You Can't Hide

YOU CAN’T HIDE EMILY SHINER Published by Inkubator Books www.inkubatorbooks.com Copyright © 2023 by Emily Shiner Emily Shiner has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work. ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-085-1 ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-086-8 ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-087-5 YOU CAN’T HIDE is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. CONTENTS Inkubator Books Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Inkubator Newsletter Thank You For Reading THE PROMISE About the Author Also by Emily Shiner JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3dOTSW2 1 LIZZY The sun beats down on my head as I pop my hip out to the side and throw my thumb into the air, jabbing it over my shoulder in a movement that hopefully screams help me hitch a ride but don’t kill me. Even though all I want is to down a tall glass of ice water, I keep a smile on my face and wait until the last possible second of a car approaching to wipe the sheen off my forehead. Someone has to stop. Eventually. Farther down the road, in the direction I’ve come from, I see the hulking mass of my car hunched over the edge of the road, as much on it as not. Each car approaching me from that direction has to slow down and move out of the way to avoid clipping it. Not that it would matter to me if they did — what’s one more dent when the entire thing is destined for the scrapyard? The vehicle approaching me is a truck with dust all over the sides and mud splashed up on its fender. Too late, I drop my hand by my side and turn, dipping my chin down to my chest and walking in the direction of town. You can tell a lot about people from the type of car they drive, and it’s not that I have anything against men in trucks, exactly, it’s just that I have enough experience to know they don’t always turn out to be the best humans on the planet. Anyone willing to drive a gas guzzler at the expense of the environment likely isn’t going to stop for someone like me walking along the side of the road anyway, so I’m more than a little surprised when I hear the truck approach, slow down, then idle next to me. “You need a ride, darlin’?” The voice is loud, easy on the ears. For a moment I resist turning to look to see who called to me, but I finally do. He’s cute. That’s not the most important thing when getting rescued from the side of the highway, but it sure doesn’t hurt. I need more than cute, though. I need someone with enough money to make all of my problems just disappear. I’ll accept whatever help I can get with my car, but if they want to offer more, I sure won’t turn them down. “I’m fine walking,” I say, but my feet make their way to the passenger-side door of the truck before I can stop them. Holding one hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun, I look in the cab, taking in how neat and clean it is. The man driving it isn’t dressed in cowboy boots and dirty jeans, which is what I would have expected on a side road in Alabama, but a suit, his tie loosened at his neck, an easy grin on his face as he looks at me. “I have no doubt you can handle yourself, but it’s a bit of a haul to town, and that sun is right overhead.” He doesn’t have to tell me that. I feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle if I don’t get in some shade, and quick. I had a bottle of water in the car with me when it broke down, but I stupidly poured it in the radiator to see if I could get it up and running again. It didn’t work, and now my mouth is dry. “What’s your name?” “Zachary.” He flashes me a grin. Straight, white teeth. Someone’s parents paid for braces. “Yours?” “Lizzy.” I pause, thinking. “Are you from here or just passing through?” “Newly transplanted. I had to borrow a truck because I wanted to get new tires on my Lexus. I’m the new doctor in town.” A doctor? He looks like a doctor, happy and full of life, like he knows he has a direct line to God’s ear and isn’t afraid to use it if it gets him the results he wants with his patients. I like him, instantly and wholeheartedly, and I find myself opening the door before I know what I’m doing. “If you don’t mind, I just really need to get to my shift, or I’m going to be fired.” As I slide into the cab of the truck, I’m struck by how different we look. He looks … well, like the man just waltzed off the cover of GQ, and I’m dressed in my work uniform. A small pink half apron hangs almost down to my knees. The shoes I tugged on this morning were white, but now they have a brown tint to them from walking so far. I’m grateful not to