Bert nodded. “So if there is a nut out here, we win by default.” In a teasing voice she added, “Better keep a sharp eye out.”
Though Bert was making light of it, Rick wished he hadn’t pointed out the less comforting side of her argument. Getting her worried would serve no purpose. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in wilderness areas,” Bert said after a while. “I’ve never run into trouble so far.”
“Well ...”
“That probably hurts the odds on this time out, huh?”
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Rick said.
She laughed.
In the silence that followed, Rick’s uneasiness came back. He felt a strong urge to resume his watch of the surrounding forest, but he fought it. He watched Bert instead. Then he lay down on the seat and rested his head on her lap. Drawing up his knees, he propped his feet on the window sill.
Bert smiled down at him. “Comfy?”
“Very nice.”
Rick felt her warmth through the fabric of her shorts. Her flat belly eased against his cheek sometimes when she inhaled. The front of her loose shirt, jutting out like smooth hills just above his eyes, stirred slightly as the bouncing, rocking motions of the car shook her breasts.
“Down there,” she said, “you can’t keep a look-out.”
“The view’s fine.”
She let go of the wheel for a moment and brushed a hand through his hair.
“If you’re nervous about going back to your apartment at night,” Rick said, “how come you won’t stay over at my place?”
“I believe we’ve been over that ground.”
“Well, you could do it sometimes. Maybe just on weekends.”
“It might start with just weekends, but pretty soon that wouldn’t be enough. I know men, and I know myself. Before long, you’d be pointing out with infallible logic that keeping my apartment is a wasteful expense, that I should move in with you and get rid of it.”
“And you,” Rick continued for her, “value your independence too highly—”
Bert stopped the car.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re there.”
Rick’s stomach did a small flip, but he managed a smile. “And I was just getting comfortable.” He sat up slowly, keeping the side of his face against Bert. His cheek nuzzled her breast. He turned his head and kissed it. Her nipple was stiff under her shirt. He opened his mouth wide and ran his tongue over the fabric.
Bert slapped his stomach gently. “Stop it,” she said. “People are watching.”
Rick stopped. He bolted upright and looked out the windows. Perhaps he’d sensed rather than seen somebody back there in the trees. He stared. Hard. Nothing moved.
“Just kidding,” she said. She pinched the cloth away from her breast. “Look what you did.”
His mouth had left a dark wet patch on the blue pocket. “But it felt good, right?” he asked.
“Feels damp.”
“Better get into a dry shirt.”
She gave him a smirk, then took the key from the ignition and rolled up her window. She punched the lock button down. Rick watched her climb out. The back of her shirt was wet and clinging, though not as wet as he’d made the pocket. She swung her door shut.
The car had stopped in a clearing. Rick saw no tire tracks ahead. There was a heavily wooded slope, dim with shadows. Looking out of his window as he cranked it up, he saw that the clearing provided enough room to allow the car to be turned around. He elbowed down his lock button, then checked the rear doors. They were secure.
He joined Bert behind the car as she opened the trunk. She gave the key case to him. “Don’t lose it,” she said.
Her comment triggered new worries. What if he lost the keys? What if they came back here, ready to depart, and the battery was dead? What if the car had two flat tires? What if it was vandalized or stolen while it sat here unguarded for a week?
So many things could go wrong. They might get through all the camping unscathed only to find themselves stranded when they were ready to leave. By that time, their food supplies would be depleted ...
Bert reached into the trunk.
“I’ll get it.” Rick lifted out her pack. He held it while she slipped her arms through the straps. Then he propped his own pack on the edge of the trunk. Bert held it steady. He crouched and found the straps. Standing, he felt the solid weight pressing his shoulders and back.
Bert took their hats from the trunk and shut the lid. She plopped Rick’s hat onto his head and put on her own. It was a tan, Aussie hat with one side of the brim turned up. It might look silly on some people, Rick thought. On her, it looked great.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now we find the trail and start walking.”
“Maybe we should spend the first night here.”
“Sleep in the car?”
“There’s a thought.”
“Jean said there’s a nice area near a stream about half a mile from here.”
“The way she gives directions, it’s probably two miles.”
“We’d better get moving, then. Need to get there before dark.” Bert dug deep in a pocket of her shorts. She came up with a compass, held it flat in her open hand and studied it. “Trail should be thata-way,” she said, and pointed to the left.
Rick followed her past the front of the car.
“Ah-ha!” she said.
At the edge of the clearing, nailed to a short brown post, were two slats of wood with carved messages. She pointed to the left and indicated that Mosquito Pasture was two miles distant. The other pointed straight ahead. Dead Mule Pass was eight miles in that direction.
“Encouraging names,” Rick muttered.
Bert smiled back at him. “You’ll be glad to know we’re not heading for Mosquito Pasture.”
“Dead Mule Pass doesn’t sound like the Garden of Eden.”
Bert tucked a thumb under each of her shoulder straps. She flexed her knees and pulled the straps as if to adjust the fit of the pack.
The wet patch on her pocket was still dark.
She turned away and started walking down the trail.
Rick looked back at the car. Then peered into the deep shadows among the trees. Get a grip, Rick. There are no boogey men out there. Believe me
Hurrying to catch up with Bert, he began to sing. “Please Mr. Custer, I don’t wanna go.”
Chapter Five
The parking area under Gillian’s apartment building was deserted. She slid her suitcase onto the floor of the car in front of the passenger seat, set down her purse, then went around to the rear and opened the trunk. Reaching inside a nylon satchel, she took out a pair of license plates. It was one of six sets she had removed, late one night last month, from cars parked along a secluded lane in Brentwood. She had used WonderGlu to fix strong magnets onto the back of each plate.
She covered her own plates with the stolen ones, and drove out.
She shivered as she drove. The tremors seemed stronger, less pleasant than usual.
Maybe this is too soon, Gillian thought. Maybe I’m pressing my luck.
Nothing to worry about, she told herself. You’ve never been caught, and there was only that one close call.
That, and the house on Silverston.
The “close call” had happened nearly a year ago. She’d been swimming in the pool at the Farnsworth house in Ran-cho Park when car doors thudded shut nearby. Thrusting herself out of the water, she ran dripping to the comer of the house. From there, she saw the roof of a van beyond the top of the gate. She heard quiet voices. The Farnsworths weren’t due home for two more days, but they must have cut their trip short. In seconds, they would find themselves prevented from entering the front door because of the burglar bar. When that happened, they were bound to come through the gate to try a back door. Gillian, choked with panic, raced around the end of the pool. At the rear of the yard, she sprang at the redwood fence, boosted herself up and squirmed over the top, scraping her thigh in the process. She dropped into the alley on the other side.