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Ryan dropped Leilah off at Buddy’s Bargain Buggies. “Good luck,” he said as she closed the passenger door and slung her bag over her shoulder.
She turned to look back at him, re-opened the door, and leaned inside. “I don’t need luck to buy a used car. Good luck to you at the shopping mall.” She smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.
He watched her turn and head toward the office trailer before driving across the highway to the big-box store. Taking Chelsea’s car out on the road had been a risk, but it was one they had to take. They’d minimized the danger by taking back country roads to the commercial strip on the outskirts of the beach town near Cape Henlopen. They needed to be quick with their errands.
He parked beside a big RV that was most likely boondocking—its occupants had probably stopped for the night and saved a night’s camping fee by parking behind the store’s entrance in the overflow parking area. With any luck, the boxy camper’s body would hide the Subaru from view.
He hurried inside, grabbed a cart, and sped through the aisles. He tossed fruit and dried snacks into the basket to supplement the provisions Chelsea had given him. Next, he swung by the toiletries aisle and grabbed a glittery hot pink toothbrush for Leilah. He laughed at the blinged-out style and suspected she’d get a kick out of it, too. Then it was on to the clothing department.
Shopping here for Leilah, the most fashionable race car driver in North America for six years running, as decreed by Vogue Magazine, was a travesty. But clean trumped haute couture at this point. He chose a fuzzy sweater and a pair of black slacks. The sweater was a soft rose gold that he thought would match her hijab and hug her curves. Then he grimaced and reconsidered. She liked to match, but what if the shade was wrong? Clashing would bother her. So he also picked up a plain gray top.
Why are you agonizing over whether the sweater will match her headscarf? She flat-out told you it was just a one-night thing.
His less-wounded, reasonable side argued that wasn’t exactly what Leilah had said, but his pride dismissed the thought. It was close enough.
She’d wanted to spend the night together, and now she didn’t want to be together anymore. He wished they’d never gone down that road. He’d rather not know what he was missing. And he was missing a lot. A lot.
A cart clipped his ankle, jarring him out of his musings.
“Sorry,” said a harried voice.
His twinge of aggravation dissipated when he turned to see a tired woman pushing a pair of sleeping twins in a double
stroller with one hand and a cart with a blue-eyed blonde toddler strapped into it with the other. The toddler was pulling taffy apart with his fingers.
“Oh no, it was entirely my fault. I was lost in thought.” He moved to the side and gestured for her to pass by. “And you’ve got your hands full.”
She tried to maneuver both the stroller and the cart at the same time with limited success. If he hadn’t been in a hurry and possibly wanted by the police, he’d have offered to help her.
Instead, he gave her the warmest smile he could muster. “Have a great day.”
She smiled tiredly. “Yeah, you too.”
He edged behind her to the next aisle, then made his way to the electronics counter to buy yet another pair of prepaid phones. As he waited for the employee to remove the phones from the clamshell packaging, he reflected that he’d lived thirty-two years without ever needing a burner phone and now he was on his third one in as many days. He could question the life choices that had led him to this point, but, in truth, working for Potomac felt right. It felt good to be a part of the company and the community; his co-workers and friends had become a sort of second family. As he had the thought, Leilah's face flashed in his mind. Not too long ago, he’d have said she was like a sister. But his feelings for her were anything but brotherly.
He checked his watch and headed to the self-checkout line to pay for his purchases. He fed two one-hundred-dollar bills into the slot, dumped everything into one bag, and speed-walked out of the building, flashing his receipt at the door greeter without slowing his pace. At the Subaru, he checked the time. In and out in seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
He figured buying a car would take even Leilah longer than eight minutes. So he plugged the cell phone charger into the Subaru’s slot and texted Omar’s personal cell phone:
It’s me. Call this number from a clean line if you can.
Then he sat back to wait. It was not a long wait. The phone emitted a shrill, piercing sound less than two minutes later. He made a note to change the ringtone.
“New phone?” Omar said by way of greeting.
“Right.”
“Marielle tracked your old one to the middle of a construction site on the Eastern Shore.”
“We figured after what happened at my friend’s house it was better to dump it.”
“It was a good call. We’ve been worried, though. The two of you going off-grid right after Leilah’s call about the murder—and the police.”
“There was no way to get in touch, ...
