I Like You a Latte {Completed}

35 | Executing the Escape

He spotted her a second later and opened his mouth (no doubt to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, crawling around like a weird dog), but stopped when he saw her appearance, his brow furrowing with concern.

Shooting Red a glance, he opened the back-driver's side door of his SUV, waving her over without taking his eyes off Red. Once she was close enough, he swept her up and into the SUV, his voice soft as he said, "I'm going to close the door and get inside. All right?"

She nodded dazedly, the sane part of her mind pointing out that, although she'd escaped from Red and Dennis, she very well could have just gotten into the car with a serial killer.

Oh, well. Nothing left to do about it now, is there?

The man finished at the pump and climbed inside the car, locking the doors and checking on an oblivious Red one more time before shifting to look at her. "What's going on?"

Just as Beverly was determining how much to tell him, he added, "I'm an off-duty cop." As proof, he flashed a shiny badge. "My name is Quincy; what's yours?"

An off-duty cop, Beverly repeated to herself, utterly stunned by her sudden bout of good luck. Holy crap. Thank you, Jesus.

"Than' God," she told him, slouching back in her seat with relief. "'M Beverly, and I've never been so gla' to see a cop, lemme tell you."

Quincy's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Glad someone is. Out here, all I get are boys in trucks drinking and running as soon as they see me."

"Wait," the words struck her, "Where'm I?"

Eyes narrowing with distaste—hopefully because of her situation and not her, personally—Quincy rattled off the name of a town that was about two hours outside the city. "Have you been drugged?" he asked, his eyes doing another sweep of their surroundings.

Beverly shook her head slowly, halting the action when it made her vertigo worse. "Nah. Concussed, tho'."

He nodded in understanding. "And those men? Who are they?"

Just as he asked the question, the sound of vicious cursing came from their left. Swinging her gaze over, Beverly saw Red staring in shock at the empty passenger seat, his expression horrified. Dennis came out a moment later, clutching a stack of cheap paper towels and dish soap against his chest. The items fell to the ground with a clatter when he saw the reason behind Red's cursing, and he raced over to the other man, shouting, "What the hell?! Where did she go?"

"I don't know!" Red cried in response, running to look behind the pump and trash can, as though Beverly would have somehow been able to hide herself behind the objects.

"Find her!" Dennis hissed.

Beverly tried in vain to shrink down in her seat when he swung his gaze towards Quincy's SUV, but Quincy's hand against her forearm had her looking with confusion at the older man. "The windows are tinted," he explained. "Now, who are those men, Beverly?"

"Oh." It took longer than usual to grab hold of the words floating in her brain. "Dealers o' drugs. Drugsss." She shook her head lightly, wincing when the movement aggravated the vicious headache that had started up. "Dealers. Drug dealers. Tryin' t'eat me. Kill me. Both. Dunno."

"We need to get you to a hospital," Quincy muttered, more to himself than her, before he pulled back from her with a set jaw. "Right. I'll contact my department and have them track these men; I've got their license plate number and car model, so they should be wrapped up real soon."

Beverly was too tired to truly comprehend anything he'd said, but she nodded nonetheless. "Mhmm."

He managed a slight chuckle, then spun around in his seat and started up the car. Unfortunately, the noise caught Dennis's attention, and an expression of angry realization settled over his features. He stalked toward the SUV, the glower on his face making Beverly shrink into her seat unintentionally.

"Get down, Beverly," Quincy ordered out of the corner of his mouth. "And stay right behind my seat; he shouldn't see you if you're there."

She did as she was told, her movements sluggish, but her heart beating rapidly. A moment later, there was a tapping on the window, and Quincy rolled it down.

"Can I help you?" the older man asked, his voice conveying nothing but mild curiosity.

"Yeah," Dennis's tone was filled with a sort of stilted politeness. "Have you seen a girl around here? In her twenties, with blonde hair and looking a bit bad—she's sick, you see. She caught a stomach bug from our cousin, and we're on our way home from the doctor. Her medicine makes her a bit loopy, and I think she got confused and ran off."

"Oh, I'm sorry, son, I haven't. I'll keep an eye out, though—I hope you find her." Beverly was impressed; Quincy's words and voice painted the perfect picture of a generous gentleman who was so sorry he couldn't help the poor young man find his friend.

An angry huff of air came from Dennis. "Thanks."

"No problem," Quincy replied. "Have a good day, now, son." The window rolled up a second later, followed by the car moving, and Beverly almost cried in relief.

Was she really so close to freedom?

"You're good now, Beverly." Quincy told her. "Get back in the seat and buckle up. Your concussion's bad enough, already, I imagine, so we don't need to . . ." he trailed off, muttered a curse, then added, "Buckle in, but stay crouched. Our friend didn't buy our lie."

Just as she opened her mouth to ask what exactly that meant for them, Quincy released an exhausted, frustrated puff of air, and then the gunshots started.

***

A/N: And I oop--

⚆ _ ⚆

Repeat after me, everyone: 

"DENNIS SUCKS."

What a turd, amirite?

Stay sweet, parakeets,

(lol that makes 0% sense)

A. R.