Run To You Read Online Free PDF Page B

strap of her backpack slid across her shoulder and she shoved the card into an outside pocket. It was twelve-thirty in New Mexico, and talking to her mother was not one of her options.
    She left the café and headed back toward Ricky’s. The wind had kicked up, and she ducked her head against the damp air. The first splashes of rain hit her bare shoulders and forehead and picked up as she turned the corner. From across the street, she paused to peer into the parking lot. Except for employee vehicles, it was empty. No prone body by the back door. No ambulance. No one lurking in the dark. Droplets pelted her face as she ran to her PT Cruiser and dived inside. With her heart pounding in her head for the second time that night, she started the car and sped out of the parking lot. Half a block from the bar, she flipped on the lights and wipers and headed toward her apartment near Fifty-eighth and Sixth. She glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting someone to follow her. Something to happen. She wasn’t exactly sure what, but it wasn’t until she’d exited the Julia Tuttle Causeway that she started to breathe a little easier. She continued through the glittering lights of the high-rise buildings of midtown and under swaying traffic signals. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the assigned parking spot of her terra-cotta and red stucco apartment complex. She bolted from the car to the front of the building and up the stairs to the third floor. Once inside, she locked, dead bolted, and chained the door behind her. A light in the stove lit up a small part of the tiny kitchen. She paid eight hundred dollars a month for the six-hundred-square-foot apartment. Sparse IKEA furniture filled the space. A couch, two chairs, coffee table, and bedroom set. That was about it. She moved a lot and it made sense not to have a lot of possessions.
    Stella walked into the kitchen and set her backpack on the counter. She grabbed a bottle of water and moved through the darkness to her bedroom. Exhaustion weighted her shoulders even as her mind raced. She flipped on the light and pulled a tank top out of a six-drawer oak dresser.
    On a normal night, she might decompress in front of the television. Tonight it would take more than old reruns and infomercials. She unlaced and stepped out of her boots, then her bustier, leather shorts, and lace thong hit the bedroom floor. She moved into the bathroom, jumped in the shower, and washed the smell of Ricky’s from her hair. As the water poured over the crown of her head, she let herself think of what it might be like to meet her sister. If it was true, and Sadie hadn’t known about Stella, maybe they should meet. It couldn’t hurt. Except . . .
    Sadie was so successful. She’d gone to UT Austin and UC Berkeley and was a real estate agent in Phoenix. A top seller, or at least she had been before her father’s death. Now she owned the JH Ranch and had a fiancé who loved her enough to hire G.I. Joe to track Stella down.
    She turned off the water and wrapped her hair in a fluffy blue towel. Okay, so she might have occasionally plugged her sister’s name into a search engine on the Internet. She might have kept up on her from time to time. When she’d been a kid, she might have read about Sadie in the Amarillo Globe , and she might have harbored a few vague fantasies about a sister reunion. Where they fell on each other’s necks and wept for joy. Maybe they wore matching sister lockets and painted their fingernails pink because red was for fast girls. Perhaps they’d call and write and spend holidays with each other.
    But that reunion never happened and she’d given up on those fantasies a long time ago. Fantasies were foolish and cost a big emotional price.
    A second blue towel hung on the rack and she grabbed it. She dried herself and brushed her long wet hair. Sadie was five years older than Stella. Sadie was golden and successful, and Stella . . .
    Wasn’t.
    She pulled on a pair of pink