1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

R unning in stilettos hadn’t been Cleo’s smartest move of the day. Of course, it hadn’t been her dumbest one, either.

If foolish inclinations were measured in inches, hers would’ve far surpassed the height of the toe-killers she’d teetered in all morning. Still, she wouldn’t change what she’d done.

Cleo wasn’t sure how she’d navigated her way down the many church steps without falling on her face in those death traps. Nor did she remember exactly how she’d successfully jumped into a taxi cab that was stalled at the red light in front of the church. The flabbergasted driver glaring at her from the front seat was the undeniable proof, however.

“This cab is already taken!” Angry words accented by flying spittle–a lovely cocktail–assaulted her eardrums.

“I just need a lift to the airport.”

His mouth hung open. “But I’m not going to the airport!”

“Take her to the airport,” instructed a man, his face buried in his phone in the seat next to her. He glanced at her long enough to take in the veil lying askew on her head and the white dress hugging her figure before returning his eyes to the screen in his hand.

“But, sir–” the cabbie objected.

“Just do it.”

Putting on his blinker, the taxi driver shrugged and turned the opposite direction from the one he’d been going.

Cleo surreptitiously studied the good Samaritan next to her. She’d guess early 30’s, with dark blonde hair and a great jawline hovering over a white button-down. Brown eyes perhaps? Full lips and a five-o-clock shadow added to the attractive profile.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you.” He didn’t reply. A little louder then. “I said that was really nice of you.”

The man looked up, blinked once, furrowed his eyebrows, and returned his gaze to his phone. That was either an incredible article, or he was very rude. His perma-scowl reminded Cleo of a blonde Roy Kent from Ted Lasso , only much more handsome.

Cleo shrugged. She didn’t need to try if he wasn’t going to. She’d gotten what she needed most right now: escape.

What she needed second most was to ditch these heels. And this veil. And, yeah, the whole get-up had to go. In her mad dash to remove herself from the premises, she’d neglected to bring other shoes. Or clothes. Or anything but her passport and debit card.

Alone in the bridal room–was it really only a few minutes ago?–she’d studied her reflection in the mirror, sure she was going to be sick. She did not want to do this. This hadn’t been her choice. At 23, she was way too young to be forced into marriage–not that that was okay at any age, but definitely not before her brain had completely matured.

Cleo’s spine had stiffened with resolve. She’d looked herself in the eye, knowing what she had to do, no matter how difficult it would be. Stumbling through the door, Cleo had run right into her best friend Bea. Steady, trustworthy Bea, who’d stared into her soul for a moment before pressing something into her hand. It was the passport and debit card Cleo had put in her luggage this morning. Her fiance? had wanted to leave straight from the wedding and reception to the airport for their honeymoon, so she had everything at the church with her.

Bea’s best friend spidey senses must have been tingling for her to know exactly what Cleo needed. With a quick hug to Bea, Cleo had shoved the passport and card down her front and darted to the door before she could second guess herself.

While the cab drove through dirty streets, Cleo mulled over what to do next. She knew where she was going, but how to get there? Her first inclination to get on a plane was pure folly. The airport was the first place her father would look. It would be safer to drive, though she wasn’t sure she could do a road trip this long by herself.

Cleo thought through her half-cocked idea as she pulled the pins out of her veil and hair, releasing her dark tresses from her up-do in the process. She set the veil on the seat between her and the stranger and began massaging her fingers through her sore scalp. The headache she’d been nursing all day instantly began to lessen.

“Photo shoot?” the man asked. Cleo stared in confusion until he gestured to Cleo’s gown.

“Did you just come from a photo shoot?” he repeated.

The tightness of her coiffure must have addled her brain because it took much too long for Cleo to puzzle out his meaning. Oh, he thought she was modeling this dress. “Nah, just an old-fashioned wedding,” she answered.

“A wedding? With you as the bride?” A small V formed between the guy’s brows.

Cleo snorted. “Well, I’d be a pretty crappy guest if I showed up like this to someone else’s nuptials.”

Blink. “So, where’s the lucky groom?” He looked down, distracted once again by his mobile.

A dark stain splattered across the tan material of the car’s roof caught her attention. She shrank away from the grossness and replied, “Probably sulking while his mom tries to silence his father who is berating the wedding planner who is completely innocent in this, but gets to bear the brunt of it in the absence of the person with whom the fault really lies.”

Glancing back at the man, Cleo caught an eyebrow quirk. “A runaway bride who knows how to not dangle her prepositions?” He met Cleo’s eyes for the first time since she entered his cab. “Just her men then.”

Heat raced up her neck at his implication, but she refused to rise to the bait. She gestured to herself. “What can I say? I am a walking cliche?.” She turned her gaze out the window, signaling that she was finished talking about it. The man hmmm’d a little but went back to his reading.

Cleo pivoted toward the door to test the seam of the side slit in her wedding dress. It wasn’t going to give easily, but Cleo was determined to tear it until she could move normally in this skin-tight gown.

