The Runaway Pastor's Wife (18 page)

Michael stuck the change in his pocket then
wiped his brow. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks.” He slowly walked back to the
refrigerated section and picked out a tall bottle of natural spring water.

“Oh hey, mister. That one’s on the house. You
just take it easy now, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it,” Michael
answered, awkwardly grabbing his bag of supplies and heading out the door. He
looked back to see her craning her neck to watch him.

Great, Dean. Draw attention to yourself
.

Finally out of sight, he quickened his pace back
to the men’s room. He undressed again, this time using the first aid supplies
to treat his wounds. After the thorough and painful cleansing with the
antiseptic, he bandaged and wrapped both wounds with gauze. Finally, he taped
the last piece firmly in place and cleaned up the bloody paper towels around
him.

He backed the car around to the gas pump and got
out.
Okay, now be cool. Act natural. Just gas up the car, pay Miss
Maybelline, and get out of here
.

He filled his tank, his clumsy moves making him
realize how handicapped he was without the full use of his right arm. The pain
was becoming unbearable. He shuffled over to the window, handing a fifty dollar
bill to the same young clerk.

“Wow. That was quick! You back again already?
And you changed your clothes, huh?” It was a statement, not a question. Michael
cracked a lame smile and looked away. She was still checking him out when he
noticed the name monogrammed on her Shell uniform blouse.

Christine.

She looked puzzled. She followed his gaze down
to her blouse and looked back at him, her eyes widened. “Wh—what’s the matter?
Mister, you want me to call a doctor or somethin’? You’re actin’ kinda weird,
know-what-I-mean?”

Michael came back to his senses. “Oh, no—no! I’m
sorry. No, I’m okay. But thanks. You’ve been great.” He began walking away.
“Really. I’m fine. No problem.”

Moments later he pulled into the drive-thru of a
McDonald’s. “A large coffee. Black. That’s all.”

“That’ll be a buck twenty-five. Drive up to the
next window, please.”

 Michael knew he had to get some serious
caffeine in his system if he was to make the long drive. He knew he was taking
a risk by making another stop, but the Golden Arches offered a speedy solution
to his caffeine dilemma. As he waited, his eyes made a quick check for tails or
cops. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a police cruiser slowed to make a
left-hand turn into the McDonald’s parking lot.

Come on, come on . . .

“Do you want sugar with—?”

Michael grabbed the cup and pressed the
accelerator. The cruiser turned into the entrance as Michael pulled out. He was
careful to keep his face out of view. As fast as he dared to go, he headed
toward the interstate entrance ramp and freedom.

Careful, careful . . .

He slowly began accelerating, hoping to put
plenty of distance between himself and
Huntsville
’s
finest. He was just starting to relax when he noticed the cruiser catching up
with him. The officer was keeping his distance but obviously in pursuit.

Come on, man, if you want me, flip on your
stupid siren on and come after me!

The cruiser followed Michael for almost ten
minutes before dropping back then taking the next exit.

That’s odd. He had plenty of time to call in my
plate.

He checked the digital clock on his dash.
Maybe
Elliot hasn’t had time to catch a ride back to town. Or maybe he’s afraid to
call the police in on this.

Fat chance.

Juggling a hot cup of coffee and a steering
wheel with only one functional limb proved a challenge. The combination of pain
relievers and caffeine was easing the discomfort. At least a little, anyway. He
pressed the automatic window button to let in the cool night air. It was a
habit he learned back in college after partying ’til the early morning hours.
To stay awake and try to keep the lines on the pavement from multiplying, he’d
roll down the windows for a good stiff breeze. Worked every time.

College . . . it seemed like a
lifetime ago. So many memories. So many faces.

And tonight, an embroidered name on a yellow
shirt flashed a forgotten face through his mind. In that instant, he knew
exactly where to go.

The perfect hideaway.

“Yes, sir. We know. He’s a few cars in front of
us.”

The
voice on the speaker phone echoed through Elliot’s home office. He took a puff
of the cigar and watched the smoke circle around him as he listened to the
report.

“We haven’t lost him for a moment. He stopped at
a convenience store. Got some gas and medical supplies. Looks like he may have
cleaned up in the bathroom.”

Gus Rainey’s report did little to relieve Elliot’s
worries. Gus and Marcus were loyal enough, just not too bright. He had to stay
on them, calling them every hour.

