We had landed during business hours, though it was getting late.
After I peed, I asked for a female employee, because there usually was one. When she approached, she was older—gray hair, makeup done. I couldn’t tell her exact job title, but it didn’t matter. I could see in her eyes she’d been around the block.
“I need a car,” I told her. “My boyfriend is in the mafia, and I’m running from him.” White lie. “I need anything you can give me. I have cash for something cheap and desperation enough to let you know I stole the car I drove here in.”
She hesitated, scanning me up and down.
I wore the same black clothing I’d had on when I left the house. I was sure I smelled. My hair was pulled low into a no-nonsense ponytail. If I needed to sell being on the run, I’d hit that out of the ballpark.
She ran a hand over her face. “He hit you?”
I didn’t want to lie any more than was necessary, so I chose my words carefully. “I just have to get as far as I can from him.”
“You stole that cash from him too?”
My eyes flicked up. “No. Cash is good. A friend gave it to me.”
She still hesitated. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Look, the car won’t be reported for a while. Maybe even a few days.” I glanced up to the cameras. “Wipe the footage, then call in a random car. You have cars parked here all the time. I know how auto shops are. No one’s going to look twice. You can say your footage clears every few days anyway.”
She wanted to help. I could see it, but a girl showing up with cash, a stolen car, and a story about a connected mob boyfriend spelled trouble.
A hoarse “Please” finally sold it.
She let out a sigh, nodding. “Drop your keys for the car on the floor and give me a second.” She disappeared behind the counter, returning a few minutes later. She slid an envelope over to me. I could see there were keys inside. “That’s to the Chevy truck out back. Leave what you can for cash. I had a friend who got beat up by her boyfriend, so I get it.”
“Thank you.”
I reached inside one of the bags, took a few hundred-dollar bills, and held them out to her. The envelope pocketed, I did as she said. I dropped the keys to the Taurus on the floor and headed out. The store had been empty, and as I got to the only Chevy truck in the back, I knew she was either erasing the security footage or calling the cops.
Either way, I pushed down on the pedal, though as I headed out of town toward the interstate, I had to admit I wasn’t sure who I was even hiding from at this point.
Kai?
My father?
The Network?
Or maybe myself.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I didn’t have a full plan.
The first day I got to Milwaukee, I set myself up at a B&B—one where I had my own exit and entrance—before I hit up a library and forged a new library card. Fake name, fake address, everything fake, but it worked. I got the card. That got me access to the library’s internet, and from there, I searched for my father.
I wasn’t going to search for Kai. I worried if I did then he’d find me instead. My dad was the next thing. I was going radio silent with everyone else, at least until I knew for sure what I wanted to do here.
The first article that popped up was an event my dad would be attending in two days.
The second was my obituary.
Prominent local tycoon’s wife and daughter both dead. Authorities are investigating.
Jesus. I felt sucker-punched.
Clicking it, I read the story of my car accident, and how my mother’s own car accident six months earlier was now looking suspect. The fucker had been investigated. Good. I felt some satisfaction. He deserved it. He deserved that and more, so much more.
There was a small write-up on my funeral. These were all articles I never could bring myself to search for and Blade never offered to get for me. But I saw the picture of my father grieving. He had a hand to his face, his head bent like he was crying, and a woman I didn’t recognize trying to console him.
He was faking it.
My father never cried. Ever. I wondered once if he even had tear ducts.