The compound is dark, everyone asleep.

We sprint across a cushion of sand to Jerome's Malibu, slip inside. It is old, but tuned, and starts easily. Still, the engine sounds very loud from where I sit, looking for lights to blink on. Not a one. Nothing but a billow of dust, lifting into the night sky. Night! It's been weeks since I've seen the stars. A voice drifts from not-so-distant memory: Pretty tonight. Looks like you could reach out and touch the stars. I close my eyes, transported to a sleeping bag in the bed of a Tundra. Andrew is warm beside me. I want what I've no right to take....

Tears fall freely as Jerome turns south on Highway 93 toward Wells. He doesn't notice, so I let them fall. By the time we reach I-80, the stars are nothing but blurry streaks.

Old Malibus Aren't exactly fuel efficient. As we roll into Wells, Jerome slows down, checks the gauge. Better gas up. There's a truck stop ahead. Hungry? It's a long way to SLC.

"A little," I fudge. I've barely eaten a bite in two days. "Thirsty, too. Any chance of a c.o.ke?"

What'll you give me for it? He snickers at the old joke. Only he isn't joking.

He pulls up at the pumps, opens the glove box, reaches for his wallet. And there, on a folded road map, is his cell phone. A buzz like a high power line vibrates in my ears.

Jerome doesn't seem to notice. He gets out of the car, puts his keys in their usual resting place on the front floorboard.

Do you have to use the bathroom?

I shake my head. "Not until after the c.o.ke."

When he goes inside, I grab the phone.

One eye on the door, I dial Andrew's cell.

This AT&T customer is not accepting incoming calls. No! Quick. Dial his home. The number you are calling is no longer in service.

Andrew! Where are you? No time to worry about it now. Not if I want to get away this side of Salt Lake City. I need to buy some time. The keys ... I reach down, locate them, toss them under the backseat, just as he comes out the door, goodies in hand. I have maybe five minutes.

As Jerome starts toward the island, I jump out of the car. "Decided I should pee after all," I say, pa.s.sing him on the sidewalk.

Nerves ping-pong in my stomach. I feel like I'm going to vomit. But I don't, and he doesn't seem fazed at all. Over my shoulder, I watch him go to the car, open the door. As he leans inside, I duck around the corner of the building.

It's quiet this time of day, and in the steel blue of just-before-dawning, a row of semis waits silently for their drivers to wake. I dash across the short span of asphalt to the far side of the trucks. Maybe there's somewhere to hide behind them. No! Nothing but desert, stretching all the way to the freeway. What now? He'll come looking any second!

I run down the row, hoping for ...? Can I hide in one of them? Don't think so. If I try to open one of the back doors, it's sure to make a racket. About three-quarters of the way down the line, I pa.s.s a travel trailer, attached to a big crew cab. Something about it calls to me.

If the owners are asleep in the trailer, maybe I could slip inside the truck? Could the doors be unlocked? As quietly as I can, I pull up on the rear pa.s.senger handle. Holy mother!

It opens. I climb up, shut the door, skooch down on the floor, close my eyes.

He must be looking for me by now.

When he finds me, what will he do?

But It Isn't Jerome Who finds me. It's the owner of the fifth wheel. It is light when he opens the door to let his border collie inside. What the- What the h.e.l.l are you doing in my truck?

I'm afraid to get up off the floor.

"I'm sorry ... I didn't mean ...."

Come on! Think! Something sort of close to the truth pops out of my mouth.

"It's just that my boyfriend and I got into an awful fight. I was afraid he'd hurt me, so I hid in here..." I must have fooled the dog, anyway. She licks my face.

The man, who's maybe sixty, looks dubious at first. But something about my expression makes him go on the alert.

Think he's still here? What's he look like?

Thank you, G.o.d. "Short. Thin. He drives a blue Malibu. I'm really scared."

You stay right here with Trinket. I'll take a look around. He shuts the door.

Relief firecrackers through me in tiny bursts. I'm stiff. Tired. But maybe okay.

It isn't long before the guy returns.

No sign of a blue Malibu. Where you headed, young lady? He gives me a once- over, but if my industrial outfit makes him wonder, he doesn't say a word.

Think fast, Eden. "We were going to Salt Lake City. But I want to go home.

And my boyfriend has all our money."

He takes every word in perfect stride.

