Silent Escape: The Runaway Heiress's Refuge

The sign for Blackwood Creek was rusted and leaning to the left. The bus rattled past it as rain lashed against the windows, harder now than before. The town looked gray, industrial, and dying. Boarded-up storefronts mixed with dull brick buildings. The streetlights were few and far between, casting long, eerie shadows on the wet pavement. The bus hissed to a halt at the only station in town-a gas station with a covered bench. Hoyt stood up before the bus had even fully stopped. He grabbed his duffel bag and marched down the aisle, ignoring Eva completely. He stepped off the bus and into the deluge. Eva followed. She stepped down onto the curb and immediately sank her foot into a deep, freezing puddle. The cold water soaked through her sneaker and sock instantly. She gasped, pulling her foot back. She looked around. The gas station was closed. The town was dark. There was no one around. Hoyt walked to a black pickup truck parked in the shadows. He unlocked it, the lights flashing amber. He opened the door and tossed his bag inside. Then he paused. He looked back. Eva was standing on the curb, hugging her backpack, looking completely lost. The rain was plastering her hair to her skull. She looked like a drowned rat. Hoyt slammed his truck door shut. He didn't get in. Instead, he marched back toward her, his boots splashing through the puddles. He loomed over her, blocking the rain with his sheer size. "Who sent you?" he barked. "The Feds? A creditor? Who are you looking for?" Eva trembled. Water dripped from the tip of her nose. She was shaking so hard her teeth were about to chatter. She reached into her pocket for her phone. Hoyt's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was bruising. "I said, who sent you?" Eva winced in pain. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. She wasn't a spy. She was just a girl trying not to die. Hoyt saw the genuine fear in her eyes. It wasn't the look of someone caught in a lie; it was the look of a prey animal cornered by a predator. He released her wrist abruptly, as if her skin burned him. Eva fumbled with her phone. The screen was cracked. She opened her map app-the one she'd saved for offline use-and held it up to him. The destination pin was dropped on a location a few miles away: Mrs. Rose's Fruit Stand. Hoyt stared at the screen. He blinked, the aggression draining out of his face, replaced by confusion. "Mrs. Rose?" he asked, his voice skeptical. "You know Mrs. Rose?" Eva nodded vigorously. Hoyt looked at her, then at the time on his watch. "It's three in the morning. She's closed. She's asleep." Eva looked at the phone, then back at him, helpless. Hoyt ran a hand over his wet face. He looked angry at the situation, angry at her, angry at himself. He pointed down the dark, slick road. "The motel is a mile that way. It's a dump, but it has a roof." Eva looked where he was pointing. It was pitch black. The rain was coming down in sheets. Her leg was throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. A mile walk in this condition was impossible. She looked back at Hoyt, pleading with her eyes. Hoyt hardened his jaw. He turned his back on her. "Not my problem." He walked back to his truck. He opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Eva watched him go. A lump formed in her throat, hot and painful. She turned and started walking toward the darkness of the road. Her bad leg gave out on the third step. Her knee buckled, unable to support her weight on the slick pavement. She stumbled, catching herself on a lamppost. Inside the truck, Hoyt watched her in his rearview mirror. He saw her stumble. He saw her drag her leg. "Dammit," he cursed, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.