Page 91 of Tangled Up

If my hands weren’t cuffed, I would. As it is, I can’t protect my head. She’s approaching the toll bridge, but a line of cars is backed up to get off the island. It looks like police are searching vehicles.Looking for me, I’m sure.

“What are you going to do?” My voice is quiet, and she pulls into a Tom Thumb gas station before turning the car and heading in the opposite direction.

“That can’t be the only way out.”

Maybe she didn’t plan as far ahead as I thought, and I’m not about to give her any help. She keeps driving in the opposite direction, away from Eden and the search party.

“If we go back now, I’m sure I can get them to go easy on you,” I gently urge. “The longer you keep me out here, the harder it’s going to be.”

“You’re going with me to Pensacola,” she snaps. “You’re going to tell that bitch to let me see my babies. You’re going to tell that judge to give them back to me.”

My voice grows more urgent. “No one will listen to me this way.”

“What? No!” she shrieks, and I jump in my seat.

A barricade with a huge “Dead End” sign rises in front of us, blocking the road. We’ve reached the end of the island, and the only thing in front of us is ocean.

“That’s not the only way!” She slams her hands against the steering wheel and rests her forehead on them, breathing hard.

I start to reach for her with my cuffed hands, but she slams the car into park and jumps out. She’s pacing, gripping the sides of her hair, and I wish somebody, anybody would drive down here right now.

The sun slides lower into the ocean, and it’s growing darker. The chance of tourists exploring this area is slim to none, and I know I’m on my own.

She chews her nail, and I’m plotting, wondering what the hell she might do next. The drugs she gave me are fully out of my system, so I filter through all the possibilities.

We’re so far in this remote location, if I jumped out and started to run, it’s too far from any businesses. I’d have nowhere to hide before she caught me. I’m sure she’d keep me drugged after that.

If she goes back to the hotel, I could bolt when she parks and run to the beach or to the street. I’m sure I’d encounter some human before she caught me.

Settling on that course of action, I look down at my hands as she returns to the car and climbs inside.

Without a word, she turns us around and starts driving back in the direction we came.

“What are we going to do?” My voice is quiet. “I’m sure they have a description of me at the toll booth.”

She doesn’t answer.

Her bottom lip is moving like she’s chewing the inside of it, and the sound of the breeze from the open windows surrounds us. We pass through Pleasure Island, headed in the direction of the toll bridge.

The line of cars has cleared since we were here last. Rush hour is past, and only one attendant is inside the booth. It’s a man I don’t recognize, and he’s looking down, fiddling with something behind the register as we get closer.

I look from him to Alize. She hesitates, slowing almost to a stop. Her lip moves faster, and her hands tighten on the wheel. The old, friendly toll stop doesn’t have guard rails. It only has a traffic signal at the top and cameras—God, I hope it has cameras.

My heart beats faster, and I sense what’s coming. Nothing stands in the way of us and the bridge, and Alize reaches over to grab the collar of my sweatshirt. With a sharp jerk, she pulls me down on the front seat.

“Ow!” My head crashes against the gear selector, and my back hits the armrest as she jams the accelerator to the floor.

We fly past the guard shack before the man can even realize what’s happening or run out to try and stop us. He shouts through the open windows, but I can imagine it looks like a crazy teenager with no cash making a run for it.

She holds me down, and with my hands bound, I can’t escape. I can’t scream or wave. We’re far from Eden when Alize releases me. I sit up slowly, and she throws her head back against the seat laughing.

“We did it!” she cries, pumping her arm out the open window. “They thought they had me, but they never saw that coming.”

Her eyes are wide and full of energy, and I look down at my hands. No chance I’m jumping out of a car going eighty miles per hour on the interstate.

I can only hope the cameras caught me as we approached or at the very least got the license plates as we flew past.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

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