I finally tugged on his arm. “Come on, Ricky,” I said sweetly. “Mother’s waiting for us at the restaurant.”
I felt the clerk’s eyes burning into the back of my head as I herded him out. “Since I’m buying,” I said as we approached the 4Runner, “can I still drive?”
“Sure. I’m easily bribed.”
We were mostly quiet as we ate. Just three miles out of Green River, we left I-70 and turned onto US Highway 6 headed north for Price. Rick had decided he wanted to stop there to see if we could find a store that could check my phone for Spyware.
Finishing the last of my sandwich, I washed it down with a Sprite Zero, then glanced at Rick. “Uh . . . Rick?”
He groaned softly. “Why is it you always start problem conversations with ‘Uh . . . Rick’?”
“How do you know it’s going to be a problem conversation?”
“Okay, I don’t. Sorry. Go ahead.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Uh . . . Rick. This might be one of those conversations.”
I could see him mentally brace himself, but he was gentleman enough to give me a quick smile, sickly though it was. “Go ahead.”
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
He shook his head ruefully. “First, I can’t laugh. Now, I can’t get mad either?”
“Yeah, that’s part of the downside to being a male. Promise?”
“Okay, I promise.”
Taking a quick breath, I said, “Having laundry facilities isn’t enough.”
“What?”
“At the motel. We talked about finding a motel with laundry facilities. I’m saying that’s not going to be enough.”
“I’m not following.”
“All I have with me are my camping clothes—these jeans, this old shirts, my beat-up tennis shoes.”
“Wash them and they’ll be fine,” Rick said, wary, as though he could sense what was coming and didn’t like it. “It isn’t a fashion show, you know.”
“Yeah,” Cody spoke up from behind us. “What more do you need?”
What flaw in my mental reasoning had made me assume two men would be able to see beyond what I was saying to what I was suggesting? Gritting my teeth, I said, “I need something a little nicer than what I have. And now that we have some money—”
“Wait. Are you talking about going shopping?”
“I don’t want the FBI to see me like this. They’ll think I’m some kind of homeless person.”
Rick’s only response was a snigger.
“What?” I sniffed.
“You want to buy a new dress?”
“Who said anything about a dress? I’m thinking of maybe some capris, a couple of nice shirts.” I smiled. “Maybe a swimming suit.”
At his look, I got a little defensive. “And it’s not just for tomorrow. Who knows how long it will be before I get home for a change of clothes? I noticed you put some other things in your bag.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re really something, Danni. If you want to go shopping, just ask. You don’t have to use the FBI to justify it.”
“I’m not using—” I cut it off as I realized he had just said yes. That was all I needed. “Okay. Thank you. I’m not talking like a mall. Something easy, like Target, or maybe a Kohl’s.”
“No!” Cody burst out. “Not shopping. You’ll be forever! I want to go swimming in the pool at the motel.”
“Did you bring a swimsuit?” I asked innocently.
His countenance fell. “I didn’t bring anything, remember?”
I grinned wickedly. He had taken the bait without ever seeing the trap. “They’ll have boys’ swimming suits at Kohl’s too. And we can get you something a little nicer to wear tomorrow too.”
“Uh . . .” Seeing he’d lost, he nodded. “If we stop and eat somewhere first. I mean real food, not just convenience store junk.”
I nodded. Cody would pretty much sell his soul if the food was right.
“Deal?” I asked, looking at Rick.
“Deal,” he agreed.
As we drove north, Cody chattered away with Rick for a bit, but after yawning two or three times, he laid down and promptly went back to sleep.
Rick waited a few minutes, then peered over the seat. When he turned back, he shot me a hard look. “All right, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“What?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“You know what. Where did you get that cash?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. Two thousand bucks! What’s going on, Danni?”
I had been thinking all morning that sooner or later I was going to have to tell him about the pouch. But I knew how incredibly unbelievable it was going to sound. I was afraid he’d think that all the trauma of last night had scrambled my brain. I was dreading the conversation. But the time had come.
Up ahead, I saw a convertible black sports car with the top down, traveling in the same direction as we were. “Uh . . . Just a minute. Let me get around this car.”
I was coming up fast on the car ahead of me, and I had to let off the gas. The driver of the BMW was a woman. Her arms were bare and very tan. Rich blonde hair styled in a pixie cut was half hidden beneath a pink baseball cap. From back here, I couldn’t see her face, of course, but I could see enough of her in her side view mirror to guess that she was in her late thirties or early forties. She was everything I was not. Studied cuteness. Classic elegance. Flawless skin. I couldn’t actually see that, but I was sure that was the case.
Even though my foot was no longer on the gas pedal, I still had to tap the breaks. I looked at the speedometer: sixty-one miles an hour. I rolled my eyes. The speed limit was sixty-five, but everyone always went at least seventy.
And she was barely doing sixty.
I guess I should have been grateful for the distraction. I was looking for a way to forestall Rick from asking questions about the pouch, and now I had my excuse. The challenge of getting around Miss Perfect took over in my mind.
