the corner and out of sight and not ready to jump out and yell “Gotcha!” for the second time.
The road curved and the checkpoint outpost came into view; I ducked behind a tree.
Now what?
The security wasn’t too tight—except for me, the residents were there voluntarily. But unlike the parking lot, the fence here in the forest had barbed wire coils along the top. It became a solid brick wall on either side of the road at the checkpoint. Red and white striped boom barriers kept traffic from coming or going unless raised by the security guard. The forest was cleared for a good ten yards on either side of the road, and more fencing buffered it all the way down the hill. Even if I managed to sneak past the guard, I’d be a sitting duck.
I gnawed my lip, half-wishing I had taken Rita up on her smuggling plan. Waltzing out the front door was the easy part.
A plan of my own popped into my head then: keep waltzing. Hide in plain sight.
Not a great one, I admitted, but the only one I had. I popped a piece of bubblegum into my mouth, put on my sunglasses and crouched low. My heart pounded in my chest and I prayed the guard was tired this morning. Dozing. Maybe reading a paper.
Moving as fast as I could while crouched over, I dashed toward the outpost and flattened myself against its left side. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to hear the door open and the guy bust out to grab me.
Nothing. Only the tinny sound of a small TV. The View.
That show is still on? I thought those gals would’ve killed each other by now.
Breath held, I scooted along the edge of the checkpoint and peered over the window. The guard had his back to me, feet kicked up on the desk, absorbed in the show.
Let’s do this.
I ducked under the boom barrier, crept along the brick wall, then simply turned around and walked right back up to the outpost. Casual as fuck, as if I’d been strolling up the road this entire time.
Toward a sanitarium. At seven in the morning. As one does.
The guard did a double-take to see me, his eyes widening, and his feet dropped to the ground.
“Hi,” I said, snapping my gum.
“How did…?” The guard looked all around, over his shoulder and then back to me. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Maybe,” I said with a flirty smile. I folded my arms on the window, pushing my breasts up.
Hell, it worked for Erin Brockovich.
“I think I’m lost,” I said. “I’m in town for the Celebrity Rabies Fun Run Race for the Cure? They said it was supposed to start around here.”
I held my breath. If this guy was a super-fan of The Office I was toast, but it was all my brain could come up with on the fly.
The guard squinted. “The what?”
“Haven’t heard of it? Bummer. Wi-Fi up here is shitty. My GPS must’ve sent me the wrong way.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It’s a long wrong way up this hill.”
Slow down. Be cool. Act natural.
“You’re telling me.” I smiled bigger, leaned closer. “What is this place, anyway?”
“Blue Ridge Sanitarium,” he said. “Brain injury cases.”
I widened my eyes and lowered my sunglasses to show him I had nothing to hide. “No shit?”
He nodded, and his glance went longingly back to his TV. Immune to my charms. And, apparently, my boobs.
“No shit,” he muttered. “Hope you find your fun run.”
“Me too.” I blew a bubble and let it pop. “Have a good one.”
I patted the window frame in parting, turned, and sauntered down the winding road as fast as I could without looking like I was trying to hurry. When the curve took me out of sight of the outpost, I ran like hell. Any second, the security guard was going to wonder who in their right mind did a fun run for rabies.
Michael Scott, that’s who…
A relieved laugh burst out of me and morphed into a gasp as I rounded the last bend in the road and came to where the sanitarium drive met the main road. I stopped short, staring.
Jimmy leaned against the driver’s side door of an old green pickup truck, mind-blowingly handsome in his leather jacket, jeans, and boots. His hair was slick with a morning shower. He nervously checked his phone then glanced around. His arms fell slack when he saw me.