CHAPTER FORTY
Ashleigh Riker pulled the old car into the parking lot of a gas station just off of I-70. She put it in park and briefly consulted the map on the passenger seat. She was about thirty miles outside of Columbus, Ohio, and headed west.
She checked her look in the rearview mirror. The hasty black dye job she’d done looked atrocious, a boxed drug-store color she’d done in the bathroom of a truck-stop diner. But she had a yellow scarf tied over her head, knotted under her chin, and large dark sunglasses on her face. She barely recognized herself.
For a moment she sat there in the car, adjacent to a gas pump, and just stared at the cracked vinyl of the steering wheel. It had all gone downhill so quickly.
Riker hadn’t assumed this would happen, but she was smart enough to plan fo