Okay. And just where is home?

South on 93? Keep going, and end up in "Vegas." I hold my breath, hoping.

Can't take you all the way there.

But I can get you as far as Ely.

I finally feel safe enough to scoot up onto the seat. "That would be great.

I can call Andr-uh, my brother to come get me." And pray he answers this time.

At Fifty MPH The trip from Wells to Ely takes close to three hours. I stay scrunched down in my seat for a long while. Wes notices without comment. Finally he says, I think you're okay now. Been checking the mirror. Haven't seen anything blue.

I straighten a bit. Trinket squirms and yips, as if happy to see me relax. "Good girl."

Wes smiles. You like dogs, I see.

Have any at home, waiting for you?

I almost say no, that my parents are much more into G.o.d than dogs, or any of his creatures that don't t.i.the heavily.

But then I think of Andrew. The ranch.

And, "Sheila. She's a bluetick hound, just a pup." We talk dogs for some time, then ranching. Wes has a big ranch, with Angus and Quarter Horses.

"Andrew ... uh .... my brother works ....

uh, worked on a ranch for a while."

Did he, now? Speaking of your brother, do you want to give him a call?

We'll be in Ely before you know it.

We should have cell service now.

"I'd like to, but I left my phone in my boyfriend's car." His phone, actually.

Wes points to the center console.

Use mine. It's right in there.

I dial the well-known numbers, with the same results as before.

The number you have called ... Where could he be? Still, I know Wes and I must part ways soon. And I suspect he'll worry if I don't get hold of someone. I pretend Andrew answers. "Hey. Um, something kind of bad happened. Can you come get me?"

Where Is Andrew?

What's up with the phones? Is he okay?

What about his parents? Where are they?

It's all I can think about. Wes keeps right on talking, and I try my best to find answers to his many questions.

But most of them probably don't make much sense. Suddenly Trinket stands up in the backseat, whines a little, wags her stumpy tail. We're getting close to home and she can smell it, explains Wes. The turnoff's south of town, so I can get you a little closer. There's a nice truck stop out that way. You'd be safe enough there until your brother comes, I reckon. Most truckers I know won't let your boyfriend mess with you.

Sooner rather than later we turn off the straight two-lane blacktop.

Wes decides to fill up before heading on home. I leave his company rather reluctantly, and before I walk away, I go around and give him a hug.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done...."

He blushes a furious rhubarb color.

Ah. It was nothing but common decency. But tell you what you can do for me in return....

Yeah, right. Figures. I can guess what he wants in return. But whatever.

I owe him big-time. And it's nothing I haven't already done. "What?"

Choose your next man more carefully. You deserve better.

Oh my G.o.d. How could I think ...?

My own face flushes, red hot, and my throat knots as my eyes fill.

"I will," I manage. "I promise."

Eyes Burning I start away, completely awed by the kindness of this perfect stranger.

Wes stops me. Wait one second.

I turn back. In his hand is a twenty.

You must be hungry. Have some lunch while you wait for your brother.

I could protest, but I am hungry.

Starving, actually. I kiss him on the cheek. "You're the absolute best!"

He drives away and I go inside.

The smell of greasy food almost overwhelms me. It's been so long!

"Double cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake," I tell the waitress, feeling a lot like Pavlov's s...o...b..ring dog. After I eat, I have to get out of here.

Jerome must be looking for me, and even a half-wit could guess I came this way.

Vegas. Why not? All I need is a ride.

And there are plenty of truckers to ask.

It Takes Three Tries The first says he's not going to Vegas.

The second one just says, f.u.c.k off.

The third, a beefy guy with bad teeth, looks me up and down. You running away?

I had an hour at lunch to figure out a good story. I use it now. "Not exactly.

He flashes his rotten smile. Not exactly?

What, exactly, does that mean?

"See, my parents split up, and my mom moved me to Elko so she could live with her boyfriend. I hate that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He ...

he ... you know." I look down, acting all embarra.s.sed. "Anyway, I just want to go home to my dad's. He lives in Vegas."

Old story, kid. But what the h.e.l.l?

I'm going that way. Hop in the cab.

We climb into opposite sides of the semi.

The trucker swallows some sort of pill, starts the engine, and as he turns onto the highway, I say a little prayer of thanks for my rescue. But we don't get all that far before rescue becomes something else.