Randall On The Run. Judy Christenberry

think my own people shot me. The police will contact them…and I’ll die. I won’t be able to—to defend myself.” The lengthy speech drained him, and he sighed deeply.

      Jessica had no way to know whether his story was true or just another of Hollywood’s fictions. But there was something about the man, something she heard in his voice, that made her take a chance. If what he said was true, she had to get out of this dark alleyway, and fast. “Do you want me to take you anywhere? Someplace safe?”

      He nodded.

      “You’ll have to tell me where to go.”

      “Okay,” he muttered, but his eyes slowly closed.

      Jessica knew she had to do something about the bleeding, otherwise he wouldn’t make it much longer.

      She hurried to the truck and the first-aid kit her father had insisted she bring with her. “You might need it in Los Angeles.” Just thinking about her father and his strength and courage steadied her nerves. She took the box to where the man lay and ripped his shirt open to expose a gunshot wound in his shoulder.

      She was surprised to find a manila envelope stuck in the top of his pants.

      “What’s this?” she asked, almost to herself.

      Again to her surprise, his hand grabbed the envelope, but he didn’t have the strength to pull it from hers. “Evidence. It’s…important.”

      “I’ll take care of it. I won’t let anyone see it.” Her voice was urgent. She was afraid whoever shot him would come back to be sure the job was done.

      He seemed to accept her assurance as his grasp loosened. She lay the envelope beside her as she began to tend to the gunshot wound, hoping the thick pad she held on the wound would slow the bleeding.

      He cursed in a hoarse voice.

      But she knew pressure was needed to stop the bleeding. Then she struggled to get him to his feet. When he was finally upright, though draped all over her, she led him to the SUV. He was a big man, and without his help she never could’ve gotten him up.

      “Got to hide,” he whispered in her ear.

      Again shivers attacked her. She didn’t know if it was from the words or the breath of hot air against her skin. “Okay. But first we have to get you inside. You’re going to have to help me.”

      She’d gotten a couple of friends to help her put her mattress in the back of the SUV, with the rear seats folded down. Murphy used it as a comfortable bed.

      Shoving back some of the clothes, she wedged the man in behind the front seat and lay his head on a pillow. All in all, she thought he’d be pretty comfortable. To be on the safe side she covered him with some of her clothes, and on his head, pulled down low over his face, she put a cowboy hat that she’d taken with her from Wyoming as a remembrance of home.

      Maybe it was a little overdone, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

      Remembering her promise to take care of his evidence, she hurried back to the spot and grabbed the manila envelope. She slipped it beneath her seat in the SUV, out of sight.

      When she got behind the wheel, she thought she caught some movement in the dark behind her. But when she looked around, she saw nothing; she told herself it was her imagination, and pressed down on the gas.

      “Damn!” She’d forgotten to ask her passenger where he wanted to be taken. She leaned over the seat back, but even when she shook his leg under the clothes, he didn’t answer.

      So now what was she supposed to do?

      She got on a freeway, or a parking lot, as they called them in L.A., headed in the direction she planned on going. At least he was safe in her car. When he woke up, she’d figure out how to get him where he needed to be.

      About twenty minutes later, she wasn’t quite as sure about his safety as flashing lights suddenly appeared in her rearview mirror. At the siren she carefully pulled to the side of the road and put on her hazard lights. She certainly hadn’t been speeding. Why was she being pulled over?

      After a quick check to be sure her passenger remained hidden, she rolled down her window.

      A Los Angeles policeman approached her and she greeted him with her most charming smile. “Good evening, Officer. Was I going too fast? I didn’t think so, but—”

      “No, ma’am. But we’ve been looking for a perp in a robbery and the car kind of fit the description of yours.”

      For some reason, Murphy growled at the officer. Jessica realized the dog hadn’t made any protest about her injured passenger.

      “Well, there’s just me and Murphy,” she said, gesturing to her dog. “Unless the bad guy was a woman with a big dog, I think you’ve got the wrong vehicle.” She noticed his eyes kept focusing on the piles of items in the back.

      “You’ve got a lot of things in your vehicle. Big shopping trip?”

      “No, not at all. I’m moving.”

      “No furniture?”

      “No, I was renting a furnished apartment.”

      “I see.” He still stood there, searching with his eyes. Finally, he said, “Mind if I search your car?”

      She gave him an appalled look. “Yes, I do. It may not look organized to you, but I very carefully loaded my things so that nothing would get broken. I don’t want you stirring things up. Anyway, it’s not as if I could hide a—what did you call him, a perp?—in there.”

      “Okay, I guess not. Where are you headed?”

      Jessica did some quick thinking. She hadn’t turned off yet to head north, and she didn’t think she wanted this man to know where she was going. “Dallas. I thought the best route would be to hit Highway 10 and go straight across.”

      “Yeah, that’d be best.” One more look, then the officer tipped his hat, thanked her for being so patient and strode back to his vehicle.

      She closed her eyes for a moment of thanksgiving after he eased his patrol car back onto the freeway.

      Could her passenger have been telling the truth? She was beginning to think so. She drove cautiously for several exits, then pulled off to stop at a drive-in grocery. She went inside and bought some bottled water and a couple of snacks, the latter of which she shared with Murphy. Then she returned to the car and found her tool kit, another item her father had insisted on, and something else she’d saved. Her Wyoming license plates.

      Quickly, she replaced the California license plates on her vehicle. Her shaking fingers slowed her, but it didn’t take long. Then she got in and drove away from Highway 10. If her passenger had been telling the truth, she might be stopped again if she kept the same plates. Or if she stayed on the highway she’d told the officer she would be on.

      Now she was headed for Nevada, Utah and then Wyoming, her home. Whenever the guy woke up and wanted out, she’d set him free. But she was heading home.

      The last thing she did before she got back on the road was to give him some aspirin to control the fever she felt sure would follow.

      ABOUT 3:00 A.M., Jessica pulled into a rest area, cracked her windows enough to let in air but not enough to let anyone have access to her car while she slept. She reached for another pillow for herself, and gave a blanket to Murphy. After checking on her still-sleeping passenger, she curled up and fell asleep.

      When Murphy wanted out the next morning, he woofed gently, and she opened one eye. “Murphy, are you sure? I’d like to sleep longer.”

      He woofed again.

      “Okay, okay.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Then she remembered her passenger. She scooted over so she could reach his face. He was still asleep, but the fever was raging. She left him alone while she opened her door and got out with Murphy.

      After