We are almost on the road when I hear something behind me.
A car – Jeff’s Maserati.
“It’s him,” I whisper. Brock quickly rushes behind a tree, but I look back and see his footprints like a trail of breadcrumbs. “He’s going to find us. He can see your footprints.” There’s nothing we can do about that.
“Trice, I know it hurts, but you’re going to need to try and walk. If we can stay hidden while we walk, we can get to the road. But we only have a few minutes before the Uber gets here.” He sets me down, and that jack-knife pain returns. I have to suck it up if we are going to make it out of here alive. Brock guides us further off the road but still pretty well hidden.
“I don’t care.” Suddenly, I hear a car door slam.
"Shit, he's on foot now. Okay, we have to walk as fast as we can." I take a deep breath and start walking. It hurts, but I keep going. We can't stop, but each step is like someone poking me with a large needle every time I walk. Brock slips in and out of trees, and I do my best to follow him. I see the road before me. "We're almost there," Brock whispers, then whisks me up and nearly runs to the waiting car. It's a black sedan, so fitting. Brock told the Uber driver to turn off his lights. We approach, and Brock kicks the side of the door. I hear the doors unlock. He sets me down, opens the back door, and climbs in. I follow after.
"Drive away slowly and then turn on your lights," he instructs the driver.
"Whatever you say." The driver pulls away as instructed, and when we get away from Jeff's property, he turns on the lights.
"Now, gun it. I'll pay the ticket."
"I'll blame you," he says.
"If we get pulled over, just tell them I injured my ankle, and you're driving me to the ER," I say.
"You got it." He wouldn't be lying, as my ankle is killing me, and I can tell it's swollen. The driver suddenly accelerates, throwing me back against the seat. I hadn't even had time to fasten my seatbelt.
We get farther away, and I look back; no one is following us, but that could change. If Jeff can't find us, he'll know we escaped and come looking. Hopefully, we're far enough away that he can't keep up with us. I notice my knuckles are gripping the car door tightly, and I force myself to release them. I must look a mess, but since it's dark, I doubt anyone will notice or care. I hear my phone buzz and pull it out of my pocket.
It's Brock
Let's text so we don't arouse suspicions. I'm having the driver take us to the hotel so we can grab our stuff and then head to the airport. From there, we'll drive home.
Okay. Can I just say you still got it! I add a muscled arm emoji and send it to him. He turns to me and smiles, the same sexy smile he gave me on our wedding night. This was far from a pleasurable night, but with Brock by my side, I feel safe.
Long Island Parkway is busy as we leave the city. But of course, it's rush hour. I'm still nervous that Jeff is somewhere out there, chasing us. If we wait here for too long, he might catch up with us before we get to the airport. However, he doesn't know what the car looks like, and it's night, so I doubt he'll find us in this long line of cars ahead and behind us. Even though the drug Jeff gave us is wearing off, the fatigue from the adrenaline is closing in on me. I close my eyes and drift off.
I wake to Brock gently nudging me. I open my eyes and adjust to the darkness of the car and the brightness of the hotel parking lot. "Please stay here while we get our things. We won't be very long." The driver nods.
We get out and make our way to our room. Inside, we pack everything, ensuring nothing is left behind, and pay in the lobby. We were paid for another three days, but Brock made an excuse that there was an emergency back home.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me take off the next three days from your bill," The kind woman says with strawberry-blonde hair just cupped to her chin, green eyes, and a smile that lights up her freckles. She types away while I keep looking over my shoulder. Thankfully, Jeff didn't know where we were staying, but then I remembered he had my purse, and the hotel room key was in there with the hotel name, so we had to hurry.
We leave the hotel, get back into the car, and drive to the airport, another fifteen minutes away. We arrive at LaGuardia, and Brock pays the driver.
"Thanks so much. You don't know how much this means to us," I tell him before exiting.
"No problem. You have a good night."
We made it! The airport buzzes with people going to and fro, and music fills the air. It seems like forever that we were here, and yet, just 6 days ago, we were coming down the stairs and out to a waiting cab, eager for our trip that has now turned into a nightmare.
We walk briskly to the car rental station. Brock told me he already rented us a car while I was asleep. "I got us a roomy black Honda CR-V with tinted windows."
"Sounds heavenly. I'm starving," I say, noticing the smells wafting around me. The rental company is across from the food court, and I wish we could sit and have a proper meal, but it's not in the cards tonight. The sooner we get on the road and away from NYC, the safer we'll be. We can always go through a drive-thru.
I mourn my purse with lipstick, wallet, tissues, eyedrops, and keys. Wait, keys! The keys are to my car and home! What if Jeff flies to Utah and comes to our home? He has my keys! Ring controls the front door, but it doesn't to the back door into the garage – it requires a key to unlock it. Jeff knows I won't be able to fly. He could easily board a plane and get to our home before us since he knows where we live from coming over when he was a child. Officer Lopez said she would patrol it, but she won't always be there.
I have to tell Brock, but it can wait until we get in the car and on our way.
After paying for the car, the attendant leads us to where it’s parked. Brock clicks the button to unlock the doors, and I get in the car, my ankle pain all but forgotten. Being off it helped. As we drive out of the airport, I can finally breathe easier. But Gray needs to know what happened.
Thankfully, I still have my phone, but the battery has only forty percent left. I need to conserve as much as possible. I quickly tell Brock about my purse and then call Gray.
Since we’re two hours ahead, it’s only 4:30 there. I call and wait for him to pick up.
“Trice?” He sounds confused.
