Chloe shoved her backpack outside.
Then she climbed through.
Her shoe caught the windowsill.
For one horrible second she nearly fell backward.
She caught herself, dropped into the dirt, and crouched.
Nothing happened.
No shout.
No door opening.
No Richard.
Chloe grabbed the backpack.
She did not look back at the trailer.
If she looked back, she feared she might hesitate.
And hesitation was something Richard had trained into her.
Wait until he's calm.
Wait until morning.
Wait until payday.
Wait until you're twenty-one.
Wait until someone can help.
Chloe was finished waiting.
She ran.
The desert sun hit her immediately.
Within minutes sweat soaked through her shirt.
She kept to the shoulder of old Highway 66, moving east before cutting south toward the industrial edge of town.
Cars passed.
Nobody stopped.
Chloe was grateful.
Every white SUV made her heart leap.
Richard drove a white county vehicle.
She knew exactly what would happen when he woke.
First confusion.
Then anger.
He would check her bedroom.
See the open window.
Search beneath the mattress.
Then the floorboard.
Once he realized the money was gone, he would know she had planned it.
That would make him even more dangerous.
Chloe walked faster.
One mile.
Then another half.
The city thinned into warehouses, vacant lots, truck yards, and chain-link fences.
Finally she saw the sign.
PENDLETON AUTO SALVAGE.
The lettering had faded so badly that only half the word SALVAGE remained clearly visible.
Behind the fence spread several acres of wrecked vehicles.
Crushed sedans.
Burned pickups.
Sun-bleached vans.
Cars stacked three high.
Windshields reflected the brutal afternoon light.
Arthur Pendleton owned everything inside.
He had known Chloe's father for more than twenty years.
David used to say Arthur could find a usable transmission inside a meteor crater if somebody gave him enough coffee and cigarettes.
Chloe entered through the open gate.
"Arthur?"
No answer.
She walked between two rows of wrecked vehicles.
"Arthur!"
Metal clanged somewhere ahead.
Then a curse.
Chloe followed the sound.
Arthur Pendleton was sixty-eight and looked older.
His face had been cured by desert sun and cigarette smoke into something resembling cracked leather. White stubble covered his jaw. A battered Dodgers cap sat low over pale blue eyes.
He was bent over the engine compartment of a wrecked Chevrolet.
"Arthur."
He turned.
For a second he smiled.
Then he saw her face.
The smile disappeared.
He straightened slowly.
"Richard?"
Chloe nodded.
Arthur closed his eyes.
"Goddamn it."
He dropped the wrench he was holding.
"How bad?"
"Bad enough."
"You need a hospital?"
"No."
"Police?"
"No."
"Chloe."
She stepped closer.
"He is the police."
Arthur stared at her.
"State police, then."
"Richard knows people there."
"Highway patrol."
"Arthur, please."
The older man stopped.
Chloe pulled out the forty dollars.
"I need something that moves."
Arthur stared at the bills.
Then at her.
"What?"
"Car. Truck. Motorcycle. I don't care."
"How much you got?"
She extended her hand.
"This."
Arthur looked down.
"That's forty bucks."
"I know."
"Forty dollars won't buy you two tires."
"I need to reach Nevada."
"That's more than a hundred miles depending where you're going."
"I know."
"Then take a bus."
"Richard watches the bus station."
Arthur's expression hardened.
"Since when?"
"Since I tried leaving last year."
Arthur swore quietly.
"What happened?"
"He found me before the bus came."
Arthur looked at the bruise on her cheek again.
Chloe lowered her voice.
"If I stay, he's going to kill me."
Arthur did not dismiss it.
That was one reason Chloe had come to him.
Arthur had known David.