Witness On The Run. Susan Cliff

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       Chapter 2

      Cameron Hughes deliberated for at least ten minutes before he started the engine.

      He hadn’t planned on going to Walt’s Diner. He’d been avoiding Walt’s Diner. To be specific, he’d been avoiding one particular waitress at Walt’s Diner. Which was ridiculous, because she’d never acted interested in him. She poured his coffee and took his order with brisk efficiency. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t even smile at him. There was no reason for him to keep his distance from her.

      Although she’d done nothing to encourage him, he felt uncomfortable in her presence. Her cool manner and pretty face unsettled him. The last time he’d visited the diner, he’d found himself staring at her. He’d realized, with a surge of guilt, that he was attracted to her. And he’d decided not to go to Walt’s again.

      This morning, he’d glanced across the parking lot and studied the neon sign in the diner’s front window. He’d imagined strolling in for breakfast. He knew what would happen. He’d avert his eyes when she approached, and let them linger as she retreated. He’d think of her at night, instead of Jenny. Cam studied the picture of his wife that was affixed to the dashboard. Jenny smiled back at him, not judging.

      Shaking his head, he fired up the engine and prepared to leave. Maybe Jenny wanted him to move on, but he wasn’t ready.

      He left the truck stop and headed north on the highway. He had a radio app with more music than he could ever listen to and several audiobooks on queue. He enjoyed mysteries and true crime. He liked stories about bad guys getting caught, and hard evidence that led to convictions. If only real life mimicked fiction.

      He’d forgotten to select listening material for this leg of the trip, so he drove in silence. Some days he surfed through the CB channels to hear the latest trucker chatter. This morning he didn’t bother. There was light traffic and good weather. He concentrated on the lonely lanes before him, feeling restless. He needed a workout. He’d stop at the twenty-four-hour gym in Fairbanks. Hit the weights, jog a few miles.

      Stretching his neck, he continued down the road. He’d gone about thirty miles when he heard a strange thump. He checked his mirrors and didn’t see anything. Maybe one of his tires had kicked up a chunk of asphalt. His gauges looked fine. He kept going. A few minutes later he heard another thump, along with a rattle.

      What the hell?

      It sounded like something was banging against the metal plate behind the cab. His mirrors didn’t give him a full view of the space. A loose piece of wiring wouldn’t make that noise. The rattling started again, and then stopped. When he reached a long straightaway, he pulled over, shifted into Neutral and engaged the brake. It was still dark, so he grabbed his flashlight before he climbed out.

      First he checked the back of the trailer, which looked secure. It was locked up tight. He dropped down to his belly to shine his beam underneath the rig. The wheels were intact. He didn’t see anything amiss.

      He got up and inspected the space behind the cab. To his surprise, he caught a glimpse of gray fur.

      Wolf?

      He blinked and his eyes adjusted, making sense of the shape.

      Not a wolf. A woman.

      Holy hell. There was a woman in his hitch space. A stowaway. He’d never had a stowaway before, and he’d never expected to see one here. Any hobo with a lick of sense would climb into the cab or the trailer. He kept his trailer locked, of course, and there was no way to get inside his cab unnoticed.

      “Come out of there,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

      The woman didn’t move. She was crouched down like a cornered animal, shivering violently.

      He attempted a softer tone. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you.”

      She didn’t respond. Maybe she didn’t speak English. It was difficult to judge her ethnicity because most of her face was hidden behind a fur-lined hood. She appeared to have dark eyes.

      Cam turned off the flashlight and pocketed it. She’d been here since he left the truck stop, or earlier. She might be hypothermic, unable to move. He reached into the space with both hands. She leaned sideways in a feeble attempt to escape his touch. He captured her arm and pulled her toward him. She didn’t fight, but she didn’t cooperate, either. He had to drag her out of the narrow space. As soon as she was free, she crumpled to the ground. Her legs were ghost-white. Other than the gray parka, she wasn’t dressed for the weather.

      With a muttered curse, he scooped her into his arms. She was tall and slender, but heavy. He carried her toward his open door and climbed the kick-step, grunting from exertion. He skirted around the driver’s chair and deposited her in the passenger seat.

      Now what?

      He grabbed a wool blanket from his supplies to cover her trembling body. She had on white stockings, ripped at both knees. The sight triggered his memory. He knew those legs. Startled, he lifted his gaze to her face.

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