“Hi, Gray. Listen, we’re in a rental car on the way home.”
“Wait, what? I thought you were there another three days.” I proceed to tell him everything up to this point. I hear him sigh.
“Oh, my word, Trice. I can’t believe this. Okay, I will get ahold of Officer Lopez, and another officer will accompany her to go check your house. We will put a squad car there, with officers taking shifts. If Jeff shows up, we’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Gray. We figure it will take about three days to drive home, including staying overnight a few nights at a hotel.”
“Okay. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Gray, talk to you soon.”
I click off with him and put my phone down. I look outside as we drive out of the city. For what it’s worth, I’m glad we could see the major attractions before going to Long Island, but now my memory of NY will have a dark place in my mind.
After stopping and getting food an hour away, fatigue starts to set in, but I don’t want to fall asleep and have Brock have no one to talk to through the night, so I turn on the music and the air conditioner to keep me awake, which works for about three hours until my nightly habit of turning in at 10:30 hits me, and I can’t help but fall asleep.
When I wake again, it’s nearly 6:00 AM. Brock is yawning, and I can tell he’s exhausted.
“Hey, I’m awake now. Let me drive so you can get some sleep. If I drive until about 4:00, we can stop at a hotel for the night. We can freshen up and get some dinner.”
He yawns again. “Yeah, okay.” He pulls off the freeway, stops at a gas station, and gasses up while I use the bathroom and grab some water and snacks.
It’s nearly 5:00 p.m. when I pull up to the only hotel in the city, just outside of West Virginia. It’s nothing fancy like what we had in NYC, but it will do for the night. We pay and take the elevator to the fourth floor. Inside our room, I notice two queen beds, a light brown Berber carpet that offsets the creme-colored walls, and a few portraits of flower bouquets adorning them. The bathroom is a standard hotel one, but I don't care. The view is of a icy blue skyline with mainly green spaces. Brock stretches. “I’m hungry.”
“I saw a restaurant as we came into the city. Should we go there?” I say, opening up my suitcase and pulling out my brush and makeup. There’s no way I’m going anywhere looking like a zombie. My hair hasn’t been brushed in a day, and as I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my eyes are bloodshot with deep grooves under my eyes, and my hair looks like a rat’s nest. I hear Brock say yes from the bed. I splash refreshing cold water on my face, then apply makeup and brush my hair. I need a shower desperately, but that can wait until we return from dinner. I change my clothes too since I’ve been in the same clothes for two days.
When I come back out, Brock is scrolling through his phone. His hair looks neat, and he’s changed into some blue jeans and a blue sweatshirt that brings out his eyes while I chose some comfortable black slacks, a red blouse, and a black cardigan. I don a touch of red lipstick, and we leave for dinner.
The restaurant isn’t anything special. Think of IHOP, but a little less colorful. In Angie’s Diner, the walls are painted dark blue, almost navy, with flecks of chipped paint down it. Red leather booths and a few tables and chairs sit in the middle of the area. There were maybe ten booths in the diner, and nearly every one is filled with people. The brown carpet looks worn, and the lighting is dimmer than I like, but it’s warm, and the hostess with perfect white teeth smiles as she leads us to the only empty booth next to a window, her blonde ponytail swinging as she walks. She looked no older than 21 but was taller than Brock, probably a little over 6 feet. Bright red lipstick popped on her pale complexion.
She gave us our menus and said her name was Holly. Fitting, I suppose. The choices are minimal, but food is food, and when you’re hungry, well, beggars can’t be choosers. Brock orders a steak, baked potato, and seasonal vegetables, whatever that means, and I order a cheeseburger, fries, and a cup of seasonal fruit. And I want something warm right away, so I get some hot chocolate.
I look around the diner and see happy families eating and talking, some feeding their baby or toddler sitting in a highchair.
I envy them.
Shortly after, I’m drinking my hot chocolate with whipped cream and a Maraschino cherry on top. As I process everything that has happened, I’m taken back to when we found the payment invoices from Troy’s murder on Jeff’s computer. If he does come to Utah, Gray can take him in for questioning if they see him snooping around the house. I doubt he knows we found his files on the computer, and now that I think about it, Brock never sent the photos to Gray.
“So the files we found on Jeff’s computer.”
“Yeah?”
“You should send them to Gray so he has proof of what Jeff did. If Jeff does come to Grantsville, Gray can arrest him. I’m sure he doesn’t know you took pics of the files.”
Brock looks as if he’s mulling it over. He strokes his chin, and I notice his tight beard is all gray now, but not the dirty, dull look, but a silvery, sophisticated one. “True. I guess we should have sent them to him yesterday when we took them.” I can’t believe it’s only been a day since we were there fighting to stay alive. He takes out his phone and rifles through his pics. He frowns.
“Trice, they're not here.”
“What?”
“He erased them. It had to have been when he tied us up. He could have very easily put the phone up to my face when the face recognition prompted him to log in.”
“But how would he know to go searching for photos?”
“I don’t know …” his eyes light up. “Unless he was working on another computer, and it alerted him when someone logged into another device.”
“Oh, I didn’t think about that.”
“Damn, we have no proof now.” He shuts off his phone. I’m a little upset since we agreed not to send the pics to Gray, and now there’s no evidence Jeff paid any of the group off. The only thing we have is the recorder and the ring left behind somewhere.
We must find it, but first, we need to get home and pray Jeff didn’t follow us home. If he has, the ring will be the least of our worries. Still I can’t let him win.
It’s time for justice.
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