Written In Blood (32 page)

“Didja have car trouble?” she asked. “I was
that
surprised when I saw you, ’cause I didn’t see any car back there on the road. You gals been walkin’ long?” She talked fast and her eyes were the kind of bright that comes from chemical assistance.

“This asshole’s trying to kill us,” Annabelle blurted before Claudia could stop her. “But I slammed his leg in the car and we left him in the desert.” Then, in typical teenage fashion, “Do you have anything to eat?”

Roberta said there was food in the sleeper cabin behind the seat. After the door had closed behind the girl, she guided the massive beast back onto the highway, silent for maybe ten seconds. Then she said, “I don’t wanna know anything about it. I’ll take you t’ L.A., but I don’t want any part of whatever trouble you’re in.”

That was fine with Claudia, but before she could enjoy her relief, she spotted a white sedan that flew past them going north. Something told her that Lainie was driving it. Even in the darkness she could make out that it was a Saturn like the one in Henry’s driveway. The crumpled front fender sealed it. Her chest tightened with dread.

“So does that mean I can’t ask to make a 911 call?” she asked.

“You sure as shit better not,” Roberta said. Whatever neighborly urge had persuaded her to pull over for two stranded females seemed to have evaporated. “I c’n just as easy leave you off at the next truck stop.”

Claudia’s head was spinning. Bert and Lainie would get away. The two young children in their hands would end up in the hell that Annabelle had barely managed to escape. She would never be able to face herself in the mirror if she did nothing to try and stop them. She sucked in a breath and plunged ahead. “Listen, Roberta, if I don’t call the cops right now, two little kids are going to suffer in the worst possible way.”

The trucker made a sound in her throat like grinding gears. “I
said
I don’t wanna know.”

“All right. All right. I got it. The next truck stop will be fine. I’ll use a pay phone. We won’t trouble you any further.”

“Listen, doll, don’t try to twang my conscience. This point in life, ain’t got one.”

The sleeper door opened and Annabelle stuck her head out, the corners of her mouth dusted with powdered sugar. Krispy Kremes might not top the list of nutritious foods, but they were in no position to be choosy and the doughnuts would boost her energy for a while.

“Are the cops coming?” Annabelle asked, wriggling her way into the front seat and squeezing in next to Claudia. She began working to open the plastic wrapping on a Beef ’n Cheese Slim Jim.

There was a brief hush while she nibbled. “Roberta’s taking us to a truck stop,” Claudia said. “We’ll call the cops from there.”

Annabelle bit off a chunk of Slim Jim and stared at her in amazement. “But they’ll get away! You can’t let them get away. Why didn’t you call them?”

“Cool it, Annabelle.”

“These people are trying to sell some little kids for sex slaves,” Annabelle persisted, addressing Roberta. “I think they were gonna sell me, too, but the fucktard got drunk and passed out—that’s when I slammed the door on his leg and we got away before the plane came.”

The trucker’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline.

“Annabelle,
shut up
!” Claudia said, putting steel into her tone.

“But what about . . .” The girl’s words trailed into silence as headlights from behind the truck flashed on and off, reflecting in the side-view mirrors. A car horn blared:
beep, beeeeeeep, beep beep beep.

Roberta growled, “What the hell?”

Claudia saw her glance in the side-view mirror, knew she had surmised that the driver of the white car trying to get her to pull over was in pursuit of her and Annabelle.

“Please . . .
please
don’t stop.”

“God
damn it
. . .” Roberta said, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. “I need this like I need a third tit.” The truck shuddered to a halt.

“Don’t give us away,” Claudia begged. She twisted around and pushed Annabelle back through the sleeper door, going in after her. She closed the door and locked it before the girl could say anything. “It’s Lainie,” she whispered into the semidarkness. “Shhhh.”

Annabelle’s fingers gripped Claudia’s arm painfully. She gulped rapid breaths, well on her way to hyperventilating. Claudia took one icy hand in her own and squeezed it with as much reassurance as she could manage, but she was trembling, too.

