Free The Pandora Project by Heather A. Cowan Page B

care to count and hours ago I let your father cut into my shoulder with no anesthesia to remove a tracking chip so I could help you escape. So let’s pretend for one second that I am on your side and deserve at least tolerance if you can’t muster something more than that. Do you think you can handle that?”
    S peechless and horrified, I force myself to melt into the seat. How could someone who has endured so much pretend to be a happy-go-lucky teenager? A strange mix of horror, gratitude and sympathy washes over me, leaving me unable to respond to his tirade. Staring out the window, I try to hold back tears. Unfamiliar landscape shoots by at incredible speeds. I thought I knew every nook and cranny of Painted Rock.
    “Where are you taking me?”
    “In the short run, we are heading to a car your father has stashed for a situation exactly like the one we find ourselves in.” Judging from the anger in his voice, I’m not getting out of an apology.
    “I ’m sorry.” I try not to sound defensive as I say it. “I’m so confused. I’m scared and I feel completely alone.” That better be enough because that is all he is getting.
    “ Clearly, you had a very involved conversation with my mother. Are you ever going to share?”
    He turns to face me and his eyes soften, “You ’re not alone. You have me.” He releases his death grip on the wheel and runs a finger lightly down the side of my face. Every muscle from my knees to my shoulders clinch in response and I hate my body for reacting so intensely to his touch.
    Trying to negate my body’s reaction, I just nod and turn away, denying him access to my face. We both lurch forward when John slams on the breaks and curses under his breath. “Just missed our turn,” he explains as he throws the car in reverse to backtrack. Good thing the road we are on is practically abandoned.
    “Your dad was very specific about how many miles outside of town this road would be,” he answers my unasked question.
    “Not sure you could call this a road.” The trail he pulls off on is little more than two thin lines of rock that are barely keeping the grass at bay.
    “That is the point.”
    We follow the trail for a very uncomfortable couple of miles until we are well behind the tree line. The overlapping branches of the Ponderosa pines provide a wonderful cover that obscures from any passing cars. We come to a barn that looks to be growing out of the trees. The distressed forest green and deep brown it was painted with ensure the barn is incredibly well concealed.
    John gives me a look of appreciation, “Your dad is a genius.”
    “I know,” I say in a tone of hushed reverence.
    We pull as close to the barn as John can manage without ramming the doors. John jumps out and I can barely see him enter a code on a touch pad on the outside of the barn door. The door rises like a garage door and John runs back to the car.
    Driving into the barn, I notice a pretty nondescript black Ford Fusion. Parking beside the Fusion, John jumps out and gets to work. I hesitate before getting out. Should I leave a thank you note for Lexi? Let her know how much she helped us? I can’t do anything to endanger or implicate her so I send silent thanks, bring my fingers to my lips, reach over and press them to the dashboard. After saying my goodbyes, I drag myself over to the trunk of the new car.
    John throws a new outfit to me, “Change your clothes, everything, underwear too.” I bobble the clothes, embarrassed he has handled my undies. I stare at him blankly, “What?” he asks, staring at me.
    “Um, you want me to change here?”
    “Sorry, I won’t look,” and he turns and starts rummaging through the trunk again. Realizing this is as good as it gets, I pull off my shirt. When my shirt is off, John starts stripping down. Should I turn around as well? His pants and underwear are off before I know what is happening and I find myself ogling his bare backside. He is so perfectly shaped; I can’t