22. IVY
22
IVY
“Mom, get dressed. We’re leaving.”
The hotel room felt oppressively small as I knocked on the bathroom door, my heart pounding.
The door creaked open, and Mom emerged, a thin white towel clutched around her chest. Her eyes, a mirror of my own, were bloodshot and puffy.
“What?” Mom asked.
“We need to leave. Now. Get dressed.”
I thought about calling 911 for help to escape Daniel, but I didn’t understand how the CIA worked. Did they have taps on all governmental departments? If we called the police and told them where we were, would that basically send a memo to the CIA where we were hiding? Which would go straight to Daniel?
I didn’t know. And suddenly, Grayson’s absence left a gaping hole that he could probably answer for me.
Irony was a vengeful bitch, but I had a plan to keep us safe.
“You still haven’t told me exactly what’s going on,” Mom accused.
True.
During operation calm Mother down, I’d only given her the broad strokes—that we’d nearly died and that her ex, Steve, was really a man named Daniel Murphy. That he was with the CIA and was Grayson’s boss.
As it turned out, Mom had no idea Steve was actually Daniel, nor that he was CIA.
I was still processing it all myself.
“I’m not going anywhere until I understand what is going on.” She folded her arms, jaw set.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
“What car? Mine is still at that…that place that Steve took you to.”
Shit. She was right. And we shouldn’t take our own cars anyway. Daniel might be monitoring them.
I chewed on my thumbnail.
“The hotel might have rentals.” No, that wouldn’t work. My financials might be monitored, and come to think of it, I didn’t have my wallet anywhere nearby. Not unless one of the guards had grabbed my bag of things at Hunter’s.
“I thought we were waiting for Grayson?” she challenged.
“We were, but now we need to leave.”
“Without him?” She balked. “I thought he was keeping you safe?”
“He’s…look, I’ll explain on the way, but soon, Daniel will start looking for us, and once that happens, leaving will be ten times harder.”
Not to mention, I was still wanted by the CIA, and if they found me…welcome, sniper rifles, bombs, who knew what?
“You mean leave Grayson,” she clarified.
“There’s someone else I trust to help us,” I said. “Detective Mitchell. All we have to do is get to the police station, okay?”
“Ivy—”
“Mom!” I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. “If we don’t leave right now, we might be killed. I need you to trust me. Please.”
She seemed to evaluate the tension in my body, the determination in my voice, and in fairness, I was more in the loop than she was.
It bothered me how quickly she’d grown to trust Grayson. How would I convince her that we could stay safe without him? We could, but only if we got to Detective Mitchell. If we didn’t get to him, then, no, I didn’t think we’d be able to survive the CIA hunting us for long at all. Our only window to reach Detective Mitchell was now, before Daniel had time to come up with his next move.
This was our safest opportunity to drive to the police station. To do that, I needed my mom on board.
“Okay,” she finally said, quickly throwing her clothes on.
Hallelujah.
I needed to find a vehicle, though, and I had one in mind that came with a big, redheaded bodyguard.
Once Mom was ready, I opened the hotel door and was met by a chest the size of the movie screen.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you can’t leave,” he rumbled. “Mr. Lockwood gave me explicit?—”
“Ivy,” I corrected. “And you’re Red, right?”
“Yes, ma—Ivy,” he corrected himself. “But you need to stay inside.”
“I know you’re here to keep watch, and I appreciate that, but there’s been a change of plans. I need to meet with Detective Mitchell at the Chicago Police Headquarters right away.”
Red glanced to his side. “I’ll have to contact Mr. Lockwood.”
“The problem is, I have to meet with this detective, and right now, we have a small window before Daniel makes his next move. By the time Grayson or Hunter might give you the green light to let me go”—if ever—“it’ll be too dangerous. This is my window to make it there.”
“I’m sorry, Ivy, but that isn’t going to happen.”
“Respectfully, I have to talk to this detective.”
