The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger #3) - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,3
back to the spot where it all happened. When I park, I peer into the distance to make sure that there are no other cars coming this way.
I close the door lightly after getting out to try not to wake Tyler. Then I run over to the place where I left the barrel. Luckily, the lid is closed, so the cash didn't get tossed all over the desert.
The barrel is heavy and impossible to move. I go back to the car and pull it over closer, grabbing a small duffel bag from the trunk. It takes a few handfuls to fill it up and I place it carefully near one side.
Searching around for anything else that can be stuffed with cash, I find a Starbucks paper bag in the footwell and fill it up.
I also find a small plastic bag with the Rite Aid logo stuffed underneath the driver’s seat. But that’s it. No more bags. What do I do now?
I hide the money under the seats. I work diligently to stuff as many bundles as I can under there, carefully straightening the rolled up ones to fit in more and more.
I don't want any of it to be visible just in case anyone looks in thinking something is suspicious.
Suddenly, I hear the roar of the engine. I look up and I see a car flying toward me. It's covered in dust and I can't make out what it is, but I freeze for a moment trying to decide what to do.
Grabbing the lid, I cover up the barrel and then pour some sand onto it hoping that will be enough to not draw attention.
If it's Mac or Tessa, then I'm probably dead, but if it's just a bystander, someone driving through, then I might still have a chance.
The car is still out in the distance and I quickly get into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
I turn away from the main road and move further into the desert.
I need somewhere to hide. For second, I'm tempted to drive past the car to see who it is, but I don't dare.
If it's just a hiker, then of course it's no problem.
But what if it's Mac? He still has a gun and he knows how to use it a lot better than I do.
I drive further and further into the desert. I drive fast, probably faster than I should on a gravel road. The tires pick up so much dust that I can’t see a thing out of the back window.
The road leads me all around the crater and eventually connects with the road that I took to get here.
I still have no idea if the car that I spotted belonged to Mac or someone just driving by. I'm tempted to go back and to get the rest of the money, but this time I stop myself.
I’m lucky to have gotten away. This Honda Accord is stuffed with cash. I got nearly two-thirds of what was in the barrel. I don't know how much I have, but it's a significant amount and it may be enough. At least, it's enough for me to rent a spot and stay there with Tyler while he recuperates.
After that? I don't know.
My life, up until this point, up until this trip, up until I met Tyler, consisted of strictly regimented hours.
I went to work.
I came home.
I worked out.
I ate dinner at the same time every day.
I did practically the same thing all the time, all in an effort to create some sort of order in my world.
No amount of order ever seemed to be enough to make my anxiety and worries go away.
Whatever I did, I always craved more.
Now? Now things have changed. My life is nothing but one shock after another and yet my anxiety level has somehow diminished.
I go through my days just trying to get through until evening. Then I just want to get enough sleep so that I'm rested enough to face what's going to come the next day.
Today was by far one of the hardest days I've had ever. We drove out to the desert expecting one thing. Then Tyler got shot. I saved his life and then saved most of his money.
Who are you, Isabelle? I ask myself. Who are you becoming?
My life with Tyler, these days on the road, have made me feel excited, depressed, overwhelmed, and out-of-control.
I feel those things and yet at the same time I also feel the freest that I ever have.