Free Shadowed Ground by Vicki Keire Page A

row after row of used cars. She perched awkwardly in tennis shoes that were a size too big. Each step she took was measured, careful; Eliot hid a smile. The cracked black asphalt parking lot, strewn with pebbles and loose chunks of concrete, forced her to move carefully in her too-large shoes. It was a good exercise in balance and awareness of terrain. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course. There simply hadn’t been any shoes that fit.
    Her beloved boots had seen better days but were still wearable. “Why don’t you wear these?” he’d asked her after breakfast, pleased that he’d not only kept up with them, but had also cleaned as much street alley fighting muck off as he could.
    She looked at him as if he’d just announced he’d murdered a litter of newborn kittens. “But I cut off your jeans into shorts. They didn’t fit.” As he stood there, patiently holding her boots, she stared from them to his face with growing incredulity. “I have nothing to wear but out-of-style cut offs and t-shirts I’ve stolen from you. Do you understand? Cut-offs!” He studied her rising ire, fascinated, and watched her struggle to master it. She took a deep breath and tried again, as if explaining something very simple to a small, stupid and annoying child. “Eliot. I know you’re from another world, literally, so listen. This is important. You do not wear boots with cut-offs. Ever. Do you understand?”
    He refrained from pointing out that she, also, was from another world, and that she was the one being stupid and annoying. Also, he wanted his t-shirts back. She had a knack for stealing his favorites. Breakfast ended with his solemn vow to take her shopping as soon as possible.
    “I thought you wanted to shop,” he said mildly, tracing a window frame with his fingertips. He examined the sticker on the driver’s side and dropped to look at the tires, forcing her to follow. “I only steal cars if the only other option is slow, painful death.” He straightened so quickly she stumbled keeping up with him. “This is important, Chloe. I imagine we’ll be switching vehicles more than once. I want your input, ok? Is anything slightly less horrible than everything else?”
    In the end, they settled for an older, less flashy version of their stolen vehicle. “Roomy. I could nap in it,” Chloe sighed, leaning her seat back as far as it would go. “And good sound system.”
    “Decent,” Eliot allowed as they drove away from the mid-sized used car lot. His fake id had gone off without a hitch. He made sure to produce it after he laid out the price of a good used car in cash. Cash blinded people.
    It had certainly seemed to blind Chloe. As he sat in the too-warm office, filling out the bill of sale as James Thatcher, age twenty one, he could just tell she was biting back questions. He spared her a quick, piercing look that he hoped was both reassuring and cautioning when the salesman swung around to do something on his computer.
    “Later,” he mouthed, when she started bouncing in her seat. Literally.
    He had an entire set of falsified papers for both of them; she would need hers now, along with money. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been carrying money since they’d left Atlanta. And he had promised her shopping. He sighed. To be fair, she really did need some clothes.

    She managed to hold her questions back until they sat in the food court of a sprawling outdoor shopping mall. He watched, amused, as she chose their seating.
    “Are you a fan of large plants, or is this supposed to be camoflage?” he asked, only partly teasing as he slid the tray piled up with pizza slices in between them. Even though the large plant in its white ceramic pot, easily as tall as she was, screened them from most of their fellow diners, his eyes kept scanning the open space almost of their own free will.
    “Well,” she said, folding her pizza slice in half down the middle, “Isn’t it? I mean, shouldn’t we be hiding?” She took rapid