Free Getaway by Lisa Brackmann Page B

felt before she really took it in.
    A police car. Not the Vallarta police, who drove white pickups with cheerful green geckos painted on them. A black-and-white sedan, with a shield on the door.
    In the car just one officer: a big man with a mustache and aviator sunglasses. The man who’d arrested her.
    When he saw that she’d noticed him, he leaned his head toward the window. Stared at her, eyes obscured behind the sunglasses.
    Her heart hammered. She almost bolted and ran, but she stopped herself. Instead she turned away and continued to walk up the hill. Act like there’s nothing wrong, she told herself. Don’t try to run. Don’t give him an excuse.
    The police car followed, cruising slowly up the hill, keeping even with her progress, past the Oxxo mart, past the yoga/Pilates studio.
    The street dead-ended into a road that hugged the hill, curving out of sight a short distance ahead. At the junction were a sex shop and a tiny newsstand/Internet café.
    She was aware of the police car turning left, toward downtown, though she wouldn’t look directly. She kept walking another half a block, toward the junction, and then she stopped and turned around. The police car was gone.
    The adrenaline drained out of her, leaving her trembling after it had gone, and she stumbled a little on the uneven pavement.
    The policeman had staked out her hotel. He’d waited for her. Followed her. He’d wanted her to know about it.
    Her phone rang. The soothing classical tone she used for known callers.
    For a moment she didn’t want to look. What if it was Gary, calling to threaten? To gloat?
    It was her sister, Maggie.
    Her hand shook, her finger slipped, and she almost missed the ANSWER key.
    “Hello? Michelle? Is that you?” Maggie sounded frantic.
    “It’s me, listen.… I’m fine.…”
    “What the fuck happened to you? We’ve been going crazy here! I mean, when you weren’t home on Sunday, I thought, okay, maybe I got that wrong, but it’s Tuesday , and—”
    “I’m really sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I’m still in Puerto Vallarta. It’s been—”
    “Jesus, Michelle! I mean, you could at least think about—”
    “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But it’s been complicated. Look … I’m in a weird situation. There’s this guy named Gary, and …”
    “Oh, you met someone?” Maggie’s tone suddenly lightened. A new man—the big Get of Jail Free card.
    “I wish. No, that’s not it at all. This guy, Gary. Gary Wallace. Write that down. But maybe that’s not even his real name. I …”
    She took in a deep breath.
    “Michelle? What …? What’s going on?”
    She almost laughed. “I wish I knew. They planted drugs in my purse and—”
    “Are you in jail ?”
    “No. No. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”
    “Jesus, what happened?”
    Maybe I should write it all down, Michelle thought. Send Maggie an e-mail. But was that safe? Wasn’t somebody, some government agency, reading everyone’s e-mails?
    If Gary was even part of the government.
    “I don’t know where to start. But write down Gary Wallace. And Daniel. Daniel …”
    Christ, was it possible? Did she still not know Daniel’s last name?
    “Fuck,” she muttered. “I … I have their cell-phone numbers. And some other information. I’ll get it to you.”
    “Michelle, can’t you just … can’t you just tell me—”
    “No. I mean …”
    If Daniel was involved with drugs … or if Gary was …
    Could they do something to Maggie? To Ben?
    She couldn’t think right now.
    “I’m fine,” she finally said. “I’m probably here for another two weeks. I’ll let you know what’s happening. I …”
    She didn’t know what to say. She watched an older Mexican woman walk her Chihuahua down the street, stopping to scoop the dog into her arms before she stepped down off the tall curb.
    “I’ll let you know when I book the flight.”
    I’ll write a letter, she thought. A real letter, and I’ll send it through the mail.