A Pair of Second Chances (Ben Jensen Series Book 1) Read Free Page B

hallway. On bare feet, shoes in her hand, she hurried down the hall toward the elevator, cringing when its bell seemed to crash down the hall when the car arrived at her floor.
    As the doors slid apart, she rushed to get in, before they had fully opened, and with almost panicked haste, repeatedly punched the button for the lobby.
    While the doors were closing, her hand was already reaching for the cell phone in her purse and punching the speed dial number she'd programmed.
    “Yellow Cab” the man at the other end answered.
    “Please, I need a car, immediately, at the Heartwood Terrace Condos.”
    “OK Ma’am… uhhh… it should only be a few minutes… been a pretty slow night.”
    “Yes… OK… fine… just ask the driver to hurry… Please!”
    “Yes Ma’am, he’s on the way, bye now.” And the line went dead as the door opened into the lobby of the building… at 2 a.m.
    As she started to put the phone back in her shoulder bag, she froze for a second with the cell in her hand. The image of her phone charger flashed in her head. The image of her charger, plugged into the wall socket beside her nightstand. "Damn!" she thought. She raised the phone back up and pushed the power button to turn it off. "I have to try and remember to get a new one soon. I'm sure I'll need the phone for something... at least until I get a new one."
    The girl, carrying the heavy load of a small boy, an apparently fairly full, blue gym bag, and a large shoulder bag, hurried across the lobby to the front door of the building unseen by the doorman. He'd sat down on one of the couches, to 'rest his eyes for a minute' and had promptly fallen, soundly asleep.
    As promised, the wait for the cab was, though still agonizing, less than five minutes. When asked by the Bosnian driver, where she wanted to go so early in the morning, she responded, with her voice very nearly a shriek; “Just Go! Right now, just GO!”
    “Yes Ma’am” replied the driver as he faced back forward and rolled his eyes… Thinking to himself; “These Americans… They all must be crazy! Always shrieking and upset!”
    In a couple of blocks he again asked; “Lady? I need to know where to take you!”
    “To the Greyhound Station… just take me to the Bus Station! And Please, hurry, we’re late… The bus we’re on leaves in fifteen minutes!”
    “Don’t you worry lady, I’ll get you there.” he accelerated down the deserted street as he spoke.
    Less than ten minutes later the cabby slid his car up to the curb in front of the sign with the illuminated greyhound. He hurried around to open the door for the crazy blond American woman who’d pleaded for the last five minutes to; “Hurry or I’m going to miss our bus!”
    She pushed a small wad of bills into his hand and started to go, but stopped and turned back to him; a pleading look in her eyes.
    “When they ask you, where you took me, please… Please! Tell them somewhere else… tell them the airport, the train station… Please! Anywhere but here!” and she pushed another small wad of bills into his hand.
    The fear in her eyes shook the cabby. That was saying a lot. The man had survived the massacres back in the ‘old’ country.
    “Don’t you worry lady… I’m a good liar… I’ll tell a good story.”
    Something about the look in her eyes, and the tears as she hugged that little boy, before she turned and ran inside made him repeat to himself as he watched her run off; “Don’t you worry one little bit… I’ll tell a God Damn good story!”
    The bus doors closed just as she ran up to it.
    “No!” she screamed at the driver; “Wait!” her small fist pounding on the metal.
    The door swung back open and the driver spoke to her; “Sorry lady, I didn’t see you coming. Get on and we’ll go!”
    As she climbed the steps into the warmth of the bus cabin, on that cool, late summer morning the driver asked; “That little bag all you have?”
    She looked from it and back to the driver; “It's