Nat hit the cheesy motel room, threw her stuff on the bed, crossed directly to the curtains, and yanked them closed. She went to the TV, grabbed the greasy remote, and clicked through the channels, relieved not to see her face on the screen. She left the news on, muted, so she could monitor the cops. She was on edge, keeping fear at bay by sheer denial. Academics were ill-suited to life on the lam, and she felt disorientated, lost in time and space.

I thought you wanted space. Which is it, space or time?

Nat thought about calling Hank, but he’d tell her to turn herself in.

We can figure out the best thing to do, together.

She went to the phone, double-checked the number on her palm, and called.

Nat showered, dried off, and put the same clothes back on, having no other choice. She brushed her teeth with a finger and combed her hair so it was less Bart Simpson, then put on some makeup, pretending that she wasn’t wanted for murder. Her eyes looked back at her from the mirror, a darker brown against the contrast of the blond. They looked worried, too, but that had nothing to do with Revlon. She banished all negative thoughts. She had work to do.

She went to the bed and picked up the prison file, but a packet of blueprints fell onto the patterned rug. She got the packet and took it to a little veneer table, where she spread it out so that it dropped over the sides like a tablecloth. A hanging light with a gold-toned shade hung over the table, casting a circle on a floor plan of the prison, before remodeling.

On the plan, she could see the entrance of the prison, the control center, the cafeteria, the classroom where she’d been attacked, and, on the other side, the room in which Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. She turned to the second page, which was HVAC, then turned to the third page. It was the electrical plan, the schematics that showed the wiring.

She eyed them, then looked closer. She could see the straight black lines that would have been wiring for the security cameras, because they went to a central spot in the ceiling, which she gathered was the silver orb Angus had mentioned. She compared the wiring in the room where Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. There was no such wiring. No security camera.

Nat double-checked. She could see the wires going to the other security cameras, but the room where Upchurch had been killed had no such pattern of wires. She followed the black lines of wiring to the other staff rooms on that side of the hallway. There were three staff rooms, and they all had wiring for security cameras, except for one at the end of the row nearest the RHU pod.

She mulled this over. She didn’t ask Graf why he and Saunders had taken Upchurch into that room in particular. She had assumed it was because it was the security office, but maybe it was because it didn’t have a camera. Graf had to have known that. If he didn’t know it before the remodeling, he would certainly have known after. His brother had the schematics, and even a professor could read them.

She felt as if she were onto something. So Graf knew that whatever he did in that room wouldn’t be recorded. It suggested a degree of premeditation that gave another lie to Graf’s version of events. So either Upchurch had been involved in dealing drugs, or he’d simply found out that Graf and maybe Saunders were. So what did Upchurch do exactly that merited execution? His killing seemed like an overreaction to skimming profits or a double-cross of some kind. Why bother killing him, given the risk? Why not simply make his life miserable?

Nat felt stymied. What if Mrs. Rhoden had been right, and Upchurch was a quiet little guy who never bothered anyone? A victim of teasing, first by schoolkids and later by Graf. It forced her to re-analyze the problem, which led her to a startling question: What if Upchurch wasn’t the intended victim that morning? What if it was Saunders whom Graf had intended to kill? What if Graf merely used Upchurch as an excuse, to catch Saunders unawares?

She tested her theory. Could Graf have killed both Saunders and Upchurch? Was it even physically possible? She went through the steps in her mind. Say Graf brings the knife in. He kills Saunders, then Upchurch, then makes it look like Upchurch killed Saunders. Graf tells the lie to cover up his crime. So it was possible. If it was a cover-up, how high up did it go? At least to Machik, for all of the foregoing, as the lawyers say. But why would Graf have killed Saunders, his best friend? And if it happened that way, why hadn’t Saunders told her that before he died? His keeping mum shot her whole theory.

Nat jumped at the sound of a knock, then walked over and peeked through the peephole. She couldn’t deny the fluttering inside her chest at the sight of the familiar shaggy ponytail, thick gray sweater, and jeans. She opened the door.

“Natalie,” Angus said softly, scooping her up into an embrace that lifted her off her bare feet, then quickly setting her back down. “Okay, that hurts. Sorry.”

“My, jeez.” Nat tugged her sweater down, flustered. That was a definite hug, wasn’t it?

“Look at your hair! You’re blond!” Angus ruffled her spikes with a hand.

“It’s my disguise.”

“You look so cute, like a little puppy! A little yellow puppy!”

Great. “I’m a felon, not a Labrador.”

“It’s a totally great disguise.” Angus set a brown shopping bag on the bed. “I never would have known it was you at all.”

“Good.”

“You’re still so pretty.” Angus’s eyes locked hers for an awkward moment, and Nat squirmed in the silence. It seemed too much, all of a sudden. A motel room with a bed, and the two of them alone together. She, newly single, and he, terminally sexy. Nat gestured to the bed…er, bag.

“What’s in there?”

“Good stuff!” Angus seemed to snap out of the moment, his characteristic good cheer returning. He went to the bed and opened the bag. “I’ve got you everything you need to be a proper outlaw. Ready?”

“Sure.”

“First, for the fugitive who has everything, voilà!” Angus pulled a pink toothbrush out of the bag.

“My favorite color!” Nat laughed. It was fun to be silly, after today.

“I knew it. Blondes love pink.”

“That’s me, Fugitive Barbie.”

“Now, for my next trick, check it out.” Angus’s hand went back in the bag and retrieved a twelve pack of king-size Snickers. “Nutrition!”

“Yummy!” Nat took the Snickers, the sight of which actually made her hungry. “Just the thing for the girl on the go. Literally.”

“Snickers are one of the four basic food groups, which are pizza, The Strokes, California rosé, and”—from the bag, Angus pulled a red-and-white Verizon box—“a new cell phone.”

