Tiger Magic
Page 52
There was only one paved road, a two-lane highway, that led back into Austin, so she couldn’t take a circuitous route to lose any pursuit. If Carly drove too fast, she might get pulled over, giving Spike a chance to catch up. Too slowly, and he’d catch up anyway.
Despite her fears, the road behind her remained clear. Carly breathed easier when she reached the tangle of Austin traffic and turned from the narrow highway to the 290, approaching the heart of Austin from the north and east. She went south on I-35 and got off on a frontage road near Ben White, driving onto back roads that led around the warehouses.
These were active warehouses with trucks and men working, some of whom stared at Carly as she went by in Yvette’s Fusion. Good thing Yvette had come to the gallery independent of Armand, and Carly hadn’t had to use the BMW. That would have been remembered.
She saw Tiger waiting in the shadow of a warehouse, right where he said he’d be. He’d covered his striped hair with a baseball cap, and she couldn’t see his Collar under the high-necked T-shirt he wore under a flannel shirt. Lounging against the side of the building, he looked like just another Texas boy waiting to go back to work.
Carly pulled over. She popped the locks on the doors, and Tiger slid inside, lifting Carly’s large purse and settling it on his lap.
“We need to go somewhere and talk. Somewhere safe, where they won’t find us.”
“All rightee.” Carly’s fingers shook. “You’re scaring me, Tiger. What happened? How did you get here?”
“I talked to Walker. He drove me a ways, and I walked the rest. Do you know where to go? Not your house.”
Carly thought rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s a bit of a drive.”
“Good. But not in this car. Park it, and we’ll take another.”
Carly stared at him. “You want me to steal a car? It’s one thing to borrow Yvette’s—I can convince her I needed it—but you’re talking about grand theft.”
“You’ll be found in this one. Park it.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Carly put the car in gear and drove it around the corner from the warehouses to the line of chain hotels that faced the freeway. She parked Yvette’s car in a back lot among similar-looking vehicles, locked the car, and dropped the keys into her purse.
She and Tiger walked through the lot, Carly trying to match Tiger’s ability to look purposeful and nonchalant at the same time. He didn’t bother telling Carly why he’d called her out there, what had happened, what was wrong. Any question was met by silence.
Tiger stopped by a car that looked a bit older and well used, and stood with his back to it while he tried the door handle. That car was locked, but a few rows and a couple more tries later, he found another well-used one that was unlocked.
“What do we do now?” Carly asked. “Hot-wire it?”
The parking lot was deserted except for the vehicles. The sun beat down, reflecting on the metal, fiberglass, and asphalt. Beyond the squat hotels, the freeway ran heavy, the day drawing to its close.
“Connor taught me,” Tiger said.
He opened the driver’s-side door, but Carly forestalled him. “I’ll do it. I can’t think what they’d do to a Shifter if you were caught driving a hot-wired car.”
His gaze flicked to her. “You know how?”
“I was a rebellious teen, and I hung out with other rebellious teens. We weren’t all that bad, but we were mischievous.” Carly slid into the driver’s seat while Tiger went around the other side.
“Lucky us,” Carly said. “He left the keys in it.” She laughed a little as she moved the worn gearshift and brushed at least a year’s worth of crumbs off the dashboard. “Maybe he doesn’t care about it being stolen.”
“He?” Tiger asked, his brows drawn. “How do you know a male owns this?”
“Because only a guy would let his car get this dirty. The windows are tinted, that’s good. If I could only roll . . . mine . . . all the way . . . up.” The window stuck three quarters of the way, and Carly stopped trying. But the stuck window proved to be convenient, because the air-conditioning didn’t work.
Carly drove carefully out of the lot, and as she had when she left the gallery, she avoided driving past the fronts of the hotels. She went back into the warehouse area, then onto Ben White again, heading west.
The car held the stench of old cigarettes, old coffee, mud, and other things Carly didn’t want to identify. When she could move down the road at a decent speed, air blew through the half-open windows, even if the air was oven hot. When she had to stop for a light or for backed-up traffic, however, the stuffiness made her gag. Perspiration trickled down her face and between her shoulder blades.
Tiger wouldn’t talk. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the door as though he wasn’t worried as Carly made her way through the streets.
At one point, Carly’s cell phone rang. She wasn’t moving at the time, stuck in a merge of cars coming off Mopac. She grabbed the phone from her purse, but the number had no name attached to it, and she didn’t recognize the number.
“Connor,” Tiger said looking at it.
“This phone has a GPS tracker,” Carly said. “If they can use that to locate us, we’re screwed.” On the other hand, she had no intention of throwing an expensive smartphone out the window. Whoever picked it up would have access to all her contacts and maybe her bank account, she didn’t know. Or maybe they’d so helpfully call all her friends and family until she was found.
Tiger yanked the phone from her and ended her inner debate by closing his massive hand around it. The ringtone squeaked and went silent, and bits of black plastic rained down to join the junk on the floorboards. Tiger sifted through the wreckage until he found the chips, and he broke those too.
“Well, I guess that’s one solution,” Carly said. The traffic started, and she drove on, her mouth dry.
“You have any more cell phones?” Tiger asked. “Or gadgets? Connor says other things have locators in them.”
