Misbehaving(2)

Glancing back, I saw no one. Hank would know who to come looking for, but he would have no proof. Smiling, I took a deep breath. That would be the end of us. Finally. After what I’d done, Hank would never forgive me, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go running back to him. He’d hate me now as much as I hated him.

“JESS!” Hank’s familiar voice roared. Spinning around, I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him running through the woods behind me. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d come after me. How’d he find out so fast? Panicking, I looked around to see where I could run to hide from him. There was nothing but miles and miles of road. No houses, nothing.

Headlights came around the corner, and I did the only thing I could think of: I ran out into the middle of the road and started waving my arms in the air, still holding on to Rock’s bat.

The car started slowing down and cut the bright lights. Thank God.

Wait . . . was that a Porsche? What the hell?

JASON

All I could see was a girl dressed in tight black clothing with lots of long blond hair, and she was standing in the middle of the road . . . holding a baseball bat. Only in Alabama did stuff like this happen. Stopping before I hit her, I watched as she ran over to the passenger-side door and knocked. The wild, panicked look in her eyes might have been disturbing if they weren’t a bright, clear blue with thick black lashes. I pressed the unlock button, and she jerked the door open and climbed inside.

“Go! Go! Go!” she demanded. She didn’t even look my way. Her eyes were focused on something outside. I turned my attention to the side of the road, where she was watching with such intensity. There was nothing. . . . Then a guy came bursting out of the woods with an angry snarl on his face and I understood. No wonder she was terrified. The guy was huge and looked ready to murder someone.

I shifted gears and took off before he got any closer.

“Oh my god, thank you. That was so close.” She let out a sigh of relief and leaned her head on the headrest.

“Should I take you to the police station?” I asked, glancing over at her. Had he attacked her before she’d gotten free?

“Definitely not. They’ll probably be looking for me in about ten minutes. I need you to take me home. Momma will cover for me, but I gotta get there quick.”

They’d be looking for her? Her mom would cover for her? What?

“It ain’t like he’s got any proof. The only thing I dropped was the ski mask, and it was a cheapo I bought at the Goodwill a couple of Halloweens ago. Not something he can trace back to me.”

I slowed the Porsche down as her words started sinking in. I hadn’t just saved a girl from being attacked. If I understood this babbling correctly, I had just become the getaway car driver.

“Why’re you slowing down? I need to get to my momma, like, now. She’s just two miles from here. You go up to County Road Thirty-Four and turn right, and then you take it about three-fourths of a mile to Orange Street and take a left. It’s the third house on the right.”

Shaking my head, I pulled over to the side of the road. “I’m not going any farther until you tell me exactly what it is I’m helping you escape from.” I glanced down at her baseball bat tucked between her legs, then up at her face. Even in the darkness I could tell she was one of those ridiculously gorgeous southern blondes. It was like the South had some special ingredient to raise them like that down here.

She let out a frustrated sigh and blinked rapidly, causing tears to fill her eyes. She was good. Real good. Those pretty tears were almost believable.

“It’s a really long story. By the time I explain everything, we’ll have been caught and I’ll be spending the night in jail. Please, please, please just take me to my house. We’re so close,” she pleaded. Yeah, she was a major looker. Too bad she was also bad news.

“Tell me one thing: Why do you have a baseball bat?” I needed something. If she’d knocked someone unconscious back there, then I couldn’t help her get away. They could be injured or dead.

She ran her hand through her hair and grumbled. “Okay, okay, fine. But understand that he deserved it.”

Shit. She had knocked someone out.

“I smashed all the windows in my ex-boyfriend’s truck.”

“You did what?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly. That did not happen in real life. Country songs, yes. Real life, no way.

“He’s a cheating bastard. He deserved it. He hurt me, so I hurt him. Now please believe me and get me out of here.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. This was the funniest damn thing I’d ever heard.

“Why’re you laughing?” she asked.