We were on a straight, level stretch of road, but for as far as I could see, there was an unbroken line of traffic coming at us. I edged up a little closer, hoping that the much larger bulk of the SUV would catch her attention and get her to speed up a little. No such luck. I could see that she held a cell phone to her ear.
And then I noticed her bumper sticker.
YES, IT IS FAST. AND NO, YOU CAN’T DRIVE IT.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I murmured. “This is her definition of fast?” The irony was too rich to miss.
“Danni,” Rick said slowly. “Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“There’s a passing lane in about five miles. There’s no way you’re gonna get around her until then, so you may as well lighten up.”
“You sound like my mother,” I grumped. I glanced at the speedometer. “Look. She’s down to under sixty now.”
“Maybe that’s her way of telling you to back off.”
“Are you kidding? She doesn’t even know I’m back here. I’ll bet she’s talking to her plastic surgeon, or setting up an appointment to have her nails done at the spa.”
He shook his head, but I could see he was trying hard not to laugh. “The bumper sticker’s a nice touch,” he observed with a straight face.
I harrumphed. “What it should say is, ‘Yes, it is fast. Zero to sixty in two days.’”
He laughed. “Oh, Danni. Does your Dad know about this side of you? This passion for—” He jerked forward, peering intently through the windshield. “What the—?”
“What?”
“Look at the bumper sticker.”
I did so and let out a startled cry. Now the sticker read:
YES, IT IS FAST. ZERO TO SIXTY IN TWO DAYS.
I swiped at my eyes and read it again. And this time I gasped. Even as we watched, six additional words appeared, one letter at a time, as if they were being typed out by a computer.
PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB SLEEPING DRIVER.
“Did
you see that?” Rick cried.
“Uh . . . see what?” My head was spinning like a top.
“The bumper sticker! It just changed.” He stared at me. “It actually changed lettering. Look what it says now.”
I was reeling too, but I wasn’t about to let Rick know that. “Uh . . . I don’t think so, Rick. I don’t think they make rewritable bumper stickers.”
I locked my gaze forward, not daring to look at him again. I also let off the gas a little, letting the 4Runner fall back until it was hard to read the sticker clearly. I glanced in the rearview mirror. There were two vehicles behind us, but they were still a quarter of a mile back. Good. I had enough to worry about without having someone tailgating me like I was tailgating the BMW.
I realized my heart was pounding, and my breath was rapid and shallow. What was happening? It was like the speed limit sign all over again. The Guardian was beside me on the seat, but I hadn’t touched it. Was this coming from the pouch? And if so, why? It made no sense. Changing a bumper sticker? I had to admit, it was the perfect rewrite for the driver. But why?
Before I could sort it out in my head, Miss Pixie Perfect finished her phone call.
“Good,” I murmured. “So let’s pick up the speed a little, ma’am.”
No such luck. She reached down to the seat beside her. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but a moment later her hand came back up. She was holding a bag of some kind—like a potato chip bag. At the same time, a dog appeared. It was a perfectly manicured white Pekinese, a lap dog with a bright red collar. It stood on its hind legs, its front paws on the seat back, its head turned toward her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned.
She transferred the bag to the hand she had on the steering wheel, then reached delicately into the bag with her other hand and extracted something. She held it just above the dog’s nose, who lunged for it and took it out of her hand.
“She’s feeding it doggy treats.” I let off the gas again and looked at the speedometer. Our speed had dropped to fifty-five miles per hour.
“Danni, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I snapped.
“Don’t honk at her.”
As she fed the dog another treat, I fell back another car length or two. Who knew what this ditz was going to do next? I was fuming. “Come on, woman!” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Wake up and drive.”
At that moment, the woman jerked upright. The bag of doggy treats went flying. She groped blindly for the steering wheel, then gripped it so hard I could see her knuckles turn white.
“What’s she doing?” I cried.
And then she hit the brakes.
“Watch out, Danni!” Rick yelled.
Both brake lights lit up, and there was a horrible screech. The car’s nose dropped sharply. Blue smoke billowed from beneath the car as she laid down two black strips of rubber on the pavement.
As I stood on my brakes with all the strength I had, I saw the back end of her car start to skid to the right. No! If she hit the gravel shoulder moving sideways, she’d roll for sure. My tires were screaming but I was still closing on her much too fast. And there was a semi coming straight at us in the opposite lane. There was no going around her. All of this flashed through my brain in a
millisecond.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rick’s hands shoot out and brace himself against the dashboard. Everything was happening so fast, but I was seeing every detail like it was slow motion. The sports car straightened itself with a jerk—probably with the help from the Beamer’s braking system. Then I saw her eyes in her mirror. She was looking right at me, and her eyes were wide with shock. She could see me coming at her.
In that instant, her brake lights went off and the Beamer shot forward like a stone from a slingshot. Three seconds later, with me far enough back not to hit her, her right blinker came on, and she pulled off the road onto the shoulder in a cloud of dust and spraying gravel.
I shot past her, even though I was decelerating so rapidly I could feel my seat belt cutting into my stomach.
“Stop the car, Danni!” Rick yelled.