“We thought one of the local boys was tailing
him for a while, but he took an exit and we haven’t seen him again.”

“Keep your eyes open. You let me know if
anything or anyone looks the least bit suspicious. And whatever you do, don’t
lose Michael!”

Houston
,
Texas

Daddy,
it’s after
midnight
. Are you all right?”

“Oh sure, honey,” Elliot laughed as if he hadn’t
a care in the world. “Your daddy’s just fine. I’m awful sorry to be bothering
you so late, but I had a concern about something and I just couldn’t go to
sleep until I talked to Michael. Some business matters. Could you put him on
the line for me, darlin’?”

“He’s not home, Daddy. I don’t know where he is.
I tried to contact him several times today but I never got through.” Elliot
could hear the rustle of sheets when she paused. He could hear her snap on the
bedside light.

“I’m sorry I woke you, darlin’. I assumed
Michael would still be up and would answer.”

“He’s been so distant with me lately.” Her voice
caught. “Things are awful between us. He’s completely avoiding me.”

Elliot clenched his jaw. “Oh now, Amelia, I’m
sure it’s not as bad as all that. You know how busy Michael is with the company
right now.” He heard her soft sniffles through the line.

“No, Daddy, you
don’t
know what it’s
really like. He’s hardly ever home anymore and he never talks to me. It’s like
he totally ignores my existence. I don’t know what to do anymore.” She cried
into the receiver.

His hand knotted into a fist. “Well, you just
don’t worry your sweet little head, honey. Daddy’s gonna work it out for you.
Just give it some time and I’m sure Michael will come back around. Maybe I can
take some of the pressure off of him in his work. Daddy’ll take care of you.
You’ll see.”

She paused. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Good night, honey. I’ll talk to you in the
morning.”

Elliot sat back in his recliner. Encircled by
the pleasing aroma of his cigar, he sat alone in the darkness of his study at
home. The house was quiet. Only the urgent voices of panic deep in his soul
kept him company. He stared at the telephone, willing it to ring with news of
Michael Dean.

Yes, honey, Daddy’s going to take care of your
husband. Don’t you worry.

Plainview
,
Texas

The music on the radio blared as the brisk wind
blew through Michael’s car. But even cold air and loud music could not compete
with the fatigue overtaking him with each passing mile. He had been driving all
night and knew he had to stop and get some sleep. It was a risk, but without a
couple hours of uninterrupted sleep, he would never make his destination.

Neon lights and billboards began multiplying as
Michael neared the outskirts of
Plainview
,
Texas
. He
searched for a small motel knowing the larger chain motels would require
identification. He couldn’t take that chance. He had to find a small
mom-and-pop place. He could live with a few bugs and a lumpy mattress. Then he
spotted the sign:

Kincaid’s
Kottages

Vacancy

He parked to the side of the main entrance,
relieved to feel the absence of motion replaced by the stillness of the
breaking dawn. He looked down at his wounds, disappointed to find the crimson
stain still spreading on his shirt beneath his arm. The shot embedded in his upper
arm ached horribly but at least the bleeding had slowed. Painfully, he reached
to the passenger seat for his leather jacket. He tugged it on through some
awkward maneuvering and opened the door, slowly attempting to stand up. For a
moment, he was sure he would pass out. He grasped the open door with his left
hand and braced himself as the car and pavement swirled around him.

Oh God, please don’t let me pass out. Just get
to a room.

The spinning slowed though he was still
light-headed. He closed the car door then steered himself toward the office
door. A bell above the door announced his arrival, beckoning a plump woman to
her station behind the desk.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” A strong
whiff of cheap cologne wafted across the counter. Nausea roiled in his stomach,
shooting a metallic taste to his mouth.

“I just need to get some rest for a few hours.
Been driving all night and I can’t seem to keep my eyes open any longer. Have
you got a room?”

“Oh sure. Will that be a single?”

“Uh, yes. It’s just me.”

The woman made an entry in a large ledger then
asked him to sign the registry. His John Smith looked like the work of a
kindergartner. When he finished, he leaned forward for a better look at his
barely legible signature then gently slid the book back to her. He noticed the
long braid of white hair piled up on her head like a cinnamon roll. The thought
made him hungry.

“Where can I get something to eat around here?’”