her face. She’d never tell Remy how much she liked his long hair, but she couldn’t deny how adorable he looked sitting there getting it cut. He looked like a little boy.
“That was a long shower,” he said. “Barbara’s been taking care of me.”
Violet’s gaze fell to Remy’s leg, which had been expertly cleaned and bandaged.
He smirked at her, his eyes falling down her half naked body. When his eyes rose back to hers, they said a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear.
Violet self-consciously tightened the towel around her. “Well, I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m just gonna go…” She motioned behind her to the bedroom and made her way back, surprise still coursing through her. The thought of Remy being gone had scared her. So much that it left her speechless. She knew that she cared about getting the story, but she hadn’t realized just how much she cared until she was sure she’d lost it.
This time, she moved quickly. Barbara’s daughter was, thankfully, exactly Violet’s size. Too bad they didn’t share the same tastes. Regardless, the tattered, high waisted cut-off shorts, baggy Rolling Stones crop top, and black fold-over combat boots all fit Violet perfectly. From the selection of clothes, Violet guessed Barbara’s daughter wasn’t a day over fifteen, maybe sixteen, years old—and probably fast.
She also retrieved a small blue duffle bag from inside the closet, hoping Barbara wouldn’t mind her taking that, as well. She shoved it full of she and Remy’s wet clothes as well as the gun, a map she’d found in the foyer, and a couple bottles of meds she’d managed to swipe from Barbara’s stash.
With a sigh, she made her way to the edge of the bed and sat down, fingering on the old radio on the wooden bedside table. The old machine sputtered to life, snow and noise intermixing with the random DJ voices with every twist of her finger. There didn’t seem to be any music channels in Suede Falls, just talk radio shows which, judging from all the blacks, gays and Obama’s she’d gleamed from her short time scanning, were majority Republican. As soon as she heard a discernable voice that wasn’t full of hatred, she stopped cold, surprised by the sound of her own name. Two radio DJ’s were discussing, or rather, talking over each other, about the incident in the courthouse. The first DJ’s voice was loud and shrill, almost unbearably so.
“So Violet Chambers is a news anchor from a small station in Redding, CA, who was flown—literally flown--from the courthouse—“
“Against her will.”
Violet was jolted at the sound of the other DJ jumping in. He had a more pleasant, much deeper voice. The first DJ was not to be one-upped, however, and was shrilly breaking in to say his piece once more.
“ At gunpoint she was taken. With a convicted murderer! A convicted murder and—I guess, now kidnapper--Remington Jacob Archibald. They were last seen in the only police helicopter in all of Redding. Apparently they stayed under the radar, because authorities in Redding have been completely unable to track them.”
“I’m sure Redding’s tracking devices aren’t exactly state of the art.”
“And by ‘not exactly state of the art’, he means complete pieces of—well, I can’t say that word on the air.”
Violet chortled. Somewhere in the midst of all the gays and blacks, she’d found a cool couple of DJs.
“And Archibald is a former Captain, too, so--”
“I’m sure he knows his way around all those pesky little annoyances--”
“Like GPS--”
“And radar screens--”
“I think it’s high time for the FBI to step in.”
“Redding’s police force definitely dropped the ball on this one. They have no idea where these two are.”
“Wow.”
“They have no idea… where this innocent young girl is. And he’s a pilot! They could be in Mexico by now for all we know.”
“Terrible.”
“Awful.”
“Just terrible.
“That was a long shower,” he said. “Barbara’s been taking care of me.”
Violet’s gaze fell to Remy’s leg, which had been expertly cleaned and bandaged.
He smirked at her, his eyes falling down her half naked body. When his eyes rose back to hers, they said a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear.
Violet self-consciously tightened the towel around her. “Well, I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m just gonna go…” She motioned behind her to the bedroom and made her way back, surprise still coursing through her. The thought of Remy being gone had scared her. So much that it left her speechless. She knew that she cared about getting the story, but she hadn’t realized just how much she cared until she was sure she’d lost it.
This time, she moved quickly. Barbara’s daughter was, thankfully, exactly Violet’s size. Too bad they didn’t share the same tastes. Regardless, the tattered, high waisted cut-off shorts, baggy Rolling Stones crop top, and black fold-over combat boots all fit Violet perfectly. From the selection of clothes, Violet guessed Barbara’s daughter wasn’t a day over fifteen, maybe sixteen, years old—and probably fast.
She also retrieved a small blue duffle bag from inside the closet, hoping Barbara wouldn’t mind her taking that, as well. She shoved it full of she and Remy’s wet clothes as well as the gun, a map she’d found in the foyer, and a couple bottles of meds she’d managed to swipe from Barbara’s stash.
With a sigh, she made her way to the edge of the bed and sat down, fingering on the old radio on the wooden bedside table. The old machine sputtered to life, snow and noise intermixing with the random DJ voices with every twist of her finger. There didn’t seem to be any music channels in Suede Falls, just talk radio shows which, judging from all the blacks, gays and Obama’s she’d gleamed from her short time scanning, were majority Republican. As soon as she heard a discernable voice that wasn’t full of hatred, she stopped cold, surprised by the sound of her own name. Two radio DJ’s were discussing, or rather, talking over each other, about the incident in the courthouse. The first DJ’s voice was loud and shrill, almost unbearably so.
“So Violet Chambers is a news anchor from a small station in Redding, CA, who was flown—literally flown--from the courthouse—“
“Against her will.”
Violet was jolted at the sound of the other DJ jumping in. He had a more pleasant, much deeper voice. The first DJ was not to be one-upped, however, and was shrilly breaking in to say his piece once more.
“ At gunpoint she was taken. With a convicted murderer! A convicted murder and—I guess, now kidnapper--Remington Jacob Archibald. They were last seen in the only police helicopter in all of Redding. Apparently they stayed under the radar, because authorities in Redding have been completely unable to track them.”
“I’m sure Redding’s tracking devices aren’t exactly state of the art.”
“And by ‘not exactly state of the art’, he means complete pieces of—well, I can’t say that word on the air.”
Violet chortled. Somewhere in the midst of all the gays and blacks, she’d found a cool couple of DJs.
“And Archibald is a former Captain, too, so--”
“I’m sure he knows his way around all those pesky little annoyances--”
“Like GPS--”
“And radar screens--”
“I think it’s high time for the FBI to step in.”
“Redding’s police force definitely dropped the ball on this one. They have no idea where these two are.”
“Wow.”
“They have no idea… where this innocent young girl is. And he’s a pilot! They could be in Mexico by now for all we know.”
“Terrible.”
“Awful.”
“Just terrible.
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