Bed & Breakfast Bedlam - Abby L Vandiver Page 0,3

I took the ponytail holder off my wrist and pulled my long hair back, looping it around. I needed to be aerodynamically poised to make my get away as fast as possible.

I was just going to run for it. Head to the car I decided. He didn’t know what I looked like. Just that I was black. He wouldn’t know it was me until I got into my car.

I stepped off the sidewalk onto the asphalt of the blacktop parking lot. I was sure I could make it to my car before he noticed me. I kept my eyes on my Jeep.

Why did I park so far?

I twisted my neck slightly to the left and from the corner of my eye, I saw FBI guy come out of the office door. He headed right, toward the room I had just vacated.

I picked up my pace.

Not much farther. I can do this.

I can do this.

I turned my neck to the right, looked over my shoulder, and just then his gaze caught mine.

Crap.

“Logan Dickerson,” he shouted.

I started running.

Maybe he’ll think I’m hard of hearing.

Trying to break into federally guarded lands had been a bad idea, just as my mother had warned. But who was she to talk? She had probably broken all kinds of laws and been involved with federal cover-ups and murders over the past few years.

I looked over my shoulder and there was FBI guy gaining on me. Yep. My mother was certainly no shining example and, to be honest, it was probably her fault that I had turned out to have these criminal proclivities. Bad parenting.

“Hey! Stop!”

I ran toward my car, my luggage hitting every bump and hole, turning over off its wheels. Fumbling, I pointed the clicker and unlocked the door. I grabbed the door handle and turned to see that he’d practically caught up with me.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Before I could get my door open I felt his hand on my arm. Even though I knew he had caught up with me it startled me and I jumped.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear me calling you? he asked.

I was breathing hard. He didn’t even seem winded. “No,” I lied. My legs felt like they were going to buckle. I leaned up against the car.

“You didn’t hear me?” He had an amused look on his face.

“Well,” I started to stumble over my words. “I-I did . . . Sort of . . . I guess. I mean. I did.” I swallowed hard. “But I didn’t know who you were . . .”

Yeah, I’ll go with that . . .

“You frightened me,” I said with some mustered up bravado.

He reached in his back pocket.

Lord, was he going for handcuffs?

I knew this was it for me.

Chapter Three

“Where are you headed?” he asked. “He” was tall, with honey-colored skin. Dressed in a blue suit, white shirt and paisley tie. It was easy to notice the fit, firm body underneath that filled out his clothes.

“When?” I said.

“Now. You seemed in such a hurry.”

“I told you, you scared me.” I licked my lips. “That’s why I started running.”

He looked at me and took in a breath.

“Sorry about that. Okay? I just was trying to get your attention.” He bit his bottom lip and stared at me for a moment. “I’m with the FBI,” he flashed me the badge he had pulled out of his pocket. “I just needed to ask you a couple of questions.”

Whew! No handcuffs.

“FBI?” I pretended I hadn’t known.

“Yes,” he said.

“Oh, okay then.” Now I pretended I was much calmer. I really wasn’t. I was, in fact, more nervous than I’d been the night before when I was doing the actual crime.

Suddenly, I had to pee.

“So where are you headed?” he asked again.

“Stallings Island.” The place just popped into my brain and I let it out.

A half-smile crept across his face. “Really?” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen.

“Yes.” I stumbled forth with my lie. “It is an archaeological site in the coastal region of Georgia.” I tried to speak more casually. “I’m an archaeologist. I’m doing research on the people that lived there approximately 4000 rcybp. R-C-Y-B-P. That’s radio carbon years before present,” I said in my most professional voice.

Figured I’d throw a little sciencey stuff in, maybe I’d sound less like a criminal.

“What kind of archaeologist are you, Ms. Dickerson?”

“It’s Doctor Dickerson.” I squared my shoulders and tried to stand up straighter. I had a Ph.D. in Anthropology and History, hopefully it would