Page 70 of Sweethearts and Savages
Me? I was used to slipping under radars and fucking charming my way out of shit. I had the privilege of being the top of the fucking genetic heap, and I would never take the benefits for granted.
“I’m here. Let’s go.”
I turned, looking at the girl’s “baggage.” My mouth fell open. “Oh, fuck no.”
She held a toddler in her arms and I was getting well and truly the fuck out of here. Nope. No way. “Is that yours?”
The girl, whose name Idefinitelydidn’t want to know now, narrowed her eyes. “Yes. We had a deal.”
“The risk is too high.” And it was. It literally just quadrupled. The kid looked like two, max. Maybe less.
The desperate look was back in the girl’s eyes. “Please. You’re our last chance.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Fine. Let’s go before this gets messier. Are you sure you’ll be able to keep it contained?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
What a clusterfuck. Still, I unzipped my bag and pulled out the down jacket I’d stuffed in my bag after leaving Finland. I laid it on the floor of the hollowed out bench seat to make it a little more comfortable for them. “It's about 45 minutes to the border, and then hopefully we’ll only be in lines for another thirty, but be prepared for up to an hour that you’ll have to be in there. Keep the seat propped open for as long as you can, and hopefully the kid is asleep when we go across.”
“She’ll be fine,” the girl said. I looked around, and nodded toward the backseat. She watched the shadows too for a moment, and I once again wondered what exactly she was running from. She handed me the baby, and I took it like it was made of C-4. It looked up at me with shining brown eyes, a pacifier in its mouth. Kinda cute, if you liked kids. Which I didn’t.
The girl got situated and motioned for me to pass her the kid. Gladly. I expected the baby to fuss or something, but she just curled up in the small space like it was completely natural.
“She isn’t going to be freaked out about the closed lid?”
The girl gave me a blank look. “It isn’t the first cage we’ve been stuffed in. It’s just the first that will lead to freedom. We’ll be fine.”
I clenched my back teeth, but didn’t ask questions. I grabbed a wedge of wood. “I’ll chock this open here. When I tell you, pull this into the seat with you and be as quiet as you can.”
“Yes.”
It was time.
Two and a halfagonising hours later, I pulled into the parking lot of a mall, right in the back corner. Getting through the border had been surprisingly simple. An easy grin, the fact I was a white American, it all got me waved through with only cursory checks.
Still, I’d driven an hour or so in before I stopped. The girl had propped open the seat again, her relief almost palpable, but she’d been right. The kid hadn’t made a peep.
I hopped out and lifted the hidden seat, scooping the baby up into my arms as it slept, letting the girl stiffly uncurl herself from the seat. I watched for people, but with a sleeping baby over my shoulder, I looked like every other Soccer Dad in this parking lot.
The girl half crawled, half shuffled out of the car, stretching her body as she regained blood flow.
This was as far as we’d agreed I’d take her, but I found myself hesitant to just leave them here. “Where are you guys heading?”
She eyed me with suspicion, like I hadn’t just illegally snuck her across the border and broken several Federal laws. “Montana.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly, me too. Well, Canada, but close. I’ll drive you guys, or you can stay here and make your own way. But I’m going to get the kid a carseat so we don’t get pulled over for child endangerment. You guys bring anything with you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got money though,” she said, jutting out her chin.
“Yeah, okay. But I got this.” I slid my keys from the ignition, and strode toward the doors of the Walmart. “Stay out here, away from the camera.”
Another hour and a switched set of plates later, we were on the road again. I’d stop when I needed sleep, otherwise we’d just drive straight through. At least the kid looked comfortable. The carseat was between us on the front bench seat, belted in to the best of the car’s 1950s capability. I’d bought some baby crap too, and a duffle bag to store it in. I’d also bought the girl some clothes, praising the tech gods for self-service checkout.
We drove through, only stopping for food, so that I could sleep, or so the baby could toddle around in the fresh air, and then we’d be back on the road.
I didn’t examine why I was helping this girl despite the fact that it could very well land me in Federal prison. It wasn’t a risk I would normally take, despite my turning over of not just a new leaf, but a whole new fucking branch. Couldn’t help many people, supes or otherwise, if I was the bitch to some guy called Bubba in maximum security prison. But there was a tiny therapist on my shoulder telling me it was guilt. I’d done what I needed to get back into the US—I’d held up my end of the deal—yet I was increasing the risk by continuing the trip. Maybe this lightened, just a tiny bit, the huge black mark on my soul from what had happened with Enit.
