Maybe he was starting to see the world from Ariel’s perspective—as a dangerous place.
Once Reuben was buckled in, Roark took off, turning left out of the parking lot instead of right, toward the highway.
“You forgot your way around?” Reuben asked, opening his phone.
“No. Shaking any tail. We need to get a South Carolina plate real soon if we’re staying here.”
“You’d have to give my address and that would lead right to us.” Evie leaned against the driver’s seat from behind. “Where does your Georgia plate lead to?”
“Jax’s old office.” Roark chuckled, thinking of anyone trying to track him down there. “And there he is. Black Mercedes, three cars back.”
“Car wash.” Apparently having opened a map app, Reuben pointed down a side street near a shopping center.
Roark judged the car wash line. “Mebbe.” Swinging the van into the shopping center, he zigzagged through the parking lot to reach the car wash in back. He cut in front of a Ford heading the same direction and got in line. The Ford fell in behind him, probably cursing. If he could get inside the wash before the Mercedes made it back here...
The car in front finished and Roark gave the pay machine the card Evie handed him. “Where did this come from?”
“Loretta. She was buying candy for everyone, and I had to take it away. We’ll need an accountant to straighten out our finances at this rate.”
Roark rolled the van into the car wash. “We either lost him, or he’s out there waiting for us. Anyone want to place bets?”
“He’s got the plate number. If they have connections, they might think that’s enough.” Reuben tried to look behind them but the mirror and windows were covered in soap.
“I’m betting he’s waiting. Hope you got the wax.” Evie opened the rear door as soon as the soap machine moved forward.
“What the f... friggin’ hell...” Roark watched in dismay as the diminutive witch jumped out, closed the door, and vanished.
* * *
The first ofthe rinse cycle caught Evie as she dashed for the car wash entrance, but on a hot August day, she figured she’d just steam herself dry.
She really hated being bullied.
Not that the guys had threatened her in any way. They simply didn’t accept that she was her own entity, just as entitled to do what needed to be done as they were.
She appreciated the idea of a team, as long as they all had equal roles. She was feeling disenfranchised.
She tugged off her old work shirt, uncovering a hot pink tank top. Then she unwrapped her distinctive hair from its bandana so she didn’t look like the maid who’d climbed out of the van in the middle of a car wash. She ditched the shirt in a trash can and stuck the bandana in a pocket. Could she write the shirt off as a business expense?
Prepared to tackle baddies, she studied the parking lot. If she were tracking the van, she’d be waiting at the car wash exit. Keeping an eye on the parking lot, she strolled down the side of the concrete block building to the exit at the back of the minimart.
And there he was, black Mercedes with tinted windows backed into a spot by the store, catty-corner to the car wash so they could pull right out after the van passed. She didn’t suppose they’d gone inside for a hot dog, but they’d be watching the windshield and not their backs.
Strolling the sidewalk toward the front of the store, she rummaged in the pocket of her cargo shorts where she kept her emergency supplies. Once she was behind the Mercedes, she let the bandana fall—then bent down to retrieve it.
Among other handy tools, she’d learned to carry a jackknife way back in childhood. It came in handy to cut brambles out of dog fur or slice string on kites or any of a million uses. She’d never used it for slashing tires.
She wasn’t strong, but she knew where to strike. Turning her face away to avoid getting hit with a rush of hot air, she plunged the tip of the blade into the sidewall. It took a hard twist, but she heard the satisfyingpfftof leakage. She angled the knife in a couple of directions to widen the hole. No point in giving them time to go far.
Standing again, bandana in hand and knife out of sight, she continued strolling toward the front of the minimart. If the guys were mad enough to abandon her here, she wouldn’t go hungry.
Well, maybe she would. She’d given the credit card to Roark. She probably still had a little cash.
She smiled when the utility van roared past the front of the store and stopped on the far side, out of sight of the Mercedes. She opened the rear door and climbed in, barely slamming it before Roark hit the gas.
“That was slick, girl,” Reuben crowed from the front.
“That wassick,” Roark corrected. “Sick, sick,sickand never do that again without warning. I almost had to grab the dynamite.”