Chapter 31 #2
I snap a photo of the device I’m holding and run a reverse image search, and the answer comes up in seconds.
It’s a cryptocurrency wallet, carrying keys for untraceable, liquid cash.
I stare at it. Kurt gave up his share of the job and risked all of our lives for this.
There could be a dollar stored on here, or hundreds of millions.
What I do know is that it’s worth more than the diamonds.
“Whatever you do, please don’t let it out of your sight.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, distracted as I delete the photo then hand her back her phone.
“Of course.” She tilts her head. “Any plans for today?”
Hide here. Pretend I’m not holding something the Chinese want, Kurt wants, his contractor wants, and people have already tried to kill for.
“Not really.”
“Want to help me tin some fruit?”
Not really. “Sure.”
My mother blinks in surprise, and I can’t tell whether it’s because she asked me, or because I agreed.
But we spend the morning peeling, deseeding, cutting, simmering in syrup and filling sterilized jars.
The smell is familiar, hot sugar and cooked fruit filling the house.
It’s dull, repetitive work, but it keeps my hands busy, if not my brain.
For that, I talk to my mother, pretending an active interest in the Relief Society work she does.
All it takes for our first ever mother-daughter bonding session is the utter desperation of hiding from everything and everyone else I know.
“Thank you,” she says when we’re done clearing up, unstrapping her apron and hanging it on the back of the cupboard door. I pass her the one she lent me, and she hangs that up too, eyes roving over the tattoos I’m showing in just my strappy top. “I thought of getting a tattoo once.”
I stare at her, not sure I heard right. “Pardon?”
She flaps a hand at me. “We all have our moments of rebellion, don’t we?”
Oh, so that’s what my tattoos are.
“But you didn’t?”
“No,” she says, almost wistful, glances at my tattoos again then gives herself a little shake. “I don’t approve of them,” she says, lips pressed thin.
Of course she doesn’t.
“I’m going to go and find Dad.”
“He’s resting; don’t disturb him now. Perhaps you should go and buy some clothes, instead.
Or do you have luggage sequestered on that motorcycle of yours?
” She gives me a pointed look. “I’d prefer you to keep those things covered while you’re under my roof, and I haven’t kept any of your old clothes, I’m afraid. ”
Or anything else of mine. My room is entirely bare, save for the unmade bed and a heap of boxes.
That was our moment, then. She’s back to being disappointed in me.
“Got it.”
I slide my jacket on, move the hardware wallet to my inside zipped pocket, and pat the other to assure myself the diamonds are still in place. Then I pick up my helmet and walk out, not bothering to give her a goodbye.
There are tears in my eyes, and I don’t know why.
She doesn’t deserve them. I blink them back in frustration, pulling my lid on.
The day’s bright and sunny, the street quiet, but I don’t take any of it in.
I climb onto my bike, trying to work out why a mother who’s never cared for me still manages to provoke those feelings.
I suppose I should hit the shops, but there’s no rush. Instead, I head toward the hills. There’s a canyon path I remember up past Mount Olympus, a short ride away, and I’m in need of peace and solitude. I don’t have my running gear, but a walk will work just as well.
Ten minutes later, I pull up into the parking lot.
It’s empty, save for a car with a dog cage in the back, the walker out somewhere on the trails.
I chain my helmet to my bike and pick a path at random, unzipping my jacket and hooking it over my shoulder as I walk.
My boots aren’t made for uneven ground, and I don’t try and go far but stop at the first bench I find, looking down over the city.
As usual, my thoughts turn to Declan and the crew. It’s Tuesday; two days passing like that. I hope Cole is all right. Cammy and Tasha would’ve got him the help he needs, but at what cost? Any hospital would ask questions that can’t easily be answered.
Kurt worries me more. Picked up by suits, Dario said, and that could be anyone. He has connections, I remind myself. He’ll be fine. But it does nothing to lessen my concern. Who wears suits and could possibly know he was there? It could still be friends, but that’s a stretch.
Either way, there’s nothing I can do right now. I’ll wait until the end of the week, see if anything comes up on the news one way or the other. Then I guess I’ll head back down to LA, see if I can find Tasha or Cammy. They’re probably still in San Fran, looking after Cole. Declan, too.
I miss him. I miss them all, but him most. Even though he was a total jerk on the heist, when he must know there would never be anything between me and Cole.
Still, there’s something about his possessiveness that appeals at some base level, like it’s a validation of my existence.
Maybe my mother’s indifference to me makes me vulnerable to that.
Family fucks us all up, and there’s no defense except to walk away.
Find one’s own route through life, start a new family, try to avoid parents’ mistakes and make new ones instead.
The circle of life.
With that thought, I head back to my bike, slipping and sliding down the path, my boots struggling for grip. The parking lot is still mostly empty, the dog car gone and replaced by a pickup. It is the middle of the working day, and not everyone gets to be out in the sun.
Something niggles at my subconscious, and I pause, staring at the pickup. It’s a black one, the same as thousands around the country. It looks like Declan’s. That’s probably what’s struck me as odd.
Wait… is it Declan’s? I take a step toward it, unsure. It can’t be. He’s in San Fran… or LA. There’s no way in hell he can be here.
A boot scuffs a stone on the ground behind me. Right behind me. I spin, taking a pace back. There’s a man, three feet away.
“Hey, Raven.”
How?
Shock roots me to the spot, and it’s all he needs. He grabs me by the arm, rougher than there’s any reason for. “Declan…”
Something jabs into my skin, sharp and sudden.
“The fuck? Declan?” I blink. My head feels heavy. “What…”
He’s here. How the hell is he here?
What has he done to me?
“Don’t worry, Hellcat,” he says, arms wrapping around me as my legs give way. “I’ll take care of you.”
It doesn’t feel right. I try to push him off, but there’s no strength in my arms. My eyes are too heavy, and I’ve dropped my jacket. I can’t let it out of my sight.
I try to tell him, but the words won’t come.
Instead, there’s only blackness.