Those Girls (34 page)

“Let’s order something and bring it back to the room,” I said, and Dallas crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood.

*   *   *

The pub was full. I scanned the crowd, searching the faces. Strangers stared back at me with curiosity. Lots of guys wearing baseball caps, but none of them were Brian or Gavin. Still, I was uneasy as I took a seat next to Dallas at the bar.

“Can I get you something?” Owen said.

“We’d like to order takeout,” I said.

He handed us menus, then poured us a couple of shots.

“Looks like you girls could use something a little stiffer,” he said when I looked at him.

“Thanks,” I said, but pushed mine away. Dallas drank them both.

He gave us a smile and walked back down to the cash register. We ordered burgers from the waitress, a younger one this time with messy blond hair, too much makeup, and a pierced nose.

Owen came back awhile later and leaned his hands on the bar in front of us. “You girls doing okay?”

“We’re hanging in there,” I said.

“Any news?” he asked.

I glanced at a man sitting at the end of the bar, staring up at the TV screen in the corner, and lowered my voice. “Nothing yet, but we made a police report.”

“Sergeant McPhail’s a good cop. He’ll find them.”

“Thanks.”

The waitress brought us a couple of Styrofoam containers. “Here you go, ladies.” She moved off, started putting away some glasses behind the bar.

“Get you anything else?” Owen said.

“We’re good, thank you,” I said.

We got up from our stools, put some money down for our meals.

“Don’t worry about it, ladies,” Owen said. “It’s on me.”

“Thanks,” I said.

*   *   *

We let the pub door fall closed behind us and stood on the sidewalk, the cement still radiating heat and the air warm though the sun was going down. A few vehicles were parked on the road in front of the pub.

Dallas stepped onto the road. I followed her, glancing both ways. We were in the middle of the road, headed across to the motel. Down the street a little was a pickup, parked on the side. I couldn’t see the sides, just the front grille and the hood. It looked like a black truck. Then I heard the engine gunning.

“Dallas,” I said in a warning tone.

She followed my gaze, and her step slowed. “Is that…?”

The truck gunned its engine louder. Then I saw the cigarette smoke blowing out the window. A hand came out next, pointed at us like a gun.

“Get moving,” Dallas said.

We hurried the last few steps, weaved around and between all the vehicles in the motel parking lot. We kept glancing back but didn’t see the truck. Finally we were at our door, Dallas fumbling for the key.

“Open the door!” I said, looking over my shoulder again. We pushed ourselves inside, slamming the door behind us, both breathing heavy.

I walked to the window, pulled back the curtain an inch. A car drove by, but there was no sign of the truck.

“Where the hell did he go?” I said. We waited in silence for a couple of minutes, still watching the road.

“He must’ve driven in the other direction,” Dallas said.

I heard a noise, a tapping sound, coming from behind us. We turned around.

“What was that?” Dallas said.

“The bathroom window?” I said, moving a little closer, but slowly.

Three loud noises now, like someone had slapped their hand on the window. I stopped walking, a scream building in my throat.

Dallas grabbed my arm. “Don’t move.” She went over to her bed and unzipped her suitcase. “I’m going to check it out.”

Now I saw what she was holding. A handgun.

“Holy shit. Where’d you get that?” I said.

“Doesn’t matter.” She walked toward the bathroom and slowly pushed the door open, gun pointed. “Stay away from us,” she yelled out.

We waited, listening.

I heard a truck. “You think that’s him?”

“Maybe.”

“We should let McPhail know,” I said. But when I called him, he didn’t answer the phone. I left a message asking him to call back as soon as possible.

Dallas sat on the other bed, the gun still gripped in her hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a gun?” I said.

“I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“I’m glad you brought it.” I was surprised she’d never mentioned that she owned a gun. I hadn’t touched a gun since we left Cash Creek the first time, but I kept a knife and mace in my night table and carried them with me at all times. I thought of the knife I’d given Skylar, wondered if she’d taken it with her.

We spent the next twenty minutes listening to every vehicle that pulled in and out, waiting for our back window to get smashed in. Both of us tense, smoking cigarettes, not talking much. Sergeant McPhail finally called at ten.

