Luck And a Prayer
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Oh, boy. Expectantly, she watched his brow crinkle into a frown before he dismissed the thought and went to his pack for another pen. “Tell Tracey she doesn’t have to worry about me,” she piped up. “And if she’s smart, she’ll stay away from Hollywood and Jack Paulson. I know you believe in evil, and honey, he’s as close to evil as I’ve ever seen.”
“Then maybe you should stay away from him, too.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Here.” He handed her a crude map that she couldn’t make heads or tails of.
“Thanks,” she said and hesitated, a little surprised by her reluctance to leave. Was it the trek down the mountain, or the thought of leaving him? “Maybe I’ll see you around back in L.A.?”
“Doubt it. Like I said, I don’t spend a lot of time on your side of town.”
“Right. Yeah, I suppose you wouldn’t. It was great to meet you, Jeff.” She offered her hand. Her smile faltered as the warmth of his touch trapped the breath in her throat. Yep, it was definitely the thought of leaving him. What a hunk. She turned and headed down the trail, refusing to glance over her shoulder for one last look.
She could do this, she told herself as the forest enveloped her. She had an excellent sense of direction. Everyone had always said so. She’d never once gotten lost in L.A., and with all those freeways that was quite an accomplishment. A few measly trails wouldn’t confuse her. All she had to do was keep heading downhill. She trotted for a minute, pretending it was her morning run, until a heavy tightness banded her chest. Must be the altitude.
Stopping to catch her breath, she dug into her pack for her compass and cell phone. She’d call Ben and let him know she had the evidence and would be home by dinner. She pushed the power button, then waited for the familiar writing to appear across the screen. No reception, nothing.
“Man,” she grumbled. “How do people function out here?” In disgust, she dropped the phone in her bag and studied her compass. Northwest. Great. What did that mean? Which direction had she left her car? At the bottom of the hill, dummy. She shoved the compass back in her pack and continued down the trail. All the trails had to lead to the same place, so if she just stayed on this one, she’d get there. Eventually.
After another twenty minutes, her feet began to sting. After forty, they were screaming for mercy. She found a big rock, sat on it, and pulled off her boots. “Eight miles,” she grumbled. Why hadn’t she just camped out at the bottom of the hill and waited for them to come down? Why was she always in such a hurry to get herself into these situations?
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