Running Blind Read online

  She thought about leaving, but that would attract even more attention. Besides, she was hungry. The best thing to do was the normal thing: sit down and order. She’d eat, pay the bill, then move on down the road.

  The café itself was a smallish, pleasant-looking place, gray linoleum floor, white walls, an honest-to-God jukebox against the back wall, red booths along the street-front windows, and a smattering of small round tables in the center of the place. The counter, complete with a couple of clear pie cases and an old-fashioned cash register, ran the length of the right side of the room. A pretty brunette in a pink waitress uniform stood behind the counter, talking to the three men with the ease of long acquaintance; like the men, she’d glanced up at Carlin’s entrance, and even through her sunglasses Carlin caught the brilliant glint of strikingly pale eyes, making her alter her grade of the waitress’s looks from pretty to something more. Maybe those eyes were why the three cowboys were camping on those stools, rather than the lure of food. Good. If they were flirting with the waitress, they were less likely to pay a lot of attention to anyone else.

  The last booth was positioned against a solid wall; Carlin chose that one and instinctively slid in so she was facing the doorway … just in case. The plastic menu was inserted between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers; she removed her cap and sunglasses and grabbed the menu, more from curiosity than anything else, because all she wanted was coffee and pie. She’d get something to eat, and use the break to study her map of Wyoming, figure out exactly where this little country road went, and pick a place to stop for a while.

  She’d been so sure Brad wouldn’t bother to follow her to Dallas. She’d been wrong, disastrously wrong. Now when she stopped she took extra precautions. No one got her social security number. There could be no bank account, no W-2, damn it; somehow she had to fall off the radar, something that was increasingly hard to do with everything computerized. He’d bragged about his computer skills and she’d hoped that was all it was—bragging—but evidently not. She didn’t know how he’d found her in Dallas, but he had, and she’d barely made it out alive. Jina hadn’t.

  If she let herself think about what had happened her stomach would knot in panic, and she’d feel as if she were strangling on her own breath, so she’d pushed the memory away and focused on simply moving, doing what was necessary to stay alive. He’d try again, but she was damned if she’d make it easy for him. Somehow she’d figure out what to do, a way to outsmart him, set a trap—something. She couldn’t live like this forever.

  But for now, she couldn’t stay in any one place too long. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough cash to just keep driving around the country on a permanent road trip, so she’d work her way around the country. Ideally, she’d find someplace to stay through the winter, which was why she’d ventured this far north. People on the run tended to head toward warmer climes, bigger cities. She’d done the opposite.

  She’d told Brad once that she hated the cold, and joked about one day retiring to Florida. Maybe, if he remembered that detail, he wouldn’t think to look for her in Wyoming.

  She studied the menu. The offerings were simple: eggs, burgers, and a mysterious “daily special”—along with, of course, the “pie of the day.” Today was Thursday. Maybe Thursday’s pie was apple.

  “What can I get you?” The brunette in pink arrived at the booth. She didn’t carry an order pad, but with such a limited menu, there probably wasn’t much need for one.

  Carlin glanced up. “Kat” was embroidered on the breast pocket of the pink uniform, and the waitress’s eyes were even more striking close up, a kind of electric gray that tended toward blue, as clear as a mountain lake.

  “What’s the pie of the day?”

  “We have cherry and lemon meringue.”

  “I was kind of hoping for apple,” Carlin said, “but cherry will be fine. And coffee, black.”

  “Coming right up.”

  After Kat walked away, Carlin placed her atlas on the table and opened it to Wyoming. Her finger traced the road that had led her to Battle Ridge. She followed it on beyond, to other names of other towns and other roads and miles and miles of nothing, on into Montana. In the periphery of her vision she saw Kat approaching with her order and she moved the atlas to the side to make room.

  A silverware set wrapped in a napkin and a small plate bearing a huge slice of cherry pie were slid in front of her, followed by a saucer and an empty cup. Lifting the coffeepot from her tray, Kat expertly filled the cup. “Are you lost?” she asked, nodding toward the atlas.

  “Not really.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “That sounds like freedom,” observed the waitress, and walked away without saying anything else.

  Picking up her fork, Carlin took her first bite. The not-apple pie was amazingly good. For a minute, maybe two, she forgot all her troubles and simply indulged her taste buds. The crust was flaky and buttery, and the filling was perfectly sweetened. The coffee was good, too. She took a deep breath, and realized that it was the first time in weeks that she could honestly say she was relaxed. It wouldn’t last, but for now she’d take it.

  While she was eating, a man came in for a slice of pie to go. Seemed as if she wasn’t the only one who thought the pie was outstanding. Idly she listened as he and Kat chatted, about neighbors, about the weather. Yes, beyond a doubt the waitress was as much of a pull as the pie, at least as far as the male populace was concerned.

  Carlin looked out the window. Battle Ridge wasn’t much to look at, that was a fact, but it had everything a small town needed, at least as far as she was concerned: a place to eat, a Laundromat, a general store. The people who passed by The Pie Hole all glanced in and waved, even though they didn’t stop.

  Pulling her jacket close, she unzipped one of the pockets to get money for her food, instinctively counting the bills. Oh, there was plenty for the pie and coffee, but not enough, not nearly enough. Living on the road was eating through her savings faster than she’d expected.

  She gathered her things and walked toward the cash register with money in hand. The man who’d come in for lemon meringue left, his gaze lingering on Carlin for a moment too long. There it was again; the look was curious, not malicious—she knew the difference—but one more person had noticed her.

  Kat took her money, rang up the sale, and passed back the change. Carlin laid down a dollar tip. It wasn’t much, but percentagewise it was generous, and no matter how poor she was she wasn’t going to stiff a nice person who’d earned a tip.

  Carlin knew she should take her atlas and go, but she didn’t. There might be a job opportunity in town, but if she just drove away without asking, she’d never know. She slid her butt half onto a stool and asked, “How long have you worked here?”

  A slow smile curled Kat’s mouth. “Seems like forever. It’s my place. I’m cook, waitress, manager, and chief bottle-washer all rolled into one.”

  Out of all that, one thing registered uppermost. “You made the pie? It was great.”

  “I did. Thanks.” The grin widened. “Apple tomorrow, if you’re still around.”

  “Depends on whether or not anyone around here is looking for help.” Carlin figured there were two places in a town where pretty much everything would be common knowledge: the beauty salon, and the café. She’d planned to eat, fill the Subaru’s gas tank, and head on down the road, but her plans were fluid, and she’d take advantage of whatever break came her way.

  For a long moment, Kat was silent, her gaze still clear but not giving anything away as she did her own assessment. “Maybe. Can you cook?”

  “I can learn.” She could cook enough to get by, for herself, but she for certain wasn’t on Kat’s level. If anyone had ever asked her what her life’s ambitions were, cooking would have been way down close to the bottom of the list. Okay, it probably wouldn’t even have made the list. Her life had