“Gavin Luxton threatened us,” I said. I told him what happened.

“Did you actually see him?”

“No, but I’m
sure
it was his truck.”

“We’ll take a few patrols by the motel tonight.”

“Did you go back out to the ranch?”

“I spoke to Brian and he let me look around his property, but Gavin wasn’t home. We’ve asked him to come in tomorrow morning.”

“He wasn’t home because he was in town trying to scare the shit out of us. Did Brian admit Skylar worked at the ranch?”

“Says she worked there a couple of days but didn’t show up this morning. She told him she was trying to make money to meet up with a boyfriend. He figures she just continued on.”

“That’s a lie. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“We’ll look into it,” he said, but I was getting a horrible feeling he believed Brian.

“What about Crystal?”

“Claims he’s never seen her before.”

“That’s bullshit. We worked there—I can describe their barn.” I thought of something else. “Theo, they had a ranch hand named Theo.”

“I’ll look into that, but at the moment we still don’t have enough to get a search warrant.”

“We told you Gavin was seen talking to Crystal at the bar. Isn’t that enough?”

“Unfortunately, no one saw her leaving with him that night. We need solid evidence.”

“What about Riley? I think he knows something.”

“We’ve also asked him to come into the station in the morning. Hopefully he’ll give us more to go on—we’ll keep you updated. In the meantime just stay in your room.”

We spent the night taking turns keeping guard. One of us sat on the bed with the gun while the other tried to sleep but mostly tossed and turned. McPhail had called back, told us there was no sign of Gavin near our motel. It didn’t bring me comfort, knowing they hadn’t seen him. He could still be outside waiting.

I sat with my back pressed against the headboard, the gun gripped tight in my hands and my head turned toward the door, staring at the handle.

CHAPTER THIRTY

S
KYLAR

We had to get to that bottle. The room was almost dark now and I had no way of communicating with Crystal, but we had to drag the bed closer somehow.

I thought about the layout of the room. The dresser was in the far corner to the right, opposite the side of the bed where I was tied.

When we’d tried to push the bed before, we did it from the side only and pushed across. This time we had to spin the bed around so the bottom faced the other wall—then I might be able to knock the bottle off the dresser.

I managed to grab my rope with the back of my hands, then walked forward toward the wall on the left side, dragging the bed behind me, hoping Crystal would realize what I was doing. I heard her feet land on the floor, then the bed started to move easier—she was pulling too. It was hard work, and I felt faint from the heat, sweat dripping down my face and stinging my eyes. The rope pulled my arms back, stretching all my tendons and ligaments. But we managed to drag the bed a few feet.

I stopped, tried to catch my breath, inhaling through my nose. I could also hear Crystal breathing in the dark.

The next step was to spin the bed around. I had to push from the bottom end, which meant Crystal couldn’t help. I leaned down, put my shoulder into the side of the mattress near the end of the bed, and pushed forward. I felt the bed move on her side too and stopped pushing. How could I tell her to stop?

I thumped the floor a couple of times with my foot, and when I started pushing again, she didn’t push from her side.

I had to stop a few times to catch my breath, and worried about Gavin walking in, but I couldn’t give up now. That bottle was our only hope.

Finally I got the bed pointed in the direction of the bottle. I walked around to the bottom of the bed and grabbed the rope behind me again, pulling forward like a workhorse, leaning all my weight into it. I hoped Crystal realized that I needed her to get behind the headboard. I felt the bed move—she was pushing forward while I pulled. She must have seen the bottle too.

We had the bed within a couple of feet of the dresser. My eyes had adjusted slightly and I could make out the shape. The opposite bottom corner of the bed was closer, but could I reach it? I climbed on top, tried to crawl to the other side. Then I lay on my back and stretched my foot toward the dresser.

I could just stretch my toes out and touch the bottle, but I might knock it off. We needed the bed closer.

I got off and wedged my shoulder into the side of the mattress again, pushed with all my strength, felt Crystal doing the same behind me.

The bed moved another foot. I heard the bottom bedpost hit the dresser and held my breath, but the bottle stayed where it was.