“Yay!” Nat took the box. “I’m back in business.”

“Get ready.” Angus held up a three-pack of Hanes white cotton underwear, bikini style. “Ta-da!”

“You bought me underwear?” Nat burst into astonished laughter, grabbed the pack, and swatted him.

“I’d never run from the law without clean underwear.”

“So if they shoot me dead, I won’t be embarrassed?” Nat eyed the package. “Size two? You think I’m a two? I can’t fit my hand in a two!”

“What do I know?” Angus shrugged. “I don’t want you thinking I spend lots of time imagining your adorable little butt, which I do. Just don’t tell your boyfriend.”

Nat stopped smiling. She felt guilty standing with Angus, holding undies.

“What?” Angus asked.

“We broke up.”

“Am I supposed to act sorry?” He cocked his head matter-of-factly. “Because I’m not. I’m better for you, and we both know it.”

Whoa. Nat hit him with the packet again, and he turned back to the bag.

“But that’s beside the point now, because you’re in jeopardy. There’s a time and a place for everything.” Angus plunged his hand in the bag, then turned around with a white bank envelope, which he presented to Nat. “My mother always said a girl needs mad money, and I haven’t met a girl I’m as mad about in my life.”

Gulp. “Are you serious?”

“About the money or you?”

Me. “The money.”

“Absolutely.”

Nat opened up the end of the envelope, exposing a thick stack of stiff new bills. “Yikes, how much is here?”

“A thousand dollars. Luckily my bank is open on Saturday. I had about three bucks on me when you called.”

“Angus, I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can, and you will.” He closed her hand around the envelope, and Nat couldn’t deny the effect of his touch. “Pay me back whenever. Now, I have one last item in your going-away kit. Hold on.” He turned away, dug in the bag, and handed her another envelope. “This is a one-way ticket to Miami, on a train that leaves early tomorrow from Wilmington. It’s the earliest I can get you out of here. I’d fly you, but you need ID for that. I’ll take you to the Wilmington station tomorrow morning.”

“No. If I accept a ticket from you, you’re an accomplice. You’re aiding and abetting.”

“I can’t think of anybody I’d rather do that to. With. Whatever.” His gaze was direct and even, meeting Nat somewhere in the middle of the space between them, which she could sense growing smaller by the second.

“Angus, I can’t do that to you.”

“Just go, and we’ll see what to do next.”

“Why Miami?”

“Because it’s as far away as possible and I have a good friend there, a great criminal lawyer.”

“I’ll get away on my own.”

“You have to take this, for me. For us.”

Us? Nat didn’t know what to say.

“We have a chance if you get through this. I’m being selfish here.”

Nat’s heart quickened and before she could protest, Angus leaned over and kissed her softly, his beard still cold as it brushed against her cheek. He explored her mouth, and she kissed him back, tasting his warmth until he pulled away and met her eye with frank desire.

“I love you, I do,” Angus whispered.

Nat fell speechless, feeling everything at once.

“I want you to be safe and sound, away from here. I don’t know if it’s legally right or wrong, I only know that I love you and want you safe.” He leaned down and kissed her again, his blue eyes still open, clear as sky, and Nat kissed him back, eyes open, too, exposing herself to him. Their gaze and kiss connected them, one to the other, and she knew in her heart that even though it was too soon, she was stone crazy about the man.

“Angus, I—” Nat began to say, but he kissed her again, more urgently, probing, and she felt herself enveloped in his scratchy sweater.

“I knew it would be like this,” Angus murmured, stroking her face, then cupping the back of her shorn head, pulling her mouth to his again.

Nat surrendered to the feeling, enjoying the sweetness. He kissed her again and his hands traveled down her back to her hips. He picked her up in both hands and gentled her onto his lap, easing them both backward onto the bed. She found herself climbing onto him, straddling him in her jeans, in a way she hadn’t done ever before, and his arms gripped her waist, pulling her down onto him. He kissed her deeply, and she wanted to wrap herself around him in every way, feel herself take him inside, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, he seemed to know and began to take off his sweater, laughing when he got it stuck on his head. “Help!”

“It’s caught on your beard.” Nat laughed with him and helped, and when Angus’s face finally reappeared, flushed with effort, she looked into his eyes and touched his beard with wonderment, running her fingertips over its reddish gold strands, feeling its softness and coarseness at the same time. He yanked off his T-shirt, revealing a thick, muscular chest covered with dark gold hair and a long ponytail snaking over the bulge of his shoulder.

Nat stirred at the sight of such a natural man, kissing him deeply as he put his hands under her sweater and guided it upward, smiling with pleasure as she pulled it over her head and let it fall away.

“My poor baby,” Angus said suddenly, and Nat saw his face change. Then she remembered, ashamed. Her chest. The scratches. Her hands flew to cover herself, but he caught her hands and kissed them.

“No, it’s okay. Let me see,” he said, his eyes troubled, and he gentled her hands apart and eyed Buford’s handiwork.

“Let me make it better,” he murmured, while he kissed each scratch, then sent a shiver down her spine as he placed his hands warmly on her shoulders and slid down the straps of her bra. He reached around and unfastened the bra, and she wriggled out of it and tossed it aside, both of them giggling as if they were children at play. He pulled her close to him, and she felt the strength in his shoulders and back as they kissed again, harder and with need, and everything changed, darkening and deepening, as soon as skin met skin and his chest pressed against hers.

Angus lifted her in his arms and laid her back on the bed, quickly unbuttoning her jeans, pulling down her zipper, and tugging her pants off, then standing over her and sliding her panties down. Nat shuddered with arousal as he put his hands behind her knees and slid her to the edge of the bed, and then they suddenly stopped being children at play and became again adults, a woman and a man.

About to love each other.