20. Kennedy
CHAPTER 20
KENNEDY
“ T hanks so much.” I take the key and shove it into my pocket then use the single crutch I managed to bring with me to make my way back out of the office and toward the stairs. I stare at them, intimidated by the sheer height I’m about to have to climb with only one good foot.
I’m already exhausted from the travel, dirty from having to slip off of the ranch on what equates to pretty much a single good foot, but it’s the idea of a hot shower that has me putting one foot in front of the other, using the rest of my strength to make my way up the steps. Normally, I insist on a low-level motel room, but they were booked solid except for one room on the second floor.
The next motel isn’t for another fifteen miles, and since the bus station doesn’t open until six tomorrow morning, I’m out of options.
By the sheer force of my desire to rest, I make it to the top.
My ankle is throbbing. I haven’t had the chance to take any pain meds since I left Hunt Ranch sixteen hours ago. Sixteen hours on three different buses, all while I try to outrun a past that seems hell-bent on taking me out.
I can’t believe she put my photograph in the newspaper. I can’t believe Bradyn let her. Why would they give her that image? Why allow it to be run without my permission? I hadn’t even known it was being taken.
Anger burns through my veins as I unlock the door and shove it open to reveal a mildewy-smelling room with two double beds, an old block of a television, and a bathroom. The red-and-gold floral comforters likely haven’t been replaced in decades, but I can at least hope the sheets are clean.
After ensuring the door is locked up tight, I prop a chair beneath the handle and peek out the window. The parking lot is dark, and there’s no movement, so I find it in me to relax just slightly.
I got out before they found me. That is if they’re even still looking.
I toss the crutch down and half-hop into the bathroom. Of course they’re still looking. They’ll never stop looking. I’m enemy number one, and I’m not even entirely sure why. The shower comes on with a groan, and there’s a few seconds of delay before the hot water hits the bottom of the dingy-looking bathtub.
It’s not much. But it’ll do tonight.
Someone knocks on the door.
My heart jumps. I leave the water on then withdraw my firearm and limp toward the door.
Another knock.
Is it possible they caught up with me? That I didn’t slip out of Pine Creek fast enough?
Another knock.
Adrenaline pulsing through my system, I peek up into the peephole on the door, only to find myself staring at someone I’d already told myself I’d never see again. How did he find me?
“I know you’re in there, Sammy. Open up so we can talk.”
My first instinct is to pull the door open. But as I’m reaching for the handle to do just that, another thought hits me. What if he’s part of it? What if somehow I ended up on the doorstep of someone with ties back to the very people I’m trying to avoid?
“Sammy. Whatever you’re wrapped up in is big, and I can’t help if you don’t let me in.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” I call back.
“If you don’t already know that you can, then I can’t help you.”
If he wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chances to do it already. He quite literally knew where I slept, and then there was that whole ride home from the café, and the car trip to the lumber yard. At any moment, he could’ve followed through with what they’ve been trying to do for the last two years.
Yet he didn’t.
Bradyn Hunt was nothing but kind to me.
My thoughts drift back to Cillian. He’d been kind to me too. And he’d nearly paid the ultimate price for it. The same price as all the others did. But I’m so tired of running alone. Of hiding. Of barely living. I’m just—so, so tired.
“Sammy.” The way he says my name undoes me. So even though it might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, I unlock the door and pull it open, though I maintain the hold on my weapon.
His expression is hard, his eyes narrowed as he looks me up and down, momentarily focusing on my firearm. “You planning on shooting me?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Why you’re here.” Stepping aside, I allow him and Bravo to enter my room. The dog’s ears are perked forward, his focus on inspecting my room thoroughly. After he’s looked through the entire room and peeked into the bathroom, he comes back and sits at Bradyn’s side.
As soon as he does, Bradyn shuts and locks the door then sets a black tactical backpack onto the floor directly beside it.
“Care to explain how you found me?” I ask.
“It’s what I do,” he replies. Silence settles over us again. He’s furious, even angrier than he was when he’d found me during that storm. “Care to explain why you ran, Olivia?”
Olivia. I haven’t heard that name in years, and it’s an instant punch to my gut. The USB drive around my neck feels heavier at the mere mention of the one who gave it to me. Anger sings through my veins, even as every worry I had that he was a part of this thing vanishes.
Because if he were a part of it, he’d know there’s no way I could be Olivia Brown.
“I’m not Olivia.”
“No? You sure look a lot like her. And the suit who showed up at my ranch yesterday certainly thought you were.”
I stiffen. “Who was it? Who showed up?”
“A man named Klive Brown.”
My entire body goes rigid, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. Stumbling back, I drop down onto the bed, sitting at the edge while I try to regain my rational thinking. He did find me. That means it’s only a matter of time before—“Did he hurt them? Are they okay? How did you get away?”
