Witness On The Run. Susan CliffЧитать онлайн книгу.
curiosity about her. She was relieved by his disinterest. She didn’t want to talk.
The sun rose over the horizon as they continued north on the highway. Warm rays penetrated her window. A few hours ago, she’d been convinced she was going to freeze to death. It had been unbearably cold in that dark space. She’d pounded her fist on the cab for help. If he hadn’t pulled over to investigate, she might have died.
She moved her gaze to the side mirror. She didn’t think they were being followed. The road behind them was clear. The killers must not have seen her flee. She was safe—for now. Thanks to Cam, she was warm and dry.
She folded his jacket and set it aside. Then she removed the blanket. Her stockings were ruined, her knees scraped. She had bits of gravel embedded in her skin. Her palms were raw, too. She needed to wash up.
“I have a first aid kit in the glove compartment. There’s a toilet in the back. Make yourself at home.”
She glanced over her shoulder. There was a narrow bunk and a mini-fridge in the berth. “Do you sleep here?”
“When I have to.”
With his long legs and rangy build, he didn’t look like he’d fit. She rose to her feet and ventured into the space. A sliding door led to a closet-sized bathroom. It was cramped, but clean. She washed her hands at the sink before inspecting herself in the mirror. Her hair had come loose from the bun. She combed her fingers through the tangled strands to smooth the disarray. Then she returned to the front of the cab. Taking a deep breath, she helped herself to the contents of the first aid kit. After she cleaned the minor wounds with alcohol, she applied antibiotic ointment and stuck on some bandages.
“There are drinks in the fridge,” he said. “And sandwiches.”
She grabbed a bottled water. “Do you want something?”
“I’m good.”
He drove for several hours without speaking. It felt odd to sit next to a stranger in complete silence, but she made no attempt at small talk. Sharing personal information with him seemed unwise.
She felt self-conscious in his presence. She wished he wasn’t so handsome. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed his rugged good looks, and the last thing she wanted to do was get caught staring. Many truckers, even the married ones, wouldn’t hesitate to proposition a female hitchhiker. Cam hadn’t given any indication that he expected sexual favors from her. He didn’t have a creepy-predator vibe. She sat very still and tried not to imagine the worst.
He gestured to the radio. “You can change the station if you like. Or I have audiobooks.”
“Audiobooks?”
“Books on tape.”
She nodded her understanding. There was a device plugged into his port. She picked it up and browsed the files. A Stieg Larsson book was at the top of the queue. The other options were horror, murder mysteries and true crime. Disturbing stories of violence and mayhem.
“Is this what serial killers listen to?”
He frowned at the question.
“Sorry,” she said awkwardly. “That was a joke.”
He changed gears, glancing her direction. “I guess my selections are pretty stark.”
“They’re fine.”
“I choose books that will help me stay awake. It’s a trucker trick.”
She set aside the device. “I’ve never listened to an audiobook. I don’t think they make them for the books I like.”
“Why not?”
“I read graphic novels. They have pictures.” She flushed at the admission, as if it was something to be ashamed of. Duane always said her “comics” weren’t real books. But Duane never read anything, so what did he know?
“Where do you get graphic novels?”
“I’ve bought a few at a used bookstore, but they’re hard to find. In Canada, I checked them out from the library. I don’t have a card here.”
“How long have you been in Alaska?”
“Six months.”
He didn’t ask her why she’d come. She wouldn’t have told him.
“What’s Canada like?”
“Cold.”
He smiled at her answer. “Were you a waitress there, too?”
“I was before I got married.”
“You’re married?”
She searched his face for judgment and found none. “It didn’t work out.”
“Is he the one you’re running from?”
“None of your business.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked with displeasure, but he dropped the subject. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her trembling hands. Although she wasn’t naturally meek or shy, she’d learned to avoid conflict with men. She’d managed to escape Duane and his hair-trigger temper. This morning, she’d stumbled into more danger. Witnessing a murder hadn’t improved her opinion of strangers. She half expected Cam to lash out at her.
When he didn’t, she released a slow breath. Her first instinct was to apologize again, but she squelched it. They had to establish some boundaries. Certain topics were off-limits. She couldn’t tell him why she was running.
To his credit, Cam took her prickly attitude in stride. He didn’t interrogate her further. He continued driving, steady as a rock. He didn’t exceed the speed limit or take unnecessary risks. They entered Denali State Park, which offered spectacular views. She looked out the window and watched the rugged landscape pass by.
They stopped for lunch around noon. Cam gave her a sandwich and a drink from the mini-fridge. Then he put on his jacket and went outside to check his load. She was surprised by how hungry she was. She bit into the sandwich with relish.
He came in from the cold, his cheeks ruddy, and they hit the road again. He ate his sandwich on a long straightaway.
Tala thought about the last man who’d given her a sandwich: Walt. He’d always been kind to her. The day she’d walked into his diner, he’d hired her on the spot. He’d fed her and offered her some pocket money at the end of the shift. His generosity reminded her that there were good men in the world. Men like her father, who’d raised her to be strong, to fight back, to take care of herself. She wondered if he’d have been disappointed in her, had he lived.
Cam seemed like a good man. Maybe a little too good, with his healthy eating habits and unflappable demeanor. It occurred to her that he might call the police after they parted ways. If something had happened to Walt, Cam would hear about it. He’d want to help. He would tell them everything. Her name, birthplace, nationality. It was more than enough information to identify her. She’d fled the scene of a crime. She could be arrested just for that.
Trying not to panic, she nibbled the edge of her thumbnail. Maybe he wouldn’t go to the authorities. He was a trucker, not a Boy Scout. She sensed a certain amount of detachment in him, which made sense for a married man who wanted to stay true to his wife. He was giving Tala a ride to Fairbanks, nothing more. When they got there, she was on her own. She had no idea what she’d do.
She didn’t know anyone in Alaska, other than Walt, her landlady and her coworkers. She had no family here. She hadn’t seen her mother in years. She’d been closer to her father, who’d died almost a decade ago. She still missed him.
Blinking away fresh tears, she pushed her anxieties aside and focused on the present. There were majestic mountains in the distance. She hadn’t seen much of the state in her short time here. She’d passed by Denali once on her way toward Anchorage. It was a sight to behold, immense and breathtaking.
Her father had