“Not with me. They’re at the house.”
“Good.” Tiger went back into his relaxed state against the door, and Carly hoped the door was solid enough to take his bulk.
Despite her fears, the road behind her remained clear. Carly breathed easier when she reached the tangle of Austin traffic and turned from the narrow highway to the 290, approaching the heart of Austin from the north and east. She went south on I-35 and got off on a frontage road near Ben White, driving onto back roads that led around the warehouses.
These were active warehouses with trucks and men working, some of whom stared at Carly as she went by in Yvette’s Fusion. Good thing Yvette had come to the gallery independent of Armand, and Carly hadn’t had to use the BMW. That would have been remembered.
She saw Tiger waiting in the shadow of a warehouse, right where he said he’d be. He’d covered his striped hair with a baseball cap, and she couldn’t see his Collar under the high-necked T-shirt he wore under a flannel shirt. Lounging against the side of the building, he looked like just another Texas boy waiting to go back to work.
Carly pulled over. She popped the locks on the doors, and Tiger slid inside, lifting Carly’s large purse and settling it on his lap.
“We need to go somewhere and talk. Somewhere safe, where they won’t find us.”
“All rightee.” Carly’s fingers shook. “You’re scaring me, Tiger. What happened? How did you get here?”
“I talked to Walker. He drove me a ways, and I walked the rest. Do you know where to go? Not your house.”
Carly thought rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s a bit of a drive.”
“Good. But not in this car. Park it, and we’ll take another.”
Carly stared at him. “You want me to steal a car? It’s one thing to borrow Yvette’s—I can convince her I needed it—but you’re talking about grand theft.”
“You’ll be found in this one. Park it.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Carly put the car in gear and drove it around the corner from the warehouses to the line of chain hotels that faced the freeway. She parked Yvette’s car in a back lot among similar-looking vehicles, locked the car, and dropped the keys into her purse.
She and Tiger walked through the lot, Carly trying to match Tiger’s ability to look purposeful and nonchalant at the same time. He didn’t bother telling Carly why he’d called her out there, what had happened, what was wrong. Any question was met by silence.
Tiger stopped by a car that looked a bit older and well used, and stood with his back to it while he tried the door handle. That car was locked, but a few rows and a couple more tries later, he found another well-used one that was unlocked.
“What do we do now?” Carly asked. “Hot-wire it?”
The parking lot was deserted except for the vehicles. The sun beat down, reflecting on the metal, fiberglass, and asphalt. Beyond the squat hotels, the freeway ran heavy, the day drawing to its close.
“Connor taught me,” Tiger said.
He opened the driver’s-side door, but Carly forestalled him. “I’ll do it. I can’t think what they’d do to a Shifter if you were caught driving a hot-wired car.”
His gaze flicked to her. “You know how?”
“I was a rebellious teen, and I hung out with other rebellious teens. We weren’t all that bad, but we were mischievous.” Carly slid into the driver’s seat while Tiger went around the other side.
“Lucky us,” Carly said. “He left the keys in it.” She laughed a little as she moved the worn gearshift and brushed at least a year’s worth of crumbs off the dashboard. “Maybe he doesn’t care about it being stolen.”
“He?” Tiger asked, his brows drawn. “How do you know a male owns this?”
“Because only a guy would let his car get this dirty. The windows are tinted, that’s good. If I could only roll . . . mine . . . all the way . . . up.” The window stuck three quarters of the way, and Carly stopped trying. But the stuck window proved to be convenient, because the air-conditioning didn’t work.
Carly drove carefully out of the lot, and as she had when she left the gallery, she avoided driving past the fronts of the hotels. She went back into the warehouse area, then onto Ben White again, heading west.
The car held the stench of old cigarettes, old coffee, mud, and other things Carly didn’t want to identify. When she could move down the road at a decent speed, air blew through the half-open windows, even if the air was oven hot. When she had to stop for a light or for backed-up traffic, however, the stuffiness made her gag. Perspiration trickled down her face and between her shoulder blades.
Tiger wouldn’t talk. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the door as though he wasn’t worried as Carly made her way through the streets.
At one point, Carly’s cell phone rang. She wasn’t moving at the time, stuck in a merge of cars coming off Mopac. She grabbed the phone from her purse, but the number had no name attached to it, and she didn’t recognize the number.
“Connor,” Tiger said looking at it.
“This phone has a GPS tracker,” Carly said. “If they can use that to locate us, we’re screwed.” On the other hand, she had no intention of throwing an expensive smartphone out the window. Whoever picked it up would have access to all her contacts and maybe her bank account, she didn’t know. Or maybe they’d so helpfully call all her friends and family until she was found.
Tiger yanked the phone from her and ended her inner debate by closing his massive hand around it. The ringtone squeaked and went silent, and bits of black plastic rained down to join the junk on the floorboards. Tiger sifted through the wreckage until he found the chips, and he broke those too.
“Well, I guess that’s one solution,” Carly said. The traffic started, and she drove on, her mouth dry.
“You have any more cell phones?” Tiger asked. “Or gadgets? Connor says other things have locators in them.”
“Not with me. They’re at the house.”
“Good.” Tiger went back into his relaxed state against the door, and Carly hoped the door was solid enough to take his bulk.
