My Everything (21 page)

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Maybe she should get off at the next exit, turn the car around, and hightail it back to the hotel or maybe drive straight to LAX and wait for Monica and Mark. But when the next exit appeared, she drove right on by.

Grace was every bit as worried about Ben as Angel was. She was terrified he’d sacrifice himself on the altar of guilt and Roger would have his revenge. Maybe Ben wouldn’t do it consciously, but he might get himself killed just the same.

They reached Tejon Pass and headed down the other side, passing Tejon Ranch with its open hillsides and meadows, golden in the summer sun. Grace glanced at the clock, it was near noon. Very likely whatever had happened had already happened. Or nothing had happened in which case they might make it to Bakersfield only to learn Ben was on his way to San Diego or Mexico or who knows where. She consoled herself with the fact that he did have her cell phone number, and she knew for damn sure if he found out they’d left the hotel her phone would be ringing off the hook.

Their first stop would be the police station in Bakersfield. Grace had no idea where else to begin. It’s not like they could drive in random circles around Bakersfield hoping to run into Roger Smithson, or rather hoping not to run into Roger Smithson. One encounter had been plenty for both of them.

As Grace concentrated on the steep downhill, Angel reached over and brushed her arm.

“Thanks,” she said.

At Angel’s touch, Grace relaxed. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t thank me yet. All I ask is that you remember what I’ve done for you when Ben’s tearing me limb from limb.”

Angel began to laugh out loud. Grace joined her. It was like running a distance race and getting a second wind.

Tom and Ben
sat in an unmarked car behind a big warehouse. They’d stationed an officer outside the local free clinic and they’d notified the local hospitals. Tom was in favor of calling the free clinic to alert them, but Ben was concerned about endangering the staff. Better to let Roger show up if he was going to, get treated and leave without arousing any suspicion.

Emergency rooms were a different story. Most hospitals had security and the Bakersfield police department had dispatched extra officers, but even so Ben was afraid of what Roger would do if he felt threatened. There were too many vulnerable targets in an ER.

They’d received credible information that indicated Roger had returned to Bakersfield. A call had come in from a northbound driver on I-5. He’d claimed he’d passed a sedan matching the description of Roger’s vehicle. He said the car took the Castaic exit. Unfortunately the man hadn’t called until he was close to Modesto.

Now they waited for word that anyone in Bakersfield had sighted the sedan.

As they sat, Ben thought about what Angel had gone through. He was proud of her. She’d kept her head. Not only had she managed to escape, but she’d gotten the license number of the vehicle Roger was driving. He realized she and Grace had a lot in common. They were smart, athletic, determined and competitive, and both were extremely pretty.

He knew Grace had been Angel’s babysitter in Austin. He’d neglected to mention it to Grace.

Maybe he’d forgotten to mention it on purpose.

Ten years ago, Ben had decided Grace should forget him, enjoy college, and have a nice life.

When he took an honest look at himself, he was forced to admit that Grace had scared the shit out of him back then. The attraction he felt for her had terrified him. He wasn’t ready to fall in love when he was twenty-four. In lust, yes, but love was an entirely different matter. As he’d learned the hard way, love made you vulnerable. Love hurt like hell.

Somehow the pain he’d kept buried inside didn’t hurt as much since he’d reconnected with Grace. Maybe it was time to fold it up and put it away. Not the pain exactly, but the painful memories. Ben wanted to store them in a safe place, but he no longer wanted to look at them every single minute of every single day.

Time heals all wounds. Heals maybe, but wounds leave a scar. At that moment he knew with certainty a scar would be acceptable. The memory of Julie’s death no longer felt like an open wound.

Ben glanced over at Tom. His friend sipped a cup of coffee, his eyes studying the passing cars. It felt like old times.

A voice on the radio interrupted his musings. Roger had been spotted leaving the free clinic.

Damn bitch. He
was right. She’d scratched his cornea.

Roger tossed the bag of dressings and a prescription on the passenger seat of his car and backed out of the parking space. He drove slowly, looking out of his one good eye, and turned left onto the street leading toward the garage he called home. He could pick up the eye drops later, after he got some sleep. He glanced in his rearview mirror. A cop car pulled out of a McDonald’s parking lot and turned into the street a few cars behind him.

Roger’s stomach lurched.

It doesn’t mean anything. It means nothing at all. Cops have as much right to eat fast food as anyone. That’s all it is, just a cop picking up a cup of coffee. McDonald’s had good coffee, right? Didn’t they just win a taste test or something? He could use a cup of coffee himself.

Roger stopped at a red light. He dared another glance in the mirror. The cop was still there, two cars back, waiting for the light to change like everybody else.