They sat on the edge of the bunk, clutching each other. The pungent tang of the Slim Jim still clenched in the girl’s fist filled Claudia’s nostrils and made her want to puke.

The sound of voices reached them, too indistinct to make out the words. They waited in silence for the exchange to be over and Roberta to slam the door, for the truck to start moving. Waited an eternity, but the voices continued.

Claudia’s eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness and she glanced up, looking for a window. An air vent was above them, the lever in the closed position. She got to her feet, reached up to raise it, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise.

The women’s voices outside became audible and erased any lingering doubt Claudia might have harbored that it was Lainie.

“. . . worth your while,” she was saying in her raspy voice.

Considering what the trucker had said about her lack of conscience, Claudia was none too optimistic about their chances.

“I don’t make a habit of picking up hitchers.” That was Roberta. Maybe there was hope after all.

Lainie said, “I know they were walking on this road; they couldn’t have got all that far. They were involved in a hit-and-run. My husband’s injured.”

“Maybe you oughta leave that to the cops.”

“Listen, just for argument’s sake, let’s say you did pick ’em up. Maybe I could make it worth your while to just drop ’em back off again, right here and now.”

“What makes you think I’d tell
you
, if I did pick ’em up?”

“Let’s cut the crap. Would fifty bucks do anything for you?”

There was a snort of derision. “I may be a whore, but I ain’t a
cheap
whore.”

Lainie’s voice came back: “Now, I know everyone has their price—”

“Well, sister, mine’s a lot higher than fifty bucks.”

Claudia’s heart was thumping as she leaned down and whispered in Annabelle’s ear. “Come on, kiddo, we gotta go. Now.”

“What—”

“Shhh . . . follow me.”

Despite the cold, her hands were clammy as she unlocked the door to the cab and pushed it open just wide enough to peek around. Through the windshield, she could just see the top of Lainie’s red hair near the front wheel well, her back to the truck. Roberta was too short to be seen.

With Annabelle holding on to the belt loop of Claudia’s jeans they moved around the passenger seat, keeping their heads down. Claudia pushed the passenger door open slowly, hoping Roberta would not choose this moment to end the conversation.

Roberta’s cell phone was Velcroed to the dash. Claudia reached for and stuffed it into her pocket. Right now, they needed it more than the trucker did. Let Roberta buy herself a new one with her thirty pieces of silver.

Then they were on the ground.

The rumble of the semi’s engine idling was a godsend and covered the sound of their exit from the truck. They hurried to the back of the 18-wheeler, crouching every few feet to look under the trailer. Lainie’s and Roberta’s feet were visible near the front of the truck, where they were still haggling over the price of betrayal.

At the rear of the semi, Claudia crouched down low and took a cautious glimpse. The steady
ding-ding-ding
of an open door reached her. The white car was idling with its headlights on. She whispered her intention into Annabelle’s ear. Her eyes feverish with excitement, the girl nodded agreement.

First Annabelle, then Claudia made her move. They crept behind the sedan, staying low until they reached the open driver’s door. Then their luck wavered.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Lainie’s head swiveled in their direction. “Hey! What the—”

The rest of her shout was lost as Claudia hustled Annabelle into the car. The girl scrambled across the seat, all legs and arms.

Claudia wedged herself behind the steering wheel and slammed the door shut. The seat was pushed up uncomfortably close, cramping her long legs and pressing the steering wheel against her belly, but there was no time to make adjustments.

Reaching for the panel of electric locks, her hands shook so badly, she accidentally hit the button that slid the rear window down.
Shit! Shit! Roll it up!

Lainie was running toward them.

“Go, Claudia, go!” Annabelle cried, bouncing in her seat.

Lainie threw herself at the driver’s door, grabbing the handle at the same instant the lock engaged. Claudia released the brake, jammed the transmission into gear, and hit the gas. Lainie hammered on the glass, screaming for her to stop.

They skimmed past Roberta, who flattened herself against the truck, gaping at them, Lainie clamped on to the handle, trying to keep pace.

The speedometer needle rose and Lainie was forced to let go. Her skinny body swung away from the car, her legs still moving as she stumbled and went down on the roadway with a shrill cry of anger and pain.