Using both hands on either side of it, she tugged. It didn’t budge, so she tugged harder. She peeked at her seatmate to see if he was paying attention, but he was enthralled by his phone again. She pulled a little more until she heard a tiny rip, a few stitches removed. Now that she’d worked through those, she hoped the rest would come more easily.

Cleo yanked more out with an audible tear, causing the man next to her to shift in his seat. He coughed in a way that sounded an awful lot like a chuckle. She hoped he didn’t think she was doing this for his benefit.

By the time the cab approached the airport thirty minutes later, Cleo had successfully made a slit in the dress past her knee and fished her passport out of her cleavage without her seatmate noticing. At least she hoped.

She asked the driver to drop her off at the car rental area. It was her only safe getaway option. When they arrived she tried to hand her card up to the cab driver, but the other passenger beat her to it.

“Please, allow me,” he said as the cabbie’s eyes bounced between the two hands holding cards. Mr. Roy Kent cocked his head as he added, “We’ll call it my un-wedding gift to the bride.” Cleo scoffed but withdrew her hand. She wasn’t sure how much cash she had available on this debit card and wasn’t about to turn up her nose at an offer of help when she had little idea what the next few weeks were going to bring.

“Thank you.” Gathering the veil up in one hand and her shoes in the other, she opened the door. Looking back to add one more thing to Roy Kent, she found the seat empty. She scanned the area outside but couldn’t see the man’s retreating form anywhere. Huh. The guy hadn’t been headed to the airport before she got in his cab, so why wasn’t he taking it to where he’d originally intended? She hadn’t even found out his name.

Cleo tiptoed on bare feet into the first car rental place. Her first order of business after finding a car would be to figure out a way to make these heels usable. For now, she’d rather be barefoot.

The line at this car rental was long. Cleo decided she’d try another rental place to see if it was shorter than this. She couldn’t waste any time; she had to get on the road before her father sent people after her.

All the car rentals were as busy as the first, and now Cleo had used up even more time trying to find a shorter line. She finally picked the shortest one and blew out a frustrated breath. She needed to use the bathroom but didn’t dare leave the line. Shifting from foot to foot, she began doing the pee dance. Bea teased her about this all the time. Cleo couldn’t help that her bladder was the size of a walnut.

Why was this taking so long? Cleo peered around the people in front of her. A family with little children stood at the front of the line. The baby was screaming, and with the way the father gesticulated and pulled at his hair, he was close to a meltdown as well. Just get them a car already! This wasn’t rocket science.

“What’s the holdup?” a grumpy woman in her fifties in front of Cleo muttered in a southern accent. She had giant hoop earrings in each ear and fluffy blonde hair like cotton candy piled on her head. “First my flight gets grounded, and now this?”

Twenty agonizing minutes later the woman got to the front of the line. Cleo was next. The employee behind the counter had frown lines and smudged makeup.

“May I help you?” she asked, falsely cheerful.

“Yes, I need a car,” the woman replied.

“What size?”

“A sedan.”

She started typing and said, “We have one sedan left.”

Alarm shot through Cleo. One little car left? But, that’s what she needed, too!

The woman said, “I’ll take it.”

Cleo blurted, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but how much is the next size up?”

The employee peered around the woman–not an easy thing as the woman was twice Cleo’s width. She took in Cleo’s ensemble with wide eyes, and began typing something into the computer. As she quoted the price to Cleo, her stomach plummeted. Without knowing exactly how much money was on this emergency debit card she felt pretty sure that if she was going to have to pay for new clothes, gas, food, and motel rooms along the way, she couldn’t afford that daily rate. What was she going to do? If this rental agency was out of cars in her price range, what were the chances that any of the others would have one? Especially if she had to get in another long line and wait to find out.

The woman was about to pay for her rental when Cleo tapped on her shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am, but might I have a word?” The southern woman’s glasses slipped lower on her face a little as she stared down at Cleo.

“I’m so sorry to ask this, but is there any way you could take a different car? I really need a sedan, and if that’s the last one, I just have to have it.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Without saying a word she turned back to the cashier, her giant earrings clinking against her jaw as she reached her card out.

Cleo scoffed. Miss Southern Belle had completely ignored her! Cleo tapped her again, interrupting her attempt to pay. “I’m sorry, but maybe you didn’t quite hear me? I said I’d really appreciate it if you took another car and let me have that last one.” She tilted her head and smiled her most innocent smile in case she needed an extra nudge. That had always worked on the men in her life.

The woman’s hair bobbled on her head as she turned once again and looked down her nose through her glasses, sneering. “My hearin’ ain’t what it used to be, but I heard you just fine. Hearin’ and choosin’ to listen aren’t the same thing.”

She started to turn around again when Cleo said, “But I need that car!”

“I’m sorry the little princess needs the car, but the little princess doesn’t always get what she wants,” she said in a voice you would use to talk to a three-year-old.