Roger held his breath. The light turned green, and he drove straight through the intersection. From his right, a dark blue car pulled into the roadway behind the police cruiser. Was it an unmarked police car? He couldn’t tell for sure.

He broke out in a cold sweat and his hands began to shake. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Roger looked into his mirror again. He tried hard to see what the cop in the marked car was doing, but he was too far away and if he took that one eye off the road for too long, he might rear-end someone and then for sure he’d attract unwanted attention.

Should I go home?

Should he lead them straight to his home? Maybe he should drive around a little bit. Without signaling, Roger took a right onto a busy street, so did both of the cars behind him. Roger took another quick right and then a left.

Another glance in his mirror and Roger exhaled. No one followed him Okay, he was good. Everything was all right. Just to be on the safe side, Roger fished the revolver out of the glove compartment and laid it on the passenger seat next to the dressing supplies.

I need to stop here, to make sure they’re not after me.

Roger pulled over to the side of the street. He turned the engine off and waited. Twenty minutes later he felt safe enough to head on home. His stomach rumbled. He was desperate for sleep and food, lots and lots of food, and then it was on to Mexico.

Now that he thought about it, once he had rested up the drive to Arizona didn’t sound too bad. There had to be places to cross the border, small towns where nobody paid any attention to Americans crossing into Mexico.

A name suddenly popped into his head. Juarez, Mexico.

That’s where he’d cross. That would be perfect. He’d heard about all those college students crossing the border to party on Saturday nights. That was the spot. He’d passed through Las Cruces on his way back from Texas, and he’d done that drive nonstop. A little sleep, a little food, and he’d be on his way. Roger nodded. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad day after all. He had a plan.

At the end of the block, Roger made another right. He doubled back the way he had come, anticipating a hot meal and a long sleep. That’s when he saw the barricades and six police vehicles. His stomach dropped off a cliff, straight into a bottomless pit of dread. They were waiting for him.

Roger threw his car into reverse and careened blindly down the street, veering from one side to the other. He heard the ugly crunch of metal on metal and felt his body jerk forward as the passenger side of the sedan sideswiped a parked car. Vehicles approaching him swerved desperately to get out of his way.

He flew backward out of the side street and was immediately rear-ended by a pickup, but still he didn’t come to a stop. With a grinding of gears, Roger thrust the shifter into drive and raced down the street, heedless of vehicular traffic or any pedestrians in his way.

He had one thought in his head, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the cops. He heard sirens behind him, but he was too afraid to look. He sped up. The vision in his one good eye narrowed, and it seemed he was driving through a tunnel.

Panic stricken, he felt the ceiling of the tunnel sinking lower and the sides closing in on him. He would be crushed. At the far end of the tunnel he saw a glowing light. He forced himself to focus on that. If he made it to the light, maybe he’d have a chance.

Roger could feel tears streaming down his right cheek. Oh God. He’d failed miserably. He’d failed Julie. All his plans were for nothing. The man who killed her would never be brought to justice now. McCall would win, and there would be no one left to avenge his sister.

Grace drove north
on Highway 99. She’d taken the Bakersfield exit off I-5 twenty miles before. She figured she had about five miles to go until she hit the center of town. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She was getting a bad feeling about this.

How cliché
. Didn’t someone always say that in the movies?
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

She seriously considered turning around and getting Angel the hell out of Dodge. But she took one look at the young girl’s face and knew she couldn’t do it.

Calm down, be realistic.

What were the chances they’d run into Roger Smithson? They were slim to none, just like the chances of locating Ben or even getting anywhere near him were slim to none. She’d head straight to the police station, and the police could contact Ben and then he could meet Angel there when things calmed down. Angel would be safe and sound and in one piece and surrounded by whatever the Bakersfield police force consisted of.

At the same time, a voice in the back of her head kept repeating,
this is idiotic.

Two highway patrol cars came out of nowhere and passed her at high speed. They were heading toward town.
Oh shit
, the voice said.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

She glanced at Angel. Angel looked back, her eyes full of concern.

“Go,” Angel said. “Don’t think about it. Don’t ask why. Just drive. We need to get there.”

Grace stayed well back, but she kept an eye on the Highway Patrol vehicles. She watched them exit and followed them off the highway. When she and Angel reached the bottom of the exit, they looked both ways. To the right was a long stretch of straight open road. There was no sign of activity. To the left lay the center of town.

Her stomach churning, knowing damn well she should know better, Grace turned left. She rolled the windows all the way down so she could hear sirens. Traffic moved slowly. It was summer, and that meant lots of travelers looking for gas stations and fast food joints near the highway. Grace pulled to the side of the road along with other drivers as a police car roared by, sirens blaring. The vehicle took a sharp right at the next intersection. She caught Angel’s eye.