Page 78 of Boxed In

Olivia reached for her phone—but it was lying broken several miles away.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. He looked up and down the street, then pointed toward the left. “Up there is a business area. We should be able to find a phone.”

“Yes.”

“Walk normally.”

“Yeah. Sure. And what are we doing out at . . . ?“ She stopped and looked around, blinking as though she was just taking in their surroundings. “It’s morning. I guess we’ve been on the run all night.”

“With a couple of interludes in that cave,” he said, hearing the thick quality of his voice.

She took on a wistful look. He thought she was going to say something, and he waited with his heart pounding. But she apparently changed her mind about discussing the cave.

Wanting closer contact, he reached for her hand, and she clasped her fingers with his. They walked close together up the street, a couple out for an early morning stroll, but both of them were on the lookout for the cops.

On the avenue, most of the businesses were still closed.

“There’s a phone up by that alley,” Olivia pointed.

Luke fumbled in his pocket and came up with some change.

Frank Decorah had a private number that was only supposed to be used in emergencies. He answered on the first ring.

“Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. Are you all right?”

“Yes. We escaped from . . .”

“The thugs who are after the box,” Frank finished for him.

“Right. But a lot has happened. The cops are also looking for us.”

“Where are you?”

He gave the cross streets. “We’re about 20 yards up the block—at the alley. We’ll wait in there.”

“We’re in Baltimore. Not far away,” Frank said. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks,” he said again, then hung up and joined Olivia in the shadows.

He scanned up and down the street. Most of the businesses were still closed, but a coffee shop had opened up. He saw Olivia look wistfully in that direction. They hadn’t eaten since last night, and he was thinking that coffee and a muffin would taste really good.

Before they could discuss breakfast, a car pulled to a stop beside the phone booth.

He stared at the vehicle, trying to see who was driving.

When he started forward, Olivia grabbed his arm. “That’s one of Carl’s cars.”

He jumped out of the vehicle and came around to her side.

“Olivia,” he said, his voice a mixture of triumph and anger. “I found you!”

“How?” she breathed.

“I’ve been driving around ever since . . .” He stopped and changed directions. “And here you are standing right out on the street. Weren’t you supposed to be unpacking a shipment of antiques and making an inventory list?”

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