“They’re fine. He didn’t hurt anyone. Breathe, Sammy.”
“I have to go. Now.” I push up and limp into the bathroom to shut off the water.
As soon as I turn around to head back into the main room, I run into a hard body blocking my way. Large hands go to my shoulders.
“Easy.”
“If you found me, it’s only a matter of time before they do.”
“First off, I’m exceptional at what I do, which is how I found you. Second, I shook the tail they put on me already. Now, I do agree we need to move, but you need to relax for a second. Okay? Tell me what’s going on.”
I take a deep breath as Bradyn releases my shoulders and steps back. And because my ankle feels like it’s on fire, I take a seat on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom, leaving my gun on top of the mattress beside me.
Bradyn leans back against the desk across from me while Bravo lies by the front door.
“You said you’re not Olivia Brown.”
“No.” I meet his gaze. “Olivia Brown is dead. She was murdered two years ago, along with three U.S. Marshals and both of my parents.”
Emotion flicks over his expression before the hardened soldier mask returns. “Then why is it Olivia’s stepbrother accused you of being her?”
“Because they can’t admit that she’s dead. Doing so would raise too many questions.” Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I reach down and rub my ankle. “The main one being that they didn’t report her missing two years ago.”
“Hang on.” Bradyn heads over toward his pack and kneels, his back to me. Without his gaze focused on me, I can fully appreciate the way it feels to have him here. I’ve spent so many years relying only on myself. Focusing only on keeping my head while I survived day-to-day.
Can he really help me?
“It’s what I do.” I may not know exactly what the brothers do on the side, but is it possible he’ll have contacts that can be trusted? People not on Brown’s payroll?
Pills rattle in a bottle as he carries them over to me, along with a bottle of water. “It’s not much, but?—”
I nearly weep at the sight of the blue-and-white Advil bottle. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Popping the top, I take two gel capsules and drink down the entire bottle of water he handed me.
“I figured you might be hurting when I found you. Not that I could tell how much you took with you, but I assumed the load was light.”
“What do you mean?” I set the empty bottle beside me as he leans back against the desk.
“Your cabin was tossed. So unless you did that to throw us off?—”
“I didn’t,” I interrupt. They were so close to me. I haven’t been gone a full twenty-four hours and they’ve already tossed my place? “I should have moved on weeks ago. It was a mistake to stay as long as I did.”
“Then why did you?”
“It was the first place that felt like home in a long time,” I tell him truthfully.
The silence between us stretches on. “So, the son of a senator is pretending you’re his sister. Why?”
“He had her killed.” The nightmare from two years ago comes rushing back in a solid wave of pain. Bradyn remains silent while I collect myself. “Olivia was my roommate in college. We’d roomed together our freshman, sophomore, and junior years. She came back from spring break looking like she’d spent the week in hell.” I remember her wide, red-rimmed eyes and the way she’d been constantly checking over her shoulder. “When she finally opened up to me, it was just to say that she’d seen things she wasn’t supposed to and that she’d grabbed proof before running.”
“Proof of what?”
I shake my head then reach into my shirt and withdraw the drive I’ve worn ever since she died. “She never told me. Just that she had it and had contacted the authorities. They showed up that same night and took us both into custody.”
“What happened next?”
“It all moved really fast. My parents were brought in and placed in protection as well; since the marshals were worried that they’d be used as leverage against me.”
“But you didn’t know anything.”
“Apparently, that didn’t matter. Klive thought I did, so I was a risk. Olivia was never the same. Whatever she saw—it changed her.”
“What happened after you were taken into custody?”
“They interviewed us separately then placed us in witness protection along with my parents. The four of us were in a safe house always monitored by three marshals.”
“Why didn’t they confiscate the thumb drive?”
“No one knew she had it. Olivia kept it a secret from everyone—including me—until the night she died.” The images come rushing back. The blood. The bodies. People I loved. My family.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Bradyn says gently. “I imagine it’s painful, but I need to know everything if I’m going to help.”
“Kennedy,” I whisper.
“What?”
I lift my eyes to meet his bright hazel gaze. “My name is Kennedy. Kennedy Angelina Smith.” I can’t stop the soft smile that spreads across my face. “I haven’t gotten to say that in years.”
“Kennedy.”
It’s ridiculous, but just hearing him say my name, my real name in that deep, gravelly voice is comforting. And it feeds that flame of desire I’ve carried for him since that very first meeting.
“It’s not a good story.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with pain,” he replies then reaches forward and brushes a strand of my hair out of my face. It’s that gentle touch that gives me the strength to dive headfirst into the darkest night of my life.