In the staff parking lot, Gemma looked around and found the bartender's little silver sedan, unlocked. She got in and lay down on the floor in the back. It was littered with empty plastic bags and coffee cups.
She had an hour to wait before Larry finished his bar shift. With luck, Sam wouldn't realize anything was amiss until Gemma was immensely late for trivia night, maybe around seven- thirty. Then she'd investigate the airport shuttle and the cab company records before thinking of the staff lot.
It was humid and hot in the car. Gemma listened for footsteps.
Her shoulder cramped. Her throat was parched.
Larry would help her, right?
He would. He had already covered for her. He'd told Sam he didn't know anyone thatwith that description. He warned Gemma and promised to collect her suitcase and give her a ride. She had paid him, too.
Besides, Larry and Gemma were friends.
Gemma stretched her knees straight, one at a time, then folded herself back up in the space behind the seats.
She thought about what she was wearing, then took off her gold hoop earrings and her turquoise ring, shoving them into her jeans pocket. She forced herself to slow her breathing.
Finally, there was the sound of a suitcase on rollers. The slam of the trunk. Larry slipped behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled out of the lot. Gemma stayed on the floor as he drove. The road had few streetlights. There was Mexican pop on the radio.
"Where d'you want to go?" Larry asked eventually.
"Anywhere in town."
"I'm going home, then." His voice sounded predatory all of a sudden.
Damn. Was she wrong to have gotten in his car? Was Larry one of those guys who thinks a girl who wants a favor has to mess around with him?
"Drop me a ways from where you live," she told him shrewdly. "I'll take care of myself."
"You don't have to say it like that," he said. "I'm putting my neck out for you right now."