“I am!” I yelled back. I turned on my blinker and pulled onto the shoulder as well. Before I had fully stopped, Rick was out and sprinting back toward the BMW. I slumped forward, willing myself to let go of the wheel. I couldn’t. My heart was hammering in my chest, my mouth was dry, my whole body was shaking. Behind me, I heard Cody moan, and then he sat up, one hand rubbing his head. He had been asleep on the seat, and I realized I had probably sent him crashing to the floor when I braked so hard.
I looked in the rearview mirror. Rick had disappeared into the cloud of dust, but a breeze was clearing it away fast. I saw him reach the sports car and bend over to talk to the woman. She was still gripping the wheel, forehead resting against it.
There was an angry honk as a car whipped past us. Then another one followed. I barely heard them. I watched as Rick talked to her. He reached out and touched her arm. She looked up finally, and I could see her face was white.
Cody leaned over the seat, looking dazed. “What happened?”
“It’s all right,” I said, opening my door. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.”
I had to walk slowly because my legs felt wobbly. To my surprise, the woman was pointing at her windshield. Rick leaned over, probably so he could see better; I saw him visibly flinch. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware of the stench of burnt rubber in the air and that the dog was barking wildly.
As I approached the car, Rick leaned over again to peer at the windshield. Then he opened the door for the woman.
“I’m all right, I’m all right,” she said, her voice trembling. She undid her seat belt and got out. The dog was still in a frenzy. She turned to it. “Candy! Be quiet.”
To my amazement, the dog instantly shut up. As the woman stood, I saw several things all at once. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. She wasn’t in her thirties or forties. She was more like twenty-five. It would be years before any plastic surgeon would be getting money from her. Her eyes were a light blue, and her skin was flawless. She wore short shorts and a halter top. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured.
Rick took the woman by the elbow and led her around to the back of the car, getting her away from the road. Another car whipped past us, and the wind buffeted us a moment later.
I slowed my step, then stopped a few feet away from them.
She gave me a shaky smile before turning back to Rick. “Really, I’m all right now. Thank you for stopping.”
To be honest, I felt pretty crummy. “What happened?” I asked.
“I . . . I’m not sure. It was so strange. It really frightened me.”
“What frightened you?” I asked.
Rick came over and took my elbow. “Come here. I want to show you something.” We waited for three more cars to pass before he could lead me to the driver’s side door. “Look at the inside of the windshield. On the driver’s side.”
Leaning in, grateful the dog was gobbling up the scattered treats and ignoring me, I peered at the glass. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. When I saw it, my jaw went slack. There, in letters about two inches high, nearly transparent but clearly visible, were the words:
COME ON, WOMAN. WAKE UP AND DRIVE!
I felt chills shoot up and down my spine, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Then, even as I watched, the letters slowly faded away and disappeared.
Chapter 36
Rick offered to follow Miss BMW to Price, but she waved that off. She had recovered quickly and said she needed to call her husband. The imp in me wanted to hang around and hear her side of the conversation, but then I saw Rick watching me, his eyes hooded and troubled, so I just waved good-bye. As we walked back to the truck, I didn’t dare look at Rick. He said nothing, and his face was unreadable. As we reached the truck, I meekly said, “Do you want to drive?”
He turned in surprise. “Do I need to?”
<
br /> “No, I’m all right.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I walked around to the driver’s side and got in. A few moments later, we were headed north again. I set the cruise control for sixty-eight miles-per-hour and, with a growing sense of dread, settled in to wait for Rick to ask his questions.
Cody didn’t wait. “What happened?” he said. “What did I miss?”
I looked at Rick. He shook his head. So I gave Cody a one-minute summary, leaving out the part about the changing bumper stickers and mysterious writing on the windshield, of course. Rick didn’t volunteer to fill in the details.
When I finished, he shrugged. “No more dumping me on the floor, Danni. All right?” He sat back and stared out the window.
About five minutes later, when we passed a sign and saw that we were still forty-five miles from Price, Rick turned in his seat so he was facing me.
“All right. I’m waiting. Tell me what happened back there.”
My first impulse was to play coy. But we were way past that. Knowing what we were possibly facing, it wasn’t fair to keep secrets from him anymore. “Why don’t you ask me questions, and then I’ll fill in from there.”
He gave a curt nod. “Okay. What about the bumper sticker? Did you do that?”
“No. Not in the way you mean it.”
“Which means what?”
“I didn’t look at the bumper sticker and say, ‘Turn into something different.’ And when I told her to wake up and drive, I didn’t shout it at her. I was just frustrated and said it to myself. You heard me.”
“But it showed up on her windshield.”
Cody shot forward, his head poking between us. “Say what?”
“Not now, Code, I’ll tell you later.” I turned to Rick. “That’s right. But I didn’t ask it to, or tell it too. Or even wish that it would. What? You think I’m some kind of a witch or wizard or something?”
“Of course not, but something very strange is going on.” He frowned. “Tell me about the money in your purse.”
“It’s not my purse. It’s the pouch Grandpère gave me.”