Free I Married the Third Horseman (Paranormal Romance and Divorce) by Michael Angel Page B

usually didn’t chance taking a break at a
rest stop, especially after dark. Something definitely unsavory
about places like these for a single woman on the road.
    But the half-dozen or so parking spaces were
empty. And as far as I could see into the three hundred and sixty
degrees of blackness, I didn’t spot so much as a porch light on a
distant house. If anyone was waiting to grab me in the public
restroom, they’d have had to cross a couple dozen miles of desert
to get there.
    The most pressing business, shaking the dew
off the lily, got taken care of first. Then I spent a little time
removing the makeup from my face. Something told me that I wasn’t
going to going anywhere glamorous from now on.
    My stomach remained in knots, so I avoided
the junk in the vending machine and went back to my car. I cracked
the windows open and savored the sweetness of the night air. So
clean and dry that it tasted metallic on my tongue.
    Circe’s package lay jammed in the bloated
mass of fabric I called a handbag. I didn’t want to even think
about messing with its mystical contents until the morning. But I
pulled the card she’d given me from out of my jacket pocket and
gave it a look.
    No logo, no fancy printing, no phone number.
Nada. Zip.
    Only the address, which listed a road and
number combination for the city of Taos, in the state of New
Mexico. A thought occurred to me. A half-turn of the key in the
ignition, and I switched on the car’s GPS. I plugged in the address
and had the device plot some suggested courses from my current
location.
    My destination lay at the end of a long,
winding road somewhere just to the north of Taos proper. As to my
starting point…I let out a groan. Just as I had thought: in my
panic, I’d hopped back on the I-15 and headed north out of Vegas.
The good news? I could still make it to Taos, as long as I kept the
Porsche fed regularly with premium gas. The bad news?
    If I kept going on I-15 North and stayed on
the major freeways, then I’d end up passing close by Salt Lake
City. Too damned close by half to the town of Sundance. Too damned
close by three-quarters to the Thantos ranch. But if I turned
around to head south…Mitchel was there, in Vegas. Waiting for me to
run right into his arms. Right into his taloned claws.
    I rested my forehead on the edge of the
leather steering wheel for a moment. Dammed if I went forward,
damned if I headed back. So abso-friggin’ perfect .
    God, I was tired. So very tired.
    A tremor ran down my arms, the precursor of
more to come.
    I rolled the windows back up, locked the
doors. Then I reclined the seat all the way back, flipped a switch,
and watched the moon roof slide open. The stars above burned
bright. Brighter than I’d ever seen them in my life.
    My life…
    That’s when the awful, uncontrollable shaking
in my arms really began. When the tears really began to flow,
scalding hot along my cheeks, dripping into my ears. I groped for a
travel pack of tissue I’d stored in the door compartment and did my
best to keep up with my brimming eyes. A racking sob came from my
throat, followed by another and another and another…
    Freeze Frame.
    Sorry to break down on you like this, therapy
buddy.
    I guess this is the two-hankie part of the
film right now. I wish it weren’t. I wish you were here, right now,
to cry with me and tell me that it’s okay, and that I will get
through this. I wish I’d never agreed to go out with Mitchel. I
wish I’d never made Machupo . I wish…hell, I wish that my Mom
hadn’t died in the first place.
    I couldn’t make the tears stop. Because of my
guilt. Because no matter what the logical, Xena High-Heeled warrior
princess side of me said, I felt responsible.
    I was the reason that thousands of people lay
dead, all over the world. It was my fault.
    Every time I closed my eyes, I saw bodies.
Emaciated, fly-blown, sprawled like some bloody, obscene puzzle
design that stretched from Bali to Sydney, Mexico to China,