Page 43 of You Can Run

Dante eased the 'Cuda toward the far pump at the Buck-O's, his eyes moving between the mirrors and the empty road behind them. The station sat right on the county line. It felt like the kind of place that existed solely to serve people passing through and forget them immediately after. Safe enough for a pit stop, then.

He killed the headlights but left the engine running. He didn't look at Jessica, but he was aware of her in his periphery.

He stepped out before she could say anything. The humidity wrapped around him instantly, thick and damp. He moved toward the pump, right hand hovering near his side out of habit more than intent.

The card reader lagged. AUTHORIZING blinked on the screen like it had all the time in the world.

Dante leaned back against the rear quarter panel and scanned the lot instead of watching the gas pump numbers crawl.

A semi sat off to the side near the air compressors, engine idling low and heavy. The cab windows were dark, with no driver in sight and no movement around it.

Jessica's door opened.

He glanced over as she stepped out. The t-shirt covered her, barely, and the sequins of her dress underneath still caught the light. It was a shimmer that didn't belong anywhere near a placelike this. Her pink hair made it worse. She was impossible to miss, and that was exactly the problem.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“Water. Caffeine. Soap,” she tossed back, already walking.

“Don't go wandering off,” he said.

“I can handle a gas station, Dante.”

Dante swore under his breath but didn't follow. He was tethered to the pump, forced to stand there while she crossed the lot and disappeared through the glass doors of the convenience store.

His attention went back to the semi. Still idling.

A muddy sedan pulled in near the storefront, its engine rattling before it cut out. A man in a camo hat climbed out and stretched like he had nowhere to be. Harmless, probably. But Dante didn't put much stock in 'probably'.

The pump clicked off. He capped the tank and looked up just as Jessica came into view inside the store—not heading for the door but standing at the counter, leaning in, talking to the kid behind the register.

Dante stilled.

She said something. The kid looked past her, out through the window toward the lot. Toward the car.

Jessica turned, following his gaze, and her hand came up in an absent gesture, indicating something behind her.

The 'Cuda.

Something cold settled in Dante's chest.

She pushed through the door a moment later, plastic bag in hand.

He closed the distance in two strides and took the bag from her. “Get in.”

“What is it?” she asked quietly. “Did you see something?”

“The truck,” he said, already moving around to the driver's side. “And you, pointing a stranger at the most recognizable car in the county.”

Her expression flickered. “He just asked about the car. I told him it was your midlife crisis.”

Any other morning, he might have almost smiled at that. Not this one. “Get in the car, Jessica.”

She got in.

Dante pulled the door shut, his eyes already on the mirrors. The semi had shifted position— angled now, like it was preparing to move. The engine note had changed. It wasn't idling anymore.

He turned the key and the 'Cuda came alive, the roar tearing through the quiet morning loud enough to turn heads. He didn't care.