Shiver

or gunmen in the windows, she allowed herself to relax enough to take in the rest of the view. In the distance, a line of purple mountains iced with snow drew her eye. Overhead, the sky was a perfect pale blue. The temperature, which was in the midseventies, felt wonderful after the ninety-plus-degree heat East St. Louis had been enduring. Sam took a deep breath, savoring the fresh-cut-grass scent in the air.
    “Listening to Sanders, I get the feeling that if bad stuff starts going down, Tyler and I are on our own,” Sam said without looking at him as Marco stopped beside her. She could feel the connection between them, feel the attraction like a physical pull. Folding her arms over her chest, she grimly ignored it.
    “No worries.” Marco leaned on his crutches, his eyes on her face as she resolutely kept hers fixed on Tyler. Still, she couldn’t help seeing the slight smile that curved his mouth. “You’ve got me.”
    At that, Sam shot a look at him. Out here in the bright sunlight, it was all too easy to see the tightness around his mouth, and the shadow of pain in his eyes. The pills might be making him too loopy to get a handle on whom he was kissing, but they clearly weren’t doing a whole lot to relieve his distress. Not that she cared. Not one bit.
    “Like I’m really going to count on that,” she scoffed, and stepped off the patio to give Tyler a push on the swing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     

     
    L ater, after Sam had cleaned up the kitchen and fed herself and Tyler a peanut butter sandwich for lunch—everyone else was on his own, as she said maybe a little too forcefully to Tyler when he suggested that she make Trey one, too—she took Marco’s suggestion and presented Sanders with a list of the obligations that she needed to have taken care of in East St. Louis so that she didn’t lose everything she owned. While Sanders was looking it over, pursing his lips and frowning, she announced—didn’t ask—that she needed to make a quick trip to the Walmart they had driven past on the way in, and added that since she obviously couldn’t use a credit card (not that she possessed one that worked, although she didn’t tell him that ), she needed a means of paying for her purchases. Although she hadn’t invited Marco to take part in the discussion, he emerged from the den where he’d been holed up in time to hear the last part of what she had to say, and told her (and reminded Sanders) that the marshals had plenty of government-issued cash and could easily fork over the funds she needed. Once Sanders wasmade to understand that the marshals could either go out and find and purchase the clothes and other personal items she and Tyler needed or she could do it herself, he quit insisting that the trip to Walmart was a nonstarter. Instead, after telling Marco to butt the hell out of the conversation and then, a little later, not to even think about it because he wasn’t going with her, which last part at least Marco didn’t dispute, Sanders agreed to let her go and deputized Groves to go with her. Sam hated leaving Tyler behind, but as he was barefoot with only his pajamas and a choice of too-big white T-shirts to wear, and was emphatic in saying he didn’t want to go anyway, there wasn’t much choice.
    The urgency of her mission was such that leaving him behind was something she was prepared to do.
    “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Marco told her. It was not the ideal setup, but since she was actually quite sure that he would do as he said and Tyler was perfectly happy in his company, she bowed to necessity. Trying to keep Tyler away from “Trey” was something she was going to have to put off until later.
    A little stiffly, she said, “Thank you.”
    “My pleasure,” he replied, and smiled at her. That smile did really unwelcome things to her insides, so she turned away without another word.
    Since the house had come equipped with a washer and dryer concealed in a closet off the kitchen (there was no basement), Sam already had laundered the clothes she had arrived wearing. She had feared that her tank top might be permanently stained with Marco’s blood, but once washed, it was wearable, and her jeans and underwear were perfectly fine. Confining her hair ina long braid that hung down her back, she was good to go. Just another Walmart shopper, ready to blend into the aisles.
    “I won’t be gone long,” she promised Tyler, who was ensconced on the couch in the great room watching TV. A quick