Page 20 of Falling for Carla
When I neared my car, I saw a dark shape huddled against it, crouching low. I swore under my breath, wishing I had my gun. My nerves on high alert, I noted a car cruising by too slowly, as if scanning the area. I couldn’t see who was in the vehicle because the windows were tinted dark. The prickle of the hair on the back of my neck told me that I didn’t want anything to do with that car—and the driver sure as hell shouldn’t want anything to do with me.
The vehicle swung into the lot and made a loop before veering back out onto the street, rounding the corner on squealing tires. I made out the first three digits of the Nevada license plate before they were out of sight. There was nothing for it but to approach my car and find out if the huddled figure there was dangerous or terrified or both.
Weight on the balls of my feet, knees bent, I crouched, moving silently, agile and alert. I approached the same way I’d go toward an active shooter who was frantic…ready to engage in anything from calm negotiation to swiftly disabling an assailant. The only sound apart from the rain was the slide of tires on nearby wet pavement. The laser focus of the tense confrontation stole over me. I crept toward the stooped, rain-sodden figure that huddled against the side of my hood.
They moved, popped up so suddenly that I stopped, startled. Pushing back a mass of tangled wet hair, Carla Russo got to her feet. Why had she been hiding near my car instead of attending class? Was she in some kind of trouble, related to her dad and the impending turf war Brent had spoken of? Baffled and curious, I moved toward her.
“It’s me,” I said in a low voice as I approached.
She looked over her shoulder, saw me, and recognition flared in her dark eyes. She sagged against the car, soaking wet and looking shaken. Her lips were pale, and I knew she must be chilled.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded, pressed her lips together.
“That’s my car,” I said, gesturing to the driver’s door. She moved over and let me unlock it. “Get in on the other side and warm up. You can tell me what’s going on.”
She didn’t argue, which by itself was a surprise. Her presence seemed to fill up the space in the interior of my car as I switched on the ignition and turned the heat on full blast. The heating system didn’t get much action since I lived in California, but a chilly rain and the look of shock in her every movement made a blast of warm air seem like a good idea. I reached in the back for a jacket and handed it to her. She took it, but instead of putting it on, she dried her face and arms with it, wrapped it around her hair and wrung out the length of her curls before dropping it on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I asked, using my gentlest voice, the one I’d use on a spooked horse or a nervous perp.
“There were some guys in a black car, tinted windows. They tried to run me down while I was crossing the parking lot to go to class. I dodged them and thought it was just an accident, but they circled back around. They kept coming after me, and when I hid behind cars and kept moving, the driver must’ve got mad. Because a guy got out of the passenger side and tried to grab me. I got away from him and had to find a place to hide.”
“Did you get a good look at the man who tried to grab you?”
“I was too busy trying to get away from him. I wouldn’t say I got a very good look. Best guess is, Caucasian male, late twenties. I’d put him at six foot three or four, built like a tank, jeans and a black t-shirt and work boots, dark hair buzzed close, sunglasses, a visible tattoo on his left forearm, some kind of scene with a boat, no identifying scars.”
“That’s not getting a good look at him? I had eyewitnesses in my interrogation room that couldn’t tell me if the guy they saw commit a robbery was twenty or sixty-five,” I said incredulously.
“I’m observant. He didn’t speak, though, not even in frustration when I kicked the shit out of him.”
“In flip-flops?” I said dubiously.
“It hurt my foot like hell. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she shrugged. The heat blasted out of the vents and slowly she appeared less pale, her normal warm olive skin tone seeming less pallid and terrified.
“How did you hide from him once he was pursuing you on foot?” I asked.
“I laid down under a car. I figured a guy that big can’t get down to peer under a car that easily and sure as hell can’t get underneath there before I can get out. I used my size to my advantage.”
I nodded, impressed.
“It was just dumb luck that I hid by your car when I had to duck down behind something. I thought they were gone. I’d been under there probably an hour. When I stood up, I thought I caught a glimpse of their car going around the block, and I just ran and hid,” she said.
“You survived an attempted hit and run, an attempted abduction, pursuit on foot in the pouring rain in a parking lot and managed to evade your attackers for over an hour. That’s not dumb luck. That’s being smart and brave as hell,” I said with respect.
“Thanks,” she said, wiping ineffectually at her skinned knees.
“Can I take you home?”
“No, I have a car. I don’t usually drive, I ride here with Brenda, my roommate, but she went home to San Jose for the weekend, so I—well, I don’t want to leave my car here.”
“I’ll take you home to change and then I’ll bring you back to get the car.”
“I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Carla,” I said. “I’m going to drive you home so you can dry off and change clothes. Then I’ll bring you back here. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“I—okay, thank you,” she said, looking away from me, out the window.