Argggh. Little princess? She’d show her a little princess. Cleo opened her mouth to give the southern snob a piece of her mind when a new idea came to her.

Cleo studied the woman. She was cranky, but did she look dangerous? Her big hair and heavy makeup were more reminiscent of an eccentric hairdresser than a sex trafficker, but what did she know? Did Cleo dare voice her idea?

She was desperate. She dared.

Drawing in a fortifying breath she said, “What would you think about sharing the car?”

The woman paused.

“We could split it fifty/fifty.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder. “How do you know we’re goin’ the same direction?”

Cleo wasn’t sure, but she had a hunch. “Well, what direction are you going?”

A beat. Cleo held her breath. The woman admitted, “I’m headed to Tennessee.” Aha! Cleo was right. If the woman had been headed down the coast, she’d have lost. But Tennessee was perfect.

“I’m going to Texas. I can drop you on the way.”

“It just so happens that I need to get to Texas, too,” a familiar voice sounded behind her. Cleo spun around and came face to face with Roy Kent from the taxi. He grimaced, though Cleo could have sworn it was an attempt at a smile.

“Well, what have we here?” the cranky woman whispered, peering around Cleo and not sounding cranky anymore at all. “Would you be needin’ a ride?” she spoke up. She batted her eyes at him before looking down coquettishly. She had actually fluttered her eyelashes, like a debutante at her first ball.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” he attempted another smile. “If you’re going to split a car, I’d be happy to share it three ways.” The man’s brown eyes were trained on the woman who was now simpering at him. He hadn’t looked at Cleo once throughout this interchange.

“Well now, I wasn’t so sure about this arrangement afore, as the Little Princess appeared a bit deranged. But if I had a big, strong man to protect me, I might just be able to agree.” The lady thought Cleo was the threat here? What made her implicitly trust this guy upon meeting him? What, because he was hot, he couldn’t possibly be a serial killer? The man didn’t even know how to smile, for Pete’s sake!

“I’m not comfortable with this–,” Cleo tried to say, but the car rental employee cut her off.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you all to move out of the line to discuss this so I can help these other people.” Cleo shot the employee an alarmed look. She couldn’t let this car slip through her fingers. It was her only chance. And if her funds could be stretched even farther by sharing a car rental, who was she to turn up her nose at the opportunity?

Hold up. She knew why she needed to save money, but what was their story?

Cleo rounded on Roy Kent first. “Why do you need to share a car?”

RK shifted his bag to his other arm. “It’s not environmentally responsible to rent an SUV or some other gas-guzzler that’s left if I can ride share, is it? Any New Yorker knows that.” That sounded like a flimsy excuse, but she’d let it go for now.

Turning next to the southern belle she asked, “And what about you?”

The woman’s voice dipped low and she said, “Well, truth be told, I am not great at driving long distances by myself. I’d appreciate having someone else to take turns with.” Her voice doubled in volume. “But only if you’re not going to murder me in my sleep!”

If Cleo had any say in the matter, she’d be sleeping as far from the crazy lady as she could get.

She stared between the two strangers who were studying her just as intently. Her gut had steered her well earlier today, and it told her now that she needed to jump again.

“We’ll take the car,” she nearly shouted at the employee. To Southern Belle she said, “I can pay you in cash, I just need to find an ATM.”

After the lady paid for the car, Cleo gave her information to the employee so she could share the driving before rushing to find a bathroom. Cleo really needed to pee.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.” The woman nodded and followed another employee outside to find the car. Roy Kent glanced between the two women, then took his seat on a plastic chair in the lobby.

Cleo hustled down a hallway to the restroom, pausing to put her heels back on. She would go some places barefoot, but she drew the line at a bathroom. Using the facilities would be a difficult endeavor in this dress, even with her new slit. What had she been thinking, agreeing to wear this impossibly tight frock to her wedding? She had not said yes to this dress, but that was beside the point. Not much of this wedding had been her choice.

After finishing her business in the stall, Cleo approached the sink to wash her hands. She jumped back upon spying her reflection in the mirror. That person in the glass couldn’t possibly be her. She did look deranged. Her dark, chin-length hair was wild, makeup smudged on her heart-shaped face, dress wrinkled on her slight frame. No one in this place would believe it was the same person if she showed them the pictures the photographer managed to snap of the nervous bride while she got ready this morning. The two versions of herself couldn’t have been more different.

Cleo blew out a breath and exited. She needed to get on the road but she was starving. In the hallway she spied a vending machine next to a water fountain. Buying herself some chips and a cookie to bring her blood sugar levels back up to normal after not eating all day, Cleo sat on a hard plastic chair a few seats away from Roy Kent and removed her shoes. Sadly, she didn’t have time to fix these yet.

“What’s coming off next, Little Princess?” the man near her said. “Not the dress, I hope.” Cleo turned to Roy Kent–she’d started thinking of him as RK in her head–and glared. In return he winked.

She narrowed her eyes. “In your dreams, RK.”