Racing out, she looked up and down the street. There weren’t many people out, it was getting dark and she didn’t really want to walk around this neighborhood in the dark.
As she ran, she moved her backpack around so she could fumble through it for her phone. Screw trying to do this on her own. Things had just taken a bad twist.
She needed help.
Now!
Pulling out her phone, she hit Gray’s contact number.
“Come on, come on.”
Why wasn’t he answering?
Tears streamed down her face. She looked back, but she couldn’t see anyone running after her.
However, she knew that didn’t mean anything. He could easily catch up with her and then she was screwed.
As she turned back, her foot hit a crack in the footpath and she fell, her phone flying from her hand as she scraped her hands and knees against the concrete.
Oh no! Her phone!
She scrambled to her feet, trying to ignore the pain. She glanced at her hands, which oozed blood.
Don’t look. You can’t look.
She and blood weren’t friends.
As she stood, the zip on her backpack broke, spilling everything. Sobs escaped her as she stared at the mess.
No time, Maeve!
She picked up her wallet and Squish. She glanced around for the pieces of her phone just as she heard something behind her. She took off with a cry, leaving it behind.
Nothing else mattered except getting away from that asshole. Protecting herself.
Run, Maeve.
Run!
19
Maeve was a mess.
She was injured and confused and she couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number.
Stupid brain, work.
Sometimes she hated being like this. Why couldn’t she remember Sampson’s number?
He’d helped her memorize it. Only, right now she was drawing a complete blank. He’d also made her write her friends phone numbers in a notebook. Only problem was that her notebook had been in her backpack. And it was long gone.
Maybe if she’d taken time to pick up the pieces of her phone, she could have saved her SIM card, but she’d been in a panic and hadn’t wanted to take the time.
She’d managed to get to the bus station and had bought a ticket. Unfortunately, she’d messed up the number of the bus she’d wanted to take. So instead of heading south-east to Nashville or east to New York, she’d gotten on a bus heading west to Portland. When she’d gotten off the bus, she’d felt so bad that she’d had to rest.
She’d rented a crappy motel room for a few nights. The person at the front desk hadn’t been worried about ID or a credit card. Luckily, she’d had enough cash on her. She’d crashed on the bed, then fallen asleep.
She’d slept for over twenty-four hours. As soon as she’d woken up, she’d found a bank machine to get some cash out. She knew that someone might be able to track her that way, but they’d have to be a hacker or something, right?