“Oh, thank God,” Lauren said. “I never thought I’d live through it. I'm so grateful you killed him."
"Never mind that. What's your connection to them?"
She knew better than to tell him anything. She had a bad girl/good girl switch somewhere in her brain. Good girl was in charge now. Sobs. Tears. The stereotypical hysterical chickenshit woman.
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
Fucking good girl switch. It must not be feeding her full power. She had to make the good girl switch work. She went back to sobbing. Then she pretended to start to faint.
He was right there to save her and right there to listen to her after he carried her over to a hay bale and set her atop it. The story he got should have made him sympathetic—bad guys chasing her and almost killing her—but she could see that he, looming over her, remained skeptical.
Then she stood up and fell into his arms, her fingers nimbly finding his crotch. Hard already. So he had been paying attention like a good dogie. Then why did he push her away?
“I want the truth. Now.”
“All right. You’re a fucking cynic, here’s the deal,” she said. Then she told him about the big pay day he’d get if he’d move the cars so she could get out and not call the cops on her for four hours. “That’s a lot of money.”
He was obviously thinking it over. What was he going to say?