Witness On The Run

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Thirty-four,” he said gruffly.

“That’s a good age,” she said, grabbing another fry.

Cam tried not to be captivated by her, and failed. She had a slight accent that sounded woodsy and pleasant to his ears. She was interesting, as well as beautiful. A wave of sexual awareness washed over him, heating his blood and kicking up his pulse. He felt mildly alarmed by his response to her. He needed to pump the brakes, and stop asking so many personal questions. This wasn’t a date.

She stuck a straw in her soda bottle and took a sip, drawing his attention to her mouth. Tulips in spring.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Would you rather have a short life or a long one?”

He made a noncommittal sound and kept eating.

“You’re an ice-road trucker, so I’m guessing short. Then again, you eat healthy and take care of your body.” Her gaze traveled over him. “You work out, right?”

He flushed at her perusal. “I don’t work out to live longer.”

“No?”

“I sit in a truck all day. I’d get stir-crazy if I didn’t exercise.”

“It’s not natural to spend so much time inside a vehicle.”

Cam couldn’t argue there. The lack of activity didn’t bother some truckers. They each had their own vices. Chain-smoking and snacking were common ways to stay awake. The long hours of limited movement were difficult, but it was part of the job. He embraced the restrictions as much as the freedoms. He relished the danger and the solitude. He hadn’t become a trucker to take it easy. He’d done it to disconnect with the rest of the world, and from himself.

He also didn’t exercise just to combat inactivity. He did it to assuage his grief, to punish himself for living, and to sleep at night. The more grueling the workout, the better. He’d become obsessive. He’d made an effort to cut down last year, after pulling a muscle in his thigh. Overdoing it wasn’t healthy, either.

They were almost finished eating when a pair of uniformed officers walked in. Cam watched them dispassionately, reminded of his former self. Tala rose from the table after the officers paused at the front counter.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

Cam paid the check while she was gone. The waitress came and went. So did the police officers, who ordered their coffee to go. Cam drummed his fingertips against the table. It dawned on him that Tala had taken her parka with her, which was odd.

He wondered if she’d ditched him. It wouldn’t be a big shock. She’d wanted a ride to Fairbanks, and here they were.

Curious, he went looking for her. The women’s restroom was at the end of the hall. An emergency exit on the opposite side of the restaurant offered the only escape. He paused outside the door, listening for a moment. Then he pushed it open. There were two stalls and two sinks under a big mirror. “Tala?”

No answer. Just a sharp intake of breath.

He waited another beat. “The officers are gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Frowning to himself, he shut the door. What had he gotten himself into? It was one thing to risk death on the ice roads, quite another to risk arrest by harboring a female fugitive.

She emerged from the bathroom a second later, feigning innocence. They walked into the night together and approached his rig. He glanced in her direction, noting she was tight-mouthed and ghost-pale. He didn’t ask her why she’d been hiding from the police. She probably wouldn’t tell him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in whatever trouble she was in. He had to leave tomorrow.

She paused in the parking lot, her breaths visible in the frozen air. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done a lot. I won’t forget it.”

He realized she was trying to say goodbye. He shook his head in protest. “Come with me. I know where we can stay for free.”

“Where?”

“Ann’s Cabins.”

“Why is it free?”

“I split wood for her every time I’m in Fairbanks. We trade services.”

She searched his face for hints of deception. He was stretching the truth a little. Ann gave him a discount, but he hardly ever stayed at the cabins. He split wood because he liked doing it, not because he cared about saving money.

“Are we trading services, too?” she asked.

He laughed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he realized it was a serious question. She wanted to know what he expected of her, and she was smart to be cautious. Very few men would offer her a bed without intending to share it.

He held her gaze. “No. We’re not.”

She stared at him with undisguised curiosity. “Why are you helping me?”

An icy fist of grief squeezed around his heart. He couldn’t answer her question honestly. He couldn’t bear to talk about Jenny and his inability to save her. He opened his passenger door. “I didn’t bring you in from the cold just to let you freeze somewhere else.”

She didn’t appear satisfied with the response, but she climbed inside his truck. She must have trusted him more than another stranger. The next trucker she met might not be a gentleman. He might demand sexual favors in exchange for a ride. If she said no, he could leave her stranded on the side of the road. Or worse.

Cam got behind the wheel and started the engine. Ann’s was within walking distance of a major shopping center. Tala could rest tonight and look for work tomorrow.

The cabins were quaint and secluded. Romantic, even. Although it wasn’t a trucker hangout, it was known to truckers because the owner was a trucker’s widow. Her husband had died on the Dalton a few years ago, in an avalanche. Cam had heard chatter about it on the CB last winter. The truckers pitched in to help Ann with odd jobs. One of them said she needed someone to chop firewood for her. Cam had jumped at the task.

Turning off the main drag, he drove toward the cabins. He parked in the back of the lot and went inside the office while Tala waited in the truck.

The front desk was empty, so he rang the bell. Ann came out to greet him. She reminded him of Mrs. Claus, with her round-framed glasses and curly white hair. “If it isn’t my woodcutter,” she said with a smile. “How’s the season going?”

“It’s good. I’m keeping busy.”

“Have you been on the haul road?”

“I’m heading that way tomorrow.”

“You be careful out there.”