Page 1 of Hideaway Whirlwind
Chapter 1
Teagan
I hold my service tray up with the dirty dishes I bussed from my last table, earning a big fat zero-dollar tip, and squeeze sideways through the tiny kitchen toward the dishwashing station. “Behind you,” I call out as I pass each line cook, and the last in line, Rohan, discreetly drops his phone in my apron pocket.
I nearly fumble my tray as the jitters get the best of me and hope no one notices how shaky I am when I slink out of the kitchen and down the slim, smelly hallway that leads to the restrooms and cleaning supplies closet. The already struggling restaurant has only deteriorated further since Priscilla’s boss bought it and turned it into a money laundering front, granting her the ability to keep an even closer eye on me and make my life more miserable.
I’ve memorized my former co-worker’s phone number, which she gave me when she last visited with her husband. I knew it was too dangerous to add it to my contacts since Priscilla goes through my phone every time she drops by my apartment to “check up” on her granddaughter, and thus me,especially sinceI know too much, meaning I can never, ever leave. But I have to find a way out.I have to.
I chew the skin around my thumbnail, my stomach clenching as the phone rings on and on.
Marigold’s voice is a pure ray of sunshine in the agonizing dark when she answers, “Hello?”
The two-day-old gash on my cheek throbs when I whisper, “Did you mean it?”
The background conversation and children’s laughter fade as she moves to a quieter location. “Teagan?”
I nod, cupping my hand over the bottom of the phone. “Can you get us out? All of us?”
“Yes,” she says fiercely, without hesitation. She snaps her fingers several times, and booming footsteps approach her. “When?”
I have to clap my shaking hand over my mouth so I don’t break down with the surging hope I’ve been too afraid to reach for. There are too many mouths willing to wag for the right price—or product—if they were to find me in here talking to someone I shouldn’t. “Now. Please, as soon as you can.”
A gruff male voice I don’t recognize comes on the line. “You have a safe place to stay until we can get someone to you?”
“No. Nowhere’s safe. I don’t know how much longer—” I swallow my terror, unable to say the words out loud in case I jinx myself. I thought when my ex-boyfriend died, my problems would die with him, and I’d be free. But I’ve only been leashed to a more dangerous, rabid animal.
“F—” he cuts off his curse word. “Kids and ages?”
“I have three. They’re six, five, and two.”
“Let me check the schedule.” The seconds tick by louder, bile rising in my throat while I wait after I give him my address.He lets out a relieved sigh. “My brother is the closest and can be there in twelve hours, give or take. Can you hang on that long?”
I tell him honestly, “I’ll try.” I freeze when shoes scuff the floor on the other side of the door. “This number isn’t mine. Lose it.” I end the call, deleting the evidence while holding my breath, only letting it go when the shoes move past.
Twelve hours, Teagan. Twelve hours and my kids will be safe. My hand drifts to my lower stomach.And so will this one.
Elliott
I get plenty of odd looks that I ignore as I shop the baby section at Walmart, shifting boxes around the shelves until I find the different car seats Goldie told me to purchase in preparation for my mission of smuggling her friend, Teagan Palmer, and her kids out of Las Vegas. I stack two in the shopping cart on top of the tools and groceries I already picked out, and I carry the heaviest on my shoulder as I steer the cart to the checkout line.
The cashier is a tiny woman, maybe a few years older than me, with bright pink lipstick, and she carries on a maddeningly long conversation with the person in line ahead of me before it’s finally my turn. She looks me up and down as she scans my items. “You picked the good ones, I see. Fancy.”
I say nothing, pulling my billfold from my jacket pocket.
“Are these for your grandkids?”
Of course, she’d think that. At fifty-five years old, my beard and hair have already turned fully silver. I don’t respond,passing her the exact total in cash.
“Man of few words, huh? That’s ok. My husband’s the same way. He says I talk enough for the both—”
I steer the cart through the exit and around the side of the building where I’ve parked my eighteen-wheeler in the darkest part of the lot beneath a broken light pole, forcefully shoving the cart ahead of me when the wheels jam after crossing an invisible boundary. Locked inside the cab with the blackout curtains pulled along the sliding track to cover the windshield and side windows, I turn on the overhead light in the back sleeping area. I stock the mini fridge with milk cartons, water, and pre-made sandwiches, then shove the bags of non-perishable snacks into the overhead cabinets above the fold-out bed.
Now comes the fun part of figuring out how to bolt the car seats to the back wall of the cab on top of the bed so we can safely travel with such young children, which is where the tools and an internet blog post come in handy. It means I’ll have to sleep in my front seat when I hit my time limit, which is hard on a man my age and size at six-foot-six and damn near three-hundred pounds. But it will be worth it, knowing the back pain I’ll wake up with tomorrow will be nothing close to the pain Teagan and her kids may have already suffered if Teagan is desperate enough to trust a stranger to transport them across multiple state lines.
The last thing I do before I settle into my seat is pull up the street view of Teagan’s apartment complex, picking out the best place to park the rig. It needs to be far enough away so as not to draw attention, but close enough to make a run for it should someone come after us. I may be a hell of a lot bigger than most men, but I can cover some serious distance afterthe number of hours I’ve put into training at whatever gym is nearest my rest stops five out of seven nights a week. So it’s not a question ofifI can run, but how many kids I might have to carry if we do run.
Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be able to walk in calmly and escort them and their bags out. Strap the kids into their seats, steer the rig onto the highway, sticking to the speed limit, as I always do, and then drop them off in two days’ time at Goldie and Davis’s house in Texas.
