Page 22 of Dead Girl Running

Cecilia stumbled away, not from the explosion, but from Gregory’s family. The cabbie beat her to the taxi; he opened the back door. She slid in and huddled down on the seat, hiding from Sylvia and Erin, hiding from the events of the past hour.

The cabbie leaped into the driver’s seat.

“Go. Go!”

“Okay, lady! Hang on.” He started the car, pulled a U-turn and headed down the road.

She looked out the back window.

Sylvia stood immobile, staring at the crater where the house had been.

Erin stared after the taxi with a gaze both intelligent and vengeful.

The driver glanced at Cecilia in the rearview mirror. “Like I said when I dropped you off earlier, you’re a lot different from young Mrs. Lykke, poor thing. Word was, her in-laws hated her and her husband was out to beat her to death. I would never mistake the two of you.”

He really did think she was Kellen. Should she correct him?

She should correct him.

He kept talking. “I’ll drop you off and head back up there, see if I can do anything, but that house, it lifted right off the foundation and blew off the edge of the cliff. I’ve never seen anything like that. Knocked you ass-over-teakettle, too, bet you flew ten, fifteen feet. You must have cracked your skull a good one.”

Her neck ached. Her head hurt. “Yes,” she whispered. What would it hurt if he thought she was Kellen? If she could pretend to be Kellen for a little while, leave Greenleaf in a rush, she could get out without—

“Here they come. The cops!” The cabbie pulled over to the side of the road.

Sirens blasting, lights flashing, a fire engine raced past followed by the fire chief and two police cars.

Cecilia flinched. Yes, if she pretended to be Kellen for a few minutes at the hotel, she could escape without talking to the cops, without having to face Sylvia and Erin, who would tell her the explosion was her fault.

The cabbie pulled onto the road again, then back onto the shoulder while the county sheriff raced past. “They’re all going up for this one. Prominent family, huge tragedy. Say, are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital? You’re looking sick.”

“Hotel.” She felt like she’d been saying that for hours. “Faster.”

As he entered Greenleaf, he slowed to a crawl, complained about the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit, stopped in front of the hotel and opened the door for her. “You look bad, burned all over. Want me to get you in there?”

She shook her head. Which hurt. “Go back up to the Lykke estate and give your report.” Her lips felt cracked. The heat, she supposed.

“That’ll be eleven dollars…” He seemed to realize she didn’t have any money on her. “I’ll stop by and collect it later.”

“Yes.” She moved as fast as she could into the lobby empty of everyone except for two desk clerks talking excitedly. At the sight of her, their heads swiveled and they openly gawked.

Cecilia groped for Kellen’s key.

It was gone. Her whole pocket was gone, burned away.

7

Cecilia had to talk to the Greenleaf Hotel desk staff and hope they, like the cabbie, identified her as Kellen. She approached, kept her voice low, avoided eye contact. “Can you tell me my room number? I hit my head and can’t remember.”

The desk clerk went into a flurry of activity, clicked keys on the computer. “Of course, Miss Adams. I’m sorry about your… That is, I heard that… Mr. and Mrs. Lykke…”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You were there? You saw it?”

She lifted her gaze and stared him in the face. “Yes.”

She didn’t know what was in her eyes, but he shrank back and offered the key card. “Room 323. Let us know if we can do anything to assist you.”