then continued out, fumbling with the tag hanging from the frame of my shades.

I heard the acceleration of an engine but didn’t look up.

Not until the screeching of tires seemed entirely too close and someone across the parking lot gave a shout.

My head snapped up.

Time slowed.

The car did not.

At the very last second, I swung the cart in front of me and dove to the side, slamming into a parked car and falling onto the hot asphalt.

The sound of crunching metal pierced my ears.

I was aware of the car squealing away, and then there were people surrounding me, trying to help me off the ground.

A man with jeans and a black T-shirt leaned over me. “Holy shit! Are you all right? He tried to run you down.”

I looked up at him, pressing a hand to my forehead. Everything was tilted and dizzy.

“I’m calling the cops,” he said and yanked out a cell phone. That’s when I noticed his shoes. They were brand new or rarely worn. A common men’s brand.

I lurched up from the pavement, reaching out a hand to steady myself against the car nearby. The man reached out to help me, and I jerked away before he could touch me.

“No need to call the police. I’m fine.”

His eyes about fell out of his head. He was young, maybe my age. He didn’t look like the type of guy that would try to burn me to death. More than once. I hated the fact that I was instantly suspicious of everyone around me.

Of course, what did I expect? For him to walk around wearing a T-shirt that said PYRO across the front?

Unlikely.

“Lady, that guy just tried to run you down!”

“Yeah, I was there,” I snapped. I was really getting tired of someone trying to kill me.

“You need to call the cops,” said a woman standing nearby.

“Did anyone get his plates? A description? Anything?” I asked. Anything at all would be helpful.

Everyone looked around blankly at each other.

The guy with the sneakers spoke up. “It was a man. He was wearing glasses and a dark hoodie.”

My knee was scraped from where I fell and I could feel the warm blood oozing down my lower leg.

“Thank you,” I told him, trying not to look at his shoes and scream. I knew he wasn’t the one trying to kill me, but it drove me crazy that I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone. How was I supposed to carry on with my life and not stare at every man wearing these shoes or a dark hoodie? Is this how my life was going to be from now on—me looking over my shoulder, searching every face for a sign they were the one?  

Sneaker man watched me warily. I mustered what smile I could and said, “Thank you for offering me help. I really appreciate it.”

“You really don’t want me to call the cops?”

“No. There’s nothing they can do. He’s gone.”

Someone else approached and I tensed, expecting some sort of attack. A young couple held out my bags, offering me my spilled purchases.

“I think we got everything,” the girl said sympathetically. She had a long blond ponytail and really pretty skin.

I thanked them and then bent to pick up everything that dumped out of my purse when I fell.

The crowd started to thin, thankfully, and all I wanted to do was leave. Gripping the bags in both hands, I stepped away from the car on unsteady legs and looked at the truck, which stood like a beacon in the distance.

But then I remembered my sunglasses.

I must have dropped them in my haste to not become road kill.

They were lying in the street.

Beside the shopping cart.

It was completely dented and one of the wheels had fallen off.

I reached down and picked up the sunglasses. They were snapped in half and one of the lenses was shattered.

What a shame,
I thought.
What a waste of good eyewear.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat, and I swallowed it, trekking the distance to the truck, tossing my bags inside and then hoisting myself in.

Once there, I collapsed against the seat, trying to calm the shaking of my hands.

It could have been an accident.