“If Mr. Lockwood approves of it, I’m happy to?—”
“I’m not a lawyer,” I interrupted. “But I don’t think you have the authority to hold me and my mother against our will like this.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know you’re trying to keep us safe, and I really appreciate that, but this’ll be at a police station. It doesn’t get much safer than that.”
Red sighed and pulled out his phone. “I need to call—hey, wait!”
I was already several feet in front of him. If he called Grayson, Grayson would come back, and we’d be in a long-drawn-out debate, which may or may not end with them allowing me to go to the police station. The only person I trusted right now to guide me out of this mess was Detective Mitchell.
Okay, fine, trust was a strong word. That was hard to come by when you learn your mom’s ex was actually, you know, the guy who organized your father’s murder and tried to kill you. So, I guess you could say I was operating in shades of gray right now, and if I had to choose between my father’s killer or the man who’d taken an oath to protect, I’d choose the latter.
By the time I made it to Red’s car, he was already at my side, gun drawn, gaze sweeping the parking lot for dangers.
“Please,” I said before he wasted time trying to reason with me.
I could only assume the cascading thoughts swirling over Red’s face were those of three options. Option one: he could physically carry me back to the hotel room, shove me inside, and restrain me. Option two: stand out here like an open target while we argued even longer. Or option three: drive me to the police station, calling his boss to alert them of the change of plans on the way.
I guess he went with option three, because, with a frustrated grunt, he opened the door and allowed me and my mom to get in.
Sliding in after us, he peeled out of the parking lot.
While Red called his boss, I left a message for Detective Mitchell, using mom’s cell phone—Daniel’s minions had taken mine in the back of the van—and hoped he’d listen to it and meet me at the station.
“We should be there in twelve minutes,” Red said tightly, his eyes darting between mirrors.
“I’m sorry, Red. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
I deserved the anger in his features; I could only assume he got chewed out.
“After you talk to this detective,” Red said, his tone deep with irritation, “you’ll follow our safety protocols. If you don’t, you’ll be on your own.”
Okay, I deserved that. I didn’t want to get Red into any trouble, and I didn’t want to take the security Hunter had offered us for granted. In fact, now that I was thinking about it, maybe I should’ve calmed down before taking off, but I just…panicked that I’d lose the window.
“Now, tell me everything,” Mom demanded.
I looked at the back windshield, reconsidering my plan.
No. This wasn’t the wrong move. The police station was filled with armed men; I had been kidnapped and almost killed. Detective Mitchell was the right person to tell all of this to. And in the meantime, I owed it to my mom to fill her in on what was going on.
I glanced at Red, though, wondering if I should wait until he was gone. But soon, we’d be surrounded by strangers. Police officers, but still. At least Red was a trusted guard of Hunter’s, and he’d been in that basement, saving my life. He already knew half of it.
With a heavy heart, I began to recount the entire story, every devastating detail Daniel had revealed, and Grayson’s involvement in Dad’s death.
I braced myself for Mom’s reaction, expecting an explosion of emotions—screaming, sobbing, or a jaw-dropping shock that would slice through the silence in the car. After all, the man she had once loved, the man who’d raised her child as his own, had been murdered. But instead, her face turned a ghostly pale, and she tore her gaze away from mine, staring out the window.
As the silence stretched on, dread crept through my veins like ice water.
“What are you not telling me, Mom?”
Red made a right turn, the sound of the blinker’s tick, tick, tick emphasizing how long it was taking her to answer.
“Mom…”
Wow. Look at that massive swallow and the way she fidgeted her hands. Almost like…this wasn’t a shock at all. At least not all of it. More like she was in shock that I knew …
But what part did she know?
“You’ve been keeping something from me,” I accused, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
Her silence only confirmed my suspicions, and a wave of betrayal washed over me, threatening to pull me under. How much more could I take?
“What is it, Mom?” I laid another segment of my heart on the cutting board.
Two turns and two full minutes of driving later, her voice was barely audible over the hum of the engine.
“I’m afraid,” she started, “that if I tell you, you’ll never forgive me.”