“I really wish I could, but we’re slammed, so I can’t get away. I could lend you my truck, though.”

Casey stopped breathing for a few seconds. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Aw, the truck looks worse than it is. It’ll get you there.”

“It’s not the truck I’m worried about. I don’t…my driver’s license got stolen.” Might as well go with the story she’d told the hospital clerk. Wendell didn’t need to know her wallet was back in Ohio, waiting to incriminate her, if it hadn’t already.

“I won’t tell. Drive the speed limit, and you’ll be fine.”

Casey swallowed. The kids all had bikes. She could borrow one of them.

Death snorted. “You think a bicycle’s gonna get you to Wichita?”

“I…don’t think I can, Wendell. Thanks, though.”

“Sorry. Come after work and I could probably take you. I’d have to call my wife, though. Tell her I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Forget it. I’ll find another way.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Thanks.” She hung up and let her hands and head hang between her knees.

“You know,” Death said, “one of these days you’re going to have to face—”

“I know, okay? I know.”

Death made a face and picked up the harmonica. “Geez, I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Casey considered her options: Davey. Wait till after school and ask Bailey, who knew Parnell and would probably be getting hell for her part in all of this. Wait until after work and go with Wendell, adding his wife to the list of people who knew what was going on.

Or she could drive Wendell’s truck.

She dialed Davey’s number. He didn’t answer, and the machine asked her to leave a message. She hung up. Sweat sprouted on her scalp and upper lip, and she went hot, and then cold. Could she do it? Could she get behind the wheel of a truck?

“Was Wendell’s truck a stick?”

Death blew a discordant rush of air. “Nope. Automatic.”

So she couldn’t use that excuse.

“Come on, Casey,” Death said. “I’ll be with you every second.”

“Oh, great. That helps so much.”

The bag the kids had brought the food in was a backpack, and Casey stuffed her things inside it. She used the broken broom to sweep away her footprints, and made sure there was no sign she’d been there. She looked for cars, and headed down the lane.

In the past week she’d been in an accident, run from the cops, avoided Pegasus, made and lost friends, seen a couple of people die, and killed someone.

If she couldn’t drive a truck, there was something wrong with her.

Chapter Eighteen

“Changed your mind?”

Casey caught Wendell outside on his lunch break and pulled him to the side of the building, where the other guys wouldn’t see her. “If you’re still offering.”

“Sure. Here.” He held out a keychain with more keys than Casey could imagine ever needing. “She’s full up on gas, and ready to go.” He grinned. “Figured you might be by.”

“Thanks, Wendell.”

“Anything else I can do?”

She peeked around his shoulder. “Don’t tell the guys?”

“No reason they need to know. When will you be back?”

“When do you get off work?”

“Five-thirty.”

“I’ll be back by then.”

“If not, it’s no biggie. One of the guys can give me a ride home. One more thing.” He pulled out his wallet and counted out twenty dollars. “Get yourself something to eat.”

“Wendell—”

“Don’t like seeing a woman look so hungry.”

Casey took the money. “Thank you.”

“You know where you’re going, how to get to Wichita?”

“I think so.”

He pointed up the road. “Catch the highway there; it’ll take you right into the city. Got directions for once you’re there?”

She had them. Terry’s phone was equipped with the Internet and GPS.

“Okay, then, see you in a few hours.”

“Thanks, Wendell.”

He gathered up his lunch supplies and headed back inside.

Casey let the keys dangle by her side as she stared at the truck. Death stood beside her.

“I don’t think I can,” she said.

“First step,” Death said. “Open the door.”

Casey took a step, faltered, then took another.

“Come on. You can do it.”

Casey tugged on the door handle, and the door swung open.

“Thank you.” Death climbed into the cab and scooted across the seat. “Second step. Get in.”

The sweat was back, and the hot flashes. Casey glanced toward the window of the gas station. Wendell was watching. She held her breath, and got in.

“Okay,” Death said. “Shut the door.”

She did.

“Keys in the ignition, turn them forward—”

“I know how to start the damn truck!”

Death sat back, hands up. “Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to be supportive.”

Casey turned the key.

“Don’t forget your seatbelt.”

Casey growled, but buckled herself in and clenched her hands around the steering wheel.

“Take your time,” Death said.

“I am.”

“No need to be a speed demon.”

“Will you shut up?”

Death sat back, whistling the theme from Knight Rider.

Casey eased her foot onto the gas pedal, turned the steering wheel…and stalled the truck.

Death stayed very still.

Casey wrenched the keys, started the truck, and floored it, screeching to a stop at the road. She blinked, completely disoriented.

“That way,” Death said, pointing.

Casey swallowed, clenched her teeth, and pulled out.

Once they got within sight of the highway—it took twice as long as it should have, since she drove fifteen miles per hour under the speed limit—she was beginning to loosen up. She would be driving the opposite direction of the accident scene, so at least she wouldn’t have to see it.

“So, this guy we’re going to see,” Death said. “You know he’ll be home?”

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