Chapter Four
GEMMA
Dallas stands in the alley cloaked with shadows and holds his hand out to me.
They're clean. Not a speck of blood on them even though a body lies at his feet.
Mine are stained dark red from my father. He was dead before he collapsed into my arms. Someone killed him and they're after me too? Does this have to do with the papers I signed?
"Gemma. It's not safe."
Dallas.
He's a stranger. I shouldn't trust him. But he showed up when I needed him and got me out of there. He killed that man to protect me.
I shiver though the night is warm and sticky with humidity and look at Dallas's outstretched hand. Whoever he is, he's not trying to kill me.
I stretch my trembling fingers out and put my palm in his.
Something softens in his hazel eyes. He closes his hand around mine and pulls me to the end of the alley. Police cars converge on the conference center.
We dart across the street and run for another two blocks to a self-park lot near the river.
Dallas guides me to a black truck, opens the passenger side, and helps me in. Before I can reach for the seatbelt, he has it in his hand and leans across me to click it into place.
The scents of cinnamon and musk wash over me, reminding me of our kiss, and my muscles relax. It shouldn't be comforting after all that's happened. I know that. I can't help feeling it anyway.
He opens the glove compartment, grabs a package and drops it into my lap, then shuts the door and hurries to his side of the truck.
Cleaning wipes.
"For your hands," he says as he starts the truck and pulls out into traffic.
My fingers tremble as I remove some and start scrubbing at the blood on my hands.
Tears fill my eyes, making it hard to see, but I swipe them away.
Not yet. I can't fall apart yet. I need answers.
"Who are you? Is Dallas even your real name?
Who was that man? Why—?" My voice cracks and I have to clear my throat twice before I can get more out. "Why did someone kill my father?"
He tenses, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. Then he sighs. "What do you know of your father's business dealings?" he asks quietly.
"I know he wasn't a good man, okay? Things he did were... were shady at best. That's no reason to kill him. He was trying to do good for the country."
"Was he?"
His voice has no judgment, only curiosity. It slices through my indignation and I deflate. Scrubbing my skin feels easier than saying, "No. I don't know. Is that what you want to hear?"
Dallas shrugs.
"That man in the alley said a million and a half. Was that how much he was going to get for my father's murder?"
"Five hundred thousand for him and another five hundred for you."
His voice is clipped. Cold.
Where is the man that kissed me? And why do I want him back so badly? "He knew you."
He slides a glance at me. "And another five hundred for me."
That's right. The man said something else I didn't understand. "He said you hesitated. With what?"
"Gemma. Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."
I turn in my seat and grab his jacket. "Someone killed my father. They wanted to kill me. I need all the answers, Dallas or whoever you are." My cheeks burn hot with anger, but I don't care. I throw a dirty wipe at him. "Tell me."
"I took the contract on your father as well."
Pain rips through me. The way he held me when he kissed me was tender. It was the best kiss I've ever had, and all the while he was sent to kill my dad. It's stupid but part of me hopes he's an evil twin.
"But you didn't kill him." I don't know if it's a question or a statement. I'm pretty sure the guy in the alley was bragging about the kill.
"I hesitated."
"Why?" Why take a job to kill someone and then don't do it? Why kiss me and then rescue me?
"Gemma."
He's not going to tell me.
I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. What am I doing? I have to get out. Get away from him and death and killers and... and soft feelings I shouldn't have for him. I yank on the door handle, but it doesn't open.
Of course it's locked. I fumble for the latch, my fingers shaking.
"Gemma stop!" He yanks the truck into an empty parking lot and grabs my arm. "Stop."
I struggle against his hold. "Let me out. I have to go home."
"It's not safe. People are still after you."
"It's not safe in here!"
He swears under his breath and gently takes my shoulders, turning me to face him. His brows are pinched when he growls, "I couldn’t, Gemma. Not with you standing there. Not when I realized who he was to you."
My breath freezes in my lungs. "What?" I hate how breathy my voice is, and how my heart leaped at his words.
His thumb skims the skin beneath my lower lip. "Not after this."
Dallas releases me as if I burned him. "I'll take you somewhere safe. Then I'll finish this. You won't have to worry about looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life."
"Take me home."
"No."
"I need to check on my mother. What if someone goes after her too?"
Everything I do, I do for my family.
My father's words from earlier echo in my memory. A line he used over and over in his campaign like we were some all-American family. The postcard of happiness. My mother wasn't there tonight because she was home ill, like my dad told everyone. She checked herself into a mental health facility.
"I'll have someone check on her. Stay with her until—"
"No." I unlock the door. My hand lingers on the handle. Then I shove it open and release my seatbelt. "I'm going home. I'll call the police and my father's security company."
"Goddamnit, Gemma. Stop."
I'm already out of his truck. I turn to shut the door, and the dome light illuminates his pained features. My heart clenches. But I'm not listening to it. