from?” She closed her eyes for just a second, while Razor grappled with his guilt. He hadn’t been honest with her, not even about his name, so who was he to demand answers?
“They killed my boyfriend…and I was a witness,” she said, at last. Razor could see real fear in her eyes, and he felt a flash of rage toward someone he didn’t even know, someone who would put her in that kind of position. His ability to feel compassion or empathy for people he barely knew was what had led him to getting into so much trouble in New Orleans…but he didn’t know how to change that about himself.
“Damn, I’m sorry. Did you talk to the police?” She was shaking her head. Razor had been a Joker for three years and a hang-around for a few years before that. If anyone knew that calling the police often came with more headaches than it was worth, it was him. But it was what the general public tended to do.
“No. I just ran. I went home to grab some things and I was only there for a matter of minutes before they found me. I took off again, and then you found me. If I get on a bus, or a train or a plane, there will be a paper trail…and they’ll follow it, find me, and kill me.”
Razor sighed. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to the tiny little lady because he’d left her stranded. What could it really hurt to let her ride with him, at least until he made it to Nashville where he planned on bedding down for the night? Once she was in a hotel in Music City, she could easily become anonymous. At least more so than in a little town in Alabama. “Okay,” he said finally. “I plan on stopping for the night in Nashville. You can ride with me until then, alright?”
“Thank you.” She looked across the deck at the vending machines, longingly, and said, “You got any change?”
“Nah, let’s get some real food.”
A while later they were sitting across from each other in the diner across the street. She had ordered a breakfast platter with more food on it than even Razor could eat. He was enjoying himself now, watching her go after the ham and cheese omelet like she hadn’t seen food in a week. She lifted her orange juice glass and took a drink, meeting his eyes over the rim of it. “What?”
“Just ain’t never seen such a small person eat so much in one sitting. How long’s it been since you had a decent meal?”
“Dinner time, last night,” she said, stuffing a piece of bacon in her mouth. “I have a high metabolism.”
“Looks like it.” She rolled her eyes at him, but unbothered by his teasing, she continued to eat until all three of the plates they’d brought her were empty. She wiped her mouth and then reached into that bag she’d been holding onto for dear life since he met her and began to rifle through it. “I got it,” he said, taking out his wallet. He’d barely touched his burger. The anxiety he felt when he left New Orleans at dawn, coupled with the anxiety of taking on a hitchhiker, had all accumulated in the pit of his stomach, not leaving much room for food.
“I can pay my own way,” she said. “I’m not a charity case.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“This isn’t a date either,” she went on, “So, we’re going Dutch…and I can pay for my own hotel room too.”
“Alright,” he said. “I learned a long time ago to pick my battles, especially where women were concerned.” She rolled her eyes at him again and then pulled her hand out of the bag with a hundred-dollar bill between her fingers. When the waitress came back, she asked for separate checks and once they’d each paid their own, they stepped back outside into the cool autumn afternoon. She was still limping on that ankle, but she hadn’t mentioned it hurting. He was impressed by how tough she was. The bike was still parked across the street at the bus terminal. Kayleigh crossed first and Razor followed, tucking his change from the diner into his wallet as he did.
Razor didn’t see the truck…but he heard it. The unmistakable sound of an engine revving, and tires squealing when the accelerator is pressed to the floor. He looked up and saw the front end of a