Free Taken by Adam Light Page B

might just let you keep it,” he said as he turned and handed the cashier a twenty and casually declined the change.
    “Let’s go,” the waitress urged, eager for her smoke break. She pushed open the diner’s door with her curvaceous hip and strode purposefully into the chilly evening.
    They strode side by side through the crisp night air, on their way toward the rear parking lot where Jack’s cherry red Freightliner awaited. Jack shivered as he glanced furtively at his surroundings. The parking lot was all but deserted.
    He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had ever been so nervous.
    To break the tension, he joked with the waitress as they walked to his truck.
    “You sure you should be out here with me?” he smirked as they walked through the dimly lit lot, “it's awfully dark and I am a perfect stranger, you know.” He smiled mischievously at her and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.
    She shrugged and swiped her bangs from her eyes, revealing a tattooed ring of black stars circling her delicate wrist.
    She eyed him coldly; for a moment, Jack was afraid she might run away from him back to the security of the diner. The realization made his heart pound uncomfortably inside his chest
    Instead of fleeing, she laughed. “Everybody keeps telling me cigarettes are going to kill me.”
    His hard-pounding heart began to slow back into normal half-time rhythm, and a confused look crossed his face for a moment.
    The waitress punched him in the bicep playfully. “You upset that I'm not scared of you? I've known a lot of psychos in my day, and I can tell you're just a big old teddy bear. “Hey, is this your truck?”
    Jack nodded affably.
    She seemed impressed with his rig, but held the cigarette between her lips impatiently; she needed that cancerous tube of tobacco so badly, Jack found it just a touch humorous.
    Jack hefted himself up onto the chrome step and yanked open the driver’s side door. He grabbed his trusty Zippo lighter from the side console and tossed it down to her. She traded him a cigarette for it, lit her own, and absently deposited Jack’s lighter into her own pocket. Jack tucked his menthol cigarette behind his ear. He was not a smoker anymore.
    Rayne puffed greedily on the cigarette, completely unaware of how the act sullied her otherwise angelic image. He followed behind her as she did a walk-around inspection of his Freightliner. She remarked on the shade of red it was painted, how it seemed to absorb the arc sodium lights from the parking lot, the luminescence adding to the luster of the paint. She loved how shiny the chrome was. She told him that any man that took such good care of his truck couldn't be all bad.
    His patience was wearing thin; Jack knew that his window of opportunity was a narrow one. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. Should he have to prove his undying loyalty to Dianne like this? If she loved him, too, then why should he be forced to demonstrate his love for her like this?
    The thought troubled him deeply but in the end, he knew he had to do it. Dianne would never accept anything less, and he couldn't bear the thought of lie without her.
    Jack saw the perfect opportunity present itself as the waitress walked around the side of his truck that faced away from the restaurant; if he did it there, only trees and weeds would bear witness to his crime.
    Jack walked around the truck to find her sucking her cigarette like a baby sucks a pacifier, admiring herself in the polished chrome as she polluted her young lungs, oblivious of his encroachment. Jack’s heart began to knock against his breastbone again, like a desperate traveler seeking shelter from a mounting storm.
    He approached Rayne from behind; she was relaxed and off guard. Sensing his presence she turned to face him, a kind yet increasingly dismissive look crossing her features.
    “Well, thanks for the…” she started to say, but Jack eased a syringe from his