Party Crashers

panicked glances over her shoulder for Roger LeMon. She flew by the ticket taker and stumbled down the entrance ramp, walking as fast as her shoes would allow along the dimly lit sidewalk to her car. She gulped air as she fumbled to get her key in the lock, then realized she'd forgotten to lock the door. She grabbed at the handle and opened the door, then practically flung herself inside and slammed it shut.
    She gripped the wheel, inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm her vital signs, trying to figure out what to do next. Call Detective Salyers? The woman's suspicion resounded in her head. Would she accuse Jolie of grasping at straws, or maybe lying altogether? Jolie hesitated, then reached for her purse.
    "Jolie," a man said. From the back seat .
    She froze, and terror bolted through her body at the realization that someone had been lying in wait for her. The muscles in her legs bunched and her arm flew to the door handle.
    "Jolie, it's me—Gary."

Chapter Seven

    "GARY?" SHE WHISPERED on a breath that seemed to be pulled out of her.
    " Don't turn around, Jolie."
    She stopped, mid-turn, her heart thudding in her ears. "Why not?"
    "So that when the police ask if you've seen me, you can say no." His voice sounded reedy and unfamiliar. Terrifying.
    Her fingers curled around the metal door handle. "What happened to you?"
    "I don't have time to explain now, but I want you to know that I didn't do what the police are accusing me of. I was set up." His voice ended on a choke.
    Think, think, keep him talking . "Who...who was the woman in your car, Gary?"
    "I can't tell you. The less you know, the better."
    "But where have you been?"
    "Staying out of sight. They think I'm dead, and I want them to keep thinking it."
    She frowned. "Who is 'they'?"
    "Like I said, the less you know, the better." He sounded more agitated. "If anyone asks you about me, I simply disappeared."
    "With my car," she reminded him.
    "I'm sorry about that. I'll pay you back, I swear. Money, at least, isn't a problem."
    She pulled the door release as far as it would go without making noise. "How did you know I was here?"
    "I followed you from your apartment. It was too dangerous to talk to you there. They would expect it."
    Her skin crawled and her mind raced with questions. "Gary, if you were set up, why don't you go to the police? The detective I've been talking to—"
    "Jolie, if anyone knows I'm alive, you could be in danger. That's why I had to do this—to warn you."
    She swallowed. "Why would I be in danger?"
    "Because of the envelope."
    "What envelope?"
    Silence, then..."Oh, God, maybe they intercepted it." He sounded desperate, making mewling noises.
    "Gary," she said carefully, "what was in the envelope?"
    A scrambling noise sounded from the back. "I have to go, Jolie. I'm sorry I got you involved. I'm sorry for a lot of things." He sounded almost philosophical, as if he were talking about something in the very distant past.
    "Wait, Gary—don't go. Let me drive you to a police station."
    " No ."
    "If you're in danger, they'll put you in protective custody."
    He scoffed. "That only means I'll be alone when they come to kill me."
    " Who is 'they'?"
    "Bye, Jolie. Promise me you won't say anything to the police. Both of our lives depend on it."
    She pressed her lips together and shook her head, fighting tears.
    Suddenly he came up over the seat and put his arms around her, pressing his cheek against hers so she couldn't move her head. She screamed, but the sound was lost against the hand he cupped over her mouth. She sucked air through her nose, jerking in her attempt to fill her lungs. His hands smelled grimy, his rough beard pricking her skin. He had her arms pinned to her sides. He had never behaved aggressively toward her, and the possibility of him being high on cocaine blipped into her panicked mind. She struggled and tried to bite his fingers.
    His grip tightened like a vise. "Jolie, for God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to promise me you won't go to the police. Please ," he begged, his voice tearful. "I need time to get my ducks in a row, then I'll go to the police."
    His despair reverberated in the small car. Real or imagined, he was indeed afraid for his life. She nodded against his hand.
    "Thank you," he breathed, then slowly released her mouth. "I'll be around, keeping an eye on you. But be careful, Jolie."
    She gasped for fresh air and glanced in the rearview mirror, but she saw only the outline of his head and