“She landed on her face,” Annabelle cried out.

Claudia watched in the mirror as their enemy receded in the distance. The highway opened up in front of her— once again, the road to freedom. Her breathing was as labored as if she’d run a mile, but she started to laugh, knowing it was sheer nerves. She put out her right hand and high-fived Annabelle, who promptly burst into tears of relief.

Then a low sob from the backseat shocked them both into silence.

Annabelle twisted around and stuck her head through the space between the seats. “Omigod! Claudia, you won’t believe it.”

But Claudia guessed even before she saw the two little towheads in the mirror. She offered a silent thank-you to whatever forces had allowed this miracle.

Daring to breathe a little easier, she adjusted the seat into a more comfortable position, then dug Roberta’s cell phone out of her pocket and had Annabelle punch in Jovanic’s number for her.

He answered in a voice filled with tension. Of course he wouldn’t recognize Roberta’s number on his caller ID.

“It’s me,” she said.

“Claudia!
Thank God.
Are you safe?”

She gave him the quick-and-dirty version of what had happened. Just the basics, while Annabelle tried to reassure the two scared children. They might not understand her words, but seemed to be reassured by her manner.

Jovanic told Claudia that when Annabelle had yelled they were in Las Vegas, he immediately alerted LVPD and the FBI, since Annabelle was a minor who had been transported across state lines. He hadn’t known about the two little ones, of course.

He had raced off to Nevada in his Jeep while the FBI worked to get a fix on Claudia’s location from the phone call Jovanic had made to her. They were able to identify a general area and were currently canvassing the neighborhood where Bert had his condo.

Nearly three hours after leaving home, Jovanic was now passing Primm, an outlet mall forty miles outside the city of Las Vegas.

He must have driven like a madman,
Claudia thought, tears of gratitude welling up. But there was no time to get weepy. She still needed to keep her wits about her and get them all a safe distance from harm’s way.

Jovanic wanted a description of the car she was driving so local authorities could spot her when he alerted them. She told him it was a white Saturn. “But don’t ask me what model or year because I have no clue. It has a damaged front bumper.”

“Okay, forget that. You’re on I-95 South? About how far from Vegas?”

“Maybe fifty miles. We just passed a sign for Indian Springs. It’s deserted out here.”

“Okay, I’ll contact Nevada HP—”

Suddenly, headlights glared in the rearview mirror; a vehicle was moving up fast on them.

“Oh God, Joel, it’s Bert. He got out of the ditch— What do I do?
What do I do?
”

“Claudia, listen to me—” Jovanic’s voice was urgent. “Hang up and call 911 right now. I’ll call too, but you’ll give a better description of what’s happening. Do it.
Now!
”

Behind them, Bert flicked on his high beams, filling the Saturn’s mirrors with reflected light, blinding her with the glare. Claudia reached up and switched to night view, but then it was harder to gauge his distance. Batting the mirror upward in frustration, she tossed the phone to Annabelle.

“Call 911,” she said, pushing the speedometer to eighty-five. “I need both hands.”

Ninety.

Annabelle punched in the numbers.

Ninety-five.

The Escalade swerved in the lane, hugging the Saturn’s rear bumper. Its driver seemed impaired, maybe as much by the injury to his leg as the booze in his system.

One hundred.

The accelerator was nearly touching the floor; still, she couldn’t seem to lose him.

Watching the scenery fly past, Claudia’s senses felt more acute than normal. Maybe it was the concussion, but she could
feel
the sounds—the steady hum of the engine, the muted rush of air hitting the car, their dangerous speed on the dark road—and she found herself mesmerized by them. She could almost imagine that none of this was really happening, that they were just actors in an action movie.

Then Annabelle’s voice broke through the surrealness of the experience as she got the emergency operator on the line. “There’s a guy chasing us,” she said, sounding more excited than scared. “He’s got a gun . . .”

Claudia coached her on their location as best she could, but with few signs along the road and at the speed she was driving, it was too hard to read them.