I climbed back onto the bed and stretched my feet out carefully, feeling around with my toes, praying that I didn’t kick the bottle. When I felt my toes graze the cool glass, I pressed my feet against the sides of the bottle, cradling it in my arches.
Slowly, slowly.
I lifted with my feet, curled my legs into my chest, and turned my body to the left, dropping the bottle down onto the mattress. Beer spilled out, soaking my foot with cold liquid. I wished I could drink it.

I used my feet to push the blanket up around the bottle so it couldn’t roll anywhere, then got off the bed. Now we had to put it back into place—which seemed to take twice as long but I’d lost all sense of time. All I knew was I had to get the bottle and break it before Gavin came home. I crawled across the mattress. I could sense Crystal’s presence at the other end of the bed. There was still a small bit of light coming in through the boards, but it wasn’t helping much.

I tucked the bottle under my chin, sank to my knees, and lowered my head down, carefully standing the bottle on the floor. How was I going to break it? I sat on the floor, curved my feet around it, then smashed down, but it wouldn’t break. I thought for a moment. Maybe if I smashed the bedpost down on it.

I stood up, used my foot to move it near the bedpost, and held it in place. Then I squatted, lifted the bed with the back of my hands, and used my foot to slowly push the bottle under the post. Still holding the bottle in place with my foot, I slammed the post down on it with all my strength. It didn’t break. I tried three more times, my triceps and quads shaking from exertion. I couldn’t give up.

On my fourth try I heard the bottle break and wanted to cry with relief. I felt around with my feet, nudged some bigger pieces, and squatted down to pick one up, using the back of my T-shirt to protect my hands. It was hard to cut the tape behind my back—I had to curl my hand around in an awkward position, blindly sawing at the bindings. I poked myself a few times and had to take it slower. I was terrified Gavin might come home any minute.

Finally I felt the glass cut through and I was able to pull my wrists apart, though tape was still stuck to them. I shook my hands out, rotated my arms, then undid the gag at the back of my neck.

“I did it!” I said. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

Crystal’s eyes were excited, but she glanced toward the door. I needed to get her free, fast.

I tried to undo the rope around my neck but it was tied in some sort of lasso and I couldn’t figure out the knot. I walked to the end of the bed, sweeping my feet around so I didn’t cut them on glass. I managed to untie the rope from around the bedpost, but it wasn’t easy—my arms and wrists were sore, the tape still stuck around them, and my fingers fumbled with the knots.
Come on, come on
. I got the last piece of rope undone, and I was free.

I ran over to the light and switched it on.

Crystal shielded her face with her knees. I raced back to her and undid her gag, pushing it down around her neck.

“Skylar!” she said, her voice so dry and raspy it made my own throat hurt. “You shouldn’t have come here.” She started crying.

“I had to find you.” I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry I screwed up and got caught.”

“You have to get out,” she said, still crying. “He’ll come back.”

“I’m not leaving you.” I sawed at the tape with my chunk of glass. She brought her hands forward, her face twisting as she moved her shoulders. She touched my face, my hair. Her eyes searched mine.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What about you?” I grabbed her hand, inhaled sharply when I saw her wrists. The skin looked red and raw, maybe infected.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t even feel it anymore.” I knew she was trying to reassure me but I just felt more scared. I had to get us out of there.

“I’ll untie your rope from the bed.” But when I tried, the knot was too tight. “I can’t do it,” I said, panicking.

“We’ll have to cut it,” Crystal said.

I grabbed two big pieces of glass and handed her one, then started sawing, but it was thick rope and slow going. Crystal was also struggling. She had to use the corner of the blanket to protect her hand and she kept dropping the glass.

“My arms and hands are too weak,” she said, stopping to rest. “Go. Get help.”

I tried the door handle but the door wouldn’t open. I slammed my body against it a few times. “It won’t budge!”

I ran to the window, tried to pry off a board. “They’re hammered on.”

“He could come back any minute,” Crystal said. “We won’t be able to hear him over the music. You have to hide the broken glass, make it look like you’re still tied up, and when he goes to sleep tonight, we’ll work on my rope.”