Time to Run Read Online Free Page A

ringer while in the hospital room, so as she looked at the Nokia’s display, she was surprised to see that she’d already missed five calls from her dad. So he knew. The clock was ticking.
    She swung around in the backseat of the cab for the thousandth time to check out the back window to make sure no one was following her. As stupid as it sounded, this was the first time she’d ever been in a taxicab. It all felt so daring and adventurous. Now all she had to do was keep her cool. It wasn’t the time to get jittery.
    And no one was following. Duh. She hadn’t broken any laws; why should anyone be following? She settled back into her seat in time to catch the taxi driver watching her in the rearview mirror. She smiled.
    Now you’ve made him remember you, she thought—a violation of Brad’s cardinal rule of evasion. How many times had he told her that? A hundred? No, five hundred. It was the keystone to her getaway plan: just blend in and always walk.
    Wait till he found out that she’d actually put the plan into action. He’d be shocked.
    Almost as shocked as her dad.
    The first step in the plan was easiest to remember: cash. Not credit, not checks, but cold hard greenback money, the last nearly untraceable source of spending.
    As they pulled into the center of Pitcairn Village—the chamber of commerce was lobbying to have the name changed to Olde Towne Pitcairn in hopes of spurring a tourist trade—Nicki leaned closer to the cabbie and pointed to a building up ahead on the right, past the Lewis and Clark memorial that marked the center of the square. “Could you pull in there for a minute, please?”
    â€œWhere? At the bank?”
    â€œYes, please.”
    Nicki had the door open a second after the vehicle pulled to a halt. “I’ll just be a second,” she said. “Do you mind waiting?”
    â€œAre you going to pay me?”
    â€œAfter I get some money, I will.”
    The cabbie was of some Middle Eastern descent, and his glare did not project trust.
    She wasn’t going to argue with him; he’d stay or he wouldn’t. She crossed the sidewalk and entered the lobby, turning right to get to the ATM. She slipped in the card and entered her PIN with one finger while she kept another two fingers crossed that Dad hadn’t yet found the card missing from his wallet and canceled it. It’d been two weeks, and she’d been counting on his inattention to anything but his work. She had him pegged as more of a check-cashing kind of guy than an ATM guy anyway, ever dedicated to anything that was out of date.
    When the “Welcome, Carter Janssen” screen greeted her, Nicki smiled. “Time to milk the cash cow,” she mumbled, smiling at the image her words conjured.
    Her attempt to withdraw $5,000 choked the machine, prompting it to clatter and beep, finally displaying on the screen that $500 was the maximum she could take. So much for a turn of good luck. She’d had no idea that banks limited withdrawals. According to Brad, they needed a couple thousand, minimum, to make this work. As the machine spat out twenty-five $20 bills, Nicki tried to figure out how to make up the difference. She thought about running the card through a second time, but worried that the machine might sense a theft in progress and eat it.
    She’d think of something later. As it was, she was spending way too much time in front of a security camera.
    The driver was still waiting at the curb, the engine running, when Nicki walked up to his window and asked, “What’s the fare so far?”
    He pointed to the meter. “Twelve dollars and eighty cents.”
    She gave him a twenty. “Here. Is this enough to keep you waiting for a while longer?”
    â€œHow much longer?”
    â€œTen minutes, max.”
    â€œI will wait for seven minutes,” he said.
    Nicki rolled her eyes, knowing instantly that she’d misplayed that hand. If