She couldn’t believe he was the one trying to cheer her up. “Probably,” she agreed, “but it might come to that.” She glanced down at the gas gauge, then hissed. “This thing is burning through gas like it wants to piss me off.”

“What can we do?”

“I’m going to have to go into a gas station, pay with cash.”

“But your face.”

“There’s no help for it. I’ll just pretend I was in a car accident… which, actually, is not pretend at all, is it? Anyway, there’s nothing else I can do.”

The gas-guzzling monster forced Alex to stop much earlier than she would have liked. She followed the signs in Oklahoma City to the airport, guessing that the gas stations around it would be somewhat busy even late at night. Also, if anyone noticed them there, he might assume they were planning to fly out. Any ensuing search would be concentrated on the airport.

She’d had Daniel find her oversize hoodie while she was driving. She slipped into it now, wishing it were cooler out so that she would look more normal. There were two other vehicles – one taxi and one work truck. Both male drivers eyed the Humvee, of course. She moved in her boy-slouch as she got out and stuck the nozzle into the tank. While it was filling, she slouched her way into the store. She grabbed a box of granola bars and a six-pack of bottled water and took them to the fifty-something woman at the counter. The woman had bleached-blond hair with an inch of dark roots, nicotine-stained teeth, and a name tag that said BEVERLY. At first she didn’t pay much attention to Alex, just rang up the goods. But then Alex had to speak.

“Pump six,” she said in the lowest register that wouldn’t sound put on.

Beverly looked up, and her mascara-smeared eyes opened round.

“Aw, sweet hell, honey! What happened to your face?”

“Car accident,” Alex muttered.

“Everyone okay?”

“Yeah.” Alex looked pointedly down at the cash in her hand, waiting to count it out. From the corner of her eye, she saw the taxi drive away.

“Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

“Um, thanks. What’s the total?”

“Oh, is this right? Seems high. One-oh-three fifty-five?”

Alex handed Beverly six twenties and waited for the change. Another truck – a big, black F-250 – pulled into the pump behind the Humvee. She watched as three tall thin men got out. As two of them walked into the minimart, she revised her assessment. They were very tall teenage boys; half of a basketball team, maybe. Like her, they wore dark hoodies. At least that made her unseasonable getup look more normal.

“That sure is a big truck you got out there,” Beverly commented.

“Yeah.”

“Must be a pain to keep that thing full.”

“Yeah.” Alex held her hand out impatiently.

The boys came in, noisy and boisterous. The smell of beer and marijuana drifted in through the door with them. Outside, the work truck pulled out of the lot.

“Oh, here you go,” Beverly said, her voice suddenly impersonal. “Sixteen forty-five.”

“Thanks.”

Beverly was distracted by the newcomers. She stared over Alex’s head, her eyes narrowed. The big boys were headed for the liquor aisle. Hopefully they would be a huge pain as they tried to get fake IDs past Beverly. Anything that would make Alex fade in her memory.

Alex headed for the automatic door with her head down. She didn’t need more than one witness.

With a thud, her head knocked into the chest of the third boy. The first thing she registered was the smell; his sweatshirt reeked of whiskey. She looked up automatically when he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Watch yourself, little playa.”

He was a thick white kid, not as tall as the others. She tried to shake him off. He held on tighter with one hand, yanking her hood back with the other.

“Hey, it’s a girl.” Then louder, toward the boys by the refrigerated cases, “Looky what I found.”

Alex’s voice was ice. She was not in the mood for this nonsense. “Get your hands off me.”

“You leave that gal alone or I’m calling the police,” Beverly called shrilly. “I’ve got the phone in my hand.”

Alex wanted to scream. This was all she needed.

“Relax, old bag, we got plenty to go around.”

The other two, one black, one Hispanic, were already in place to back their friend up. Alex slid a thin syringe from her belt. This wouldn’t help her stay under the radar, but she had to put this kid down and get out of here before Beverly called the cops.

“I’ve dialed the nine and the first one,” Beverly warned them. “You all get out now.”

Alex tried to yank herself out of the boy’s grip, but the grinning idiot had both hands locked around her upper arms now. She angled the needle.

“Is there a problem, son?”

Nooooo, Alex moaned internally.

“What?” the white kid said aggressively, dropping her and pivoting to face the newcomer. He then took a quick step back, and she had to duck out of his way.

She’d spent so much time around Daniel that she’d forgotten how tall he really was. He had an inch on even the tallest kid, and he stood with wider shoulders and much more assurance. At least he’d put a ball cap on, hiding his hair and shading his face a little. The beginnings of his beard were dark enough to slightly camouflage the contours of his face. That was good. But it was not good that he’d stuck a Glock – in a very obvious way – into the waistband of his jeans.