She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,181

buildings in town.

“A hospital?”

I swung a quick left and slowed as we followed the pavement over a quick dip, then into the parking lot surrounding the building. About a quarter of the spaces were occupied. More than I would have expected, for such a small town.

“Doctors and nurses work extremely long shifts, sometimes days at a time. A borrowed car may go unnoticed for nearly half a week. Plus, you said you wanted a nice car.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“There!” She pointed at a small area off the main lot marked Staff Only, blocked by a gated arm. “Park here somewhere, in the visitor’s section. It will be some time before someone finds it among the visitors.”

I pulled into a space at the back against a hedge row between a large pickup truck (green) and a beat up Winnebago (tan and brown). The employee lot was about fifty feet away, kitty-corner.

“Gather our things. I’ll find something,” Stella said, unfastening her belt.

“Are you sure you’re okay to—”

She was out the door and halfway to the lot before I could finish my sentence. There was a slight wobble in her step, but she steadied herself as she went.

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone…between?

A year and two days.

Today was August 9—a year plus one.

I pulled my backpack and Stella’s duffle bag from the back seat and set them next to the Jeep. The book Stella was reading, too. I placed the stolen shotgun behind the bags in case someone drove close enough to see what I was doing. Circling around to the passenger seat, I popped open the glove box. An empty bottle of Jim Beam rolled out and dropped to the floorboards. Without thought, more of a reflex, I picked it up, twisted off the cap, and held it over my mouth, hoping for a least a drop. Nothing dripped out, though. When I realized what I was doing, I cast the bottle into the bushes, thankful to be alone.

The only other items in the glove box were the vehicle owner’s manual, registration, and a flathead screwdriver. I left the manual, shoved the registration into my pocket, and went to the back of the Jeep with the screwdriver to remove the tag. Then I walked back around to the driver’s side and used the screwdriver to pry off the VIN plate. I loosened it years ago, then fastened it back in place with just enough glue to hold it still. It came off easy enough and joined the registration in my pocket.

I was circling the Jeep one last time to be sure I didn’t miss anything, when Stella pulled up behind me in a late model four door Mercedes-Benz E-Class.

The car was white.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, as Stella opened the driver-side door and stood beside the car.

“The owner clearly wished for someone to borrow it. Why else leave the keys?”

“I mean, are you sure you want a white car?”

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing, my dear Pip. There is no better way to hide than in plain sight.” Stella bent down and pressed a button. The trunk popped open with a slow, calculated hiss. “Chop, chop, before someone comes along.”

I rolled my eyes and carried our things to the back of the Mercedes. The trunk was extremely spacious and had either been meticulously vacuumed on a fairly regular basis or rarely used. It closed with a gentle click. I kept the book out. I figured she’d want that.

Stella tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”

I took one last look at the Jeep and realized how much I would miss that car. I’d owned it for four years, longer than any other. Maybe I’d get the chance to come back for it, knowing in my heart I never would.

I climbed behind the wheel of the Mercedes and pulled the door shut behind me. The plush leather seats hugged me. “Whoa.”

Stella was beaming. “Right? I am so glad you suggested a luxury car. Also, fully insured. I checked the paperwork. No need to fret.” She snatched the book from me and set it in her lap.

My hands rolled over the leather steering wheel. I adjusted the mirrors.

Stella reached for the stereo and clicked it on. I expected static to blare out from the speakers, but instead came Steven Tyler and Aerosmith belting out I don’t want to miss a thing.

“Huh,” I said, looking down at the radio.

“What?”

“Nothing. The radio. It just reminded me of when we were kids, on that bench.”

“‘Jessie’s Girl’,” Stella said softly.