west, taking I-66 to State Road 50 so he could pick up the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Blue Ridge Parkway was a scenic drive lined with a narrow ribbon of state and federal lands and dotted with campgrounds. If worse came to worst and Aubrey’s car was made, they could ditch it and get lost in the wilderness and still be close enough to civilization so they wouldn’t have to eat tree bark or starve to death.
When he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, he’d pulled off the road where they couldn’t be seen. Even exhausted, it had taken him a long time to find a semi-comfortable position in her cramped little compact car, especially with his right wrist handcuffed to her left one . . .
Shit. Jack didn’t need to look, but he did anyway. He already knew he’d see an empty bracelet hanging from the one still around his wrist. What he hadn’t expected was the small square of paper, bordered in pink flowers, with a hole pierced in it by the handcuff. Written on it in pink ink and a librarian’s precise hand were four simple words. “Ever heard of Houdini?”
chapter 6
AT TIMES THE FOREST AROUND THE BLUE RIDGE PARK WAY crowded right up to the road. At others, the world seemed to shear off at the shoulder, giving Aubrey a mean case of vertigo and no appreciation for the breathtaking vista of mountains and valleys.
At the moment, she was surrounded by dense woodland that looked pretty, soothing, hopeful. Safe. A little mist wafted among the ferns and the rising sun slanted through the trees like a Bible picture. Aubrey took a deep breath of crisp morning air and almost liked nature. And then the mosquitoes found her.
She dug through her backpack. No mosquito repellent, no tiki torches, no lemon dish soap. She’d read somewhere you could kill mosquitoes with lemon dish soap and a white plate. Go figure. Lip balm, deodorant, and duct tape she had. The duct tape did wonders for the tear in her backpack but ran out of usefulness when it came to dealing with annoying pests like mosquitoes. Or Jack Mitchell. She had to resort to slapping and swatting until the sun came up enough to chase the bugs back into the coolness under the trees. She’d already done everything she could do about Jack.
By the time an hour had passed she’d had enough of green things, and crawling things and biting things, not to mention dirt and rocks and trees. And she was wishing there was a big old light switch somewhere so she could turn off the sun. The black jeans and T-shirt that had been the practical choice last night were soaking up the heat and broiling her in her own juices like a Cornish hen. The backpack rubbed her shoulders and bounced against the small of her back. And she had to pee.
She took a reluctant detour into the woods. Who knew when she’d find an actual bathroom, and the only thing worse than Jack catching up to her would be Jack finding her sitting cross-legged on the side of the road because she’d refused to pee in the woods. That would only lower his already subterranean opinion of her survival skills. Not that she cared about his opinion, but he was going to be pretty mad when he woke up and found her gone.
That got a smile out of her. She even picked up the pace a little bit, the thought of Jack’s face when he read her note putting a bit of a spring in her step. Or maybe it was panic at what he’d do when—if— when he caught up with her.
By the time she came to the little road that intersected the parkway, she was praying he’d catch up to her, and maybe shoot her in the head and put her out of her misery. And that was before she had to walk another couple of miles to get to civilization. Or the closest she was going to get without an airplane. Or a covered wagon.
Larry’s One Stop was one of the little mom-and-pop gas station /convenience stores that were the first thing you came across when you exited the Blue Ridge Parkway and got off federal or state land. This one was nothing more than a shack
When he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, he’d pulled off the road where they couldn’t be seen. Even exhausted, it had taken him a long time to find a semi-comfortable position in her cramped little compact car, especially with his right wrist handcuffed to her left one . . .
Shit. Jack didn’t need to look, but he did anyway. He already knew he’d see an empty bracelet hanging from the one still around his wrist. What he hadn’t expected was the small square of paper, bordered in pink flowers, with a hole pierced in it by the handcuff. Written on it in pink ink and a librarian’s precise hand were four simple words. “Ever heard of Houdini?”
chapter 6
AT TIMES THE FOREST AROUND THE BLUE RIDGE PARK WAY crowded right up to the road. At others, the world seemed to shear off at the shoulder, giving Aubrey a mean case of vertigo and no appreciation for the breathtaking vista of mountains and valleys.
At the moment, she was surrounded by dense woodland that looked pretty, soothing, hopeful. Safe. A little mist wafted among the ferns and the rising sun slanted through the trees like a Bible picture. Aubrey took a deep breath of crisp morning air and almost liked nature. And then the mosquitoes found her.
She dug through her backpack. No mosquito repellent, no tiki torches, no lemon dish soap. She’d read somewhere you could kill mosquitoes with lemon dish soap and a white plate. Go figure. Lip balm, deodorant, and duct tape she had. The duct tape did wonders for the tear in her backpack but ran out of usefulness when it came to dealing with annoying pests like mosquitoes. Or Jack Mitchell. She had to resort to slapping and swatting until the sun came up enough to chase the bugs back into the coolness under the trees. She’d already done everything she could do about Jack.
By the time an hour had passed she’d had enough of green things, and crawling things and biting things, not to mention dirt and rocks and trees. And she was wishing there was a big old light switch somewhere so she could turn off the sun. The black jeans and T-shirt that had been the practical choice last night were soaking up the heat and broiling her in her own juices like a Cornish hen. The backpack rubbed her shoulders and bounced against the small of her back. And she had to pee.
She took a reluctant detour into the woods. Who knew when she’d find an actual bathroom, and the only thing worse than Jack catching up to her would be Jack finding her sitting cross-legged on the side of the road because she’d refused to pee in the woods. That would only lower his already subterranean opinion of her survival skills. Not that she cared about his opinion, but he was going to be pretty mad when he woke up and found her gone.
That got a smile out of her. She even picked up the pace a little bit, the thought of Jack’s face when he read her note putting a bit of a spring in her step. Or maybe it was panic at what he’d do when—if— when he caught up with her.
By the time she came to the little road that intersected the parkway, she was praying he’d catch up to her, and maybe shoot her in the head and put her out of her misery. And that was before she had to walk another couple of miles to get to civilization. Or the closest she was going to get without an airplane. Or a covered wagon.
Larry’s One Stop was one of the little mom-and-pop gas station /convenience stores that were the first thing you came across when you exited the Blue Ridge Parkway and got off federal or state land. This one was nothing more than a shack
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