“It is,” Sara assured her. “You’re safe here.”
“I’ll never be safe,” she replied, defeated. “Jeb will find me. He always does.”
“You can’t think that way,” Sara insisted. “All you need is a plan.”
The woman’s sobs slowed and she turned to peer up at Sara with reddened, puffy eyes. “Did you have a plan?”
Sara nodded.
“Did you a lot of good, didn’t it?”
Sara shrugged. “So I had a flawed plan. I won’t make that mistake again. Look, um—”
“Molly,” the woman provided in a near whisper.
“Look, Molly, you can’t give up. You just have to think of a way to rebuild your life.”
“I don’t have a life.”
“But you can,” Sara insisted. “You can go someplace fresh, start a new life.”
“I tried that.”
“Then try again,” Sara urged. “Don’t let him win.”
Molly was quiet for some time before she turned away and whispered, “He already has.”
* * *
SARA WOKE a few hours later and didn’t feel much better for the effort. Her brain was shrouded in a fog of exhaustion but she found sleep elusive. She needed a plan. She needed a new identity, one that Hank Allen couldn’t track.
She recalled a TV movie where the character had gone to a cemetery and stolen the name and birthdate of a deceased person around the same age. Then, using that information, she had gotten a birth certificate. Sara could do the same. With a birth certificate, she could get a Social Security card, then a driver’s license. The only problem would be where to hide and how to support herself while she was creating her new self. She supposed she could stay with the Harrisons, though that could be problematic. The trooper had probably filled out a report. If Hank Allen knew she took the bus from Louisiana to Texas, he would eventually find the report and put two and two together. No, Sara needed a clean break. No trail to cover, no loose ends.
She glanced over and saw that Molly was sleeping. Quietly, Sara crept from the bed over to the telephone stand. Despite a brief search, she couldn’t find a telephone book. She wanted to see if there were any cemeteries listed in the area. Careful not to disturb Molly, Sara looked around the rest of the bunkhouse. Still no phone book. Maybe Molly knew where it was.
She glanced over her shoulder. Molly still hadn’t moved. Sara was in a quandary. Her roommate needed rest, but Sara was feeling desperate to get started on her new life. She reasoned that if she awakened Molly, she could apologize by helping her make her own fresh start.
Sara walked over to the bed and gently shook Molly’s shoulder. The motion caused Molly’s arm to fall from the bed. Sara heard something hit the floor. It rolled over and brushed against her foot.
Reaching down, Sara picked up the small, opaque-orange plastic bottle. The cap was missing. Holding it up to the sliver of daylight just entering the room, she read the label.
“Molly Parker. Diazepam. Take two at bedtime.” The prescription had been filled at a pharmacy in Austin two days earlier. Originally, there were sixty pills in the bottle. Assuming Molly had taken the prescribed dose, there should have been fifty-six left. There were none.
“Oh, God!” Sara breathed in panic. Yanking away the covers, she felt for a pulse.
Not only did Molly not have a pulse, her body was cold and lifeless. After spending two years working part-time in a hospital emergency room, Sara knew a dead body when she saw one.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said to Molly. “This means he won. Damn it!”
Sara turned to go and get the Harrisons, but her foot caught a strap beneath the bed. When she went to untangle herself, she discovered she was hooked on Molly’s purse.
The idea came to her at the same second she reached for the purse. There was enough of a resemblance...she hoped.
Silently she weighed the pros and cons. She’d be taking on Molly’s problems as her own. She’d be cheating Molly’s family—assuming she had one—out of grieving for her. In exchange, Sara would be getting Hank Allen out of her life forever. He’d be notified of her suicide and stop looking for her. Worst case scenario would be that Molly’s abuser would come looking for her, but he’d be looking for Molly. Even if he found Sara, he most likely wouldn’t do anything. Men who abused their wives and girlfriends normally didn’t attack total strangers.
It could work. She could go back and hide out in Violet’s house until her injuries healed. If someone was looking for Molly Parker, they wouldn’t look on Harvester Lane.
It had to work. Her life depended on it.
Sara opened Molly’s purse and started to go through the contents. She was relieved when she found no pictures of children. It would be impossible to steal the woman’s identity if there were children involved.
She felt a pang of guilt when she came across a picture of a couple she assumed were Molly’s parents. She found a driver’s license and other identification. The two of them looked close enough alike to fool most people. Molly was an inch taller, but Sara doubted that would pose a problem. She was also a year younger.
That realization gave Sara pause. Molly had had only twenty-four years of life. It was senseless. Criminal.
It was also getting light outside.
Sara needed to get out while she could. Going to the phone, she wanted to call for a cab but doubted there were anything in such a place. It didn’t matter. She knew Violet’s house was to the west. She also knew the bus traveled the main road.
Carefully, Sara switched clothing with Molly, then placed the woman’s lifeless body in the bed Kathy Harrison had assigned to her hours before. It was a gruesome task, but necessary. It was self-preservation.
“Thank you,” Sara whispered as she put Molly’s purse on her shoulder and left her own on the floor beside her travel bag. “Rest in peace, Sara Pierce.” Without another word, she slipped out in to the dawn.
She had to climb over the fence in order to exit the Harrisons’ ranch. It didn’t do much for her ribs, but Sara wasn’t about to let that foil her plan. After dropping to the ground, she headed down the main road, constantly glancing over her shoulder. She fully expected one of the Harrisons to discover what she had done and come after her.
She walked for more than an hour before the first car passed by. Apparently this wasn’t the most heavily traveled road in Texas. Sara was tired and starting to question her judgment when a second car drove past, then stopped and waited as she caught up.
An elderly woman with a ready smile sat behind the wheel. “You lost, child?”
Sara shook her head. “I got off the bus in the wrong town.”
If the woman noticed her bruises, she didn’t let on. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I knew it,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “No self-respecting woman from Texas would be fool enough to set out on foot. Get in.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Then don’t argue with me,” she said. “Arguing bothers me. I can take you as far as Fort Worth.”
Sara settled into the ancient automobile. It felt good to be off her feet. “Thank you. But I only need to go as far as the edge of town.”
“What’s your name?”
“Parker. Um, Molly Parker.”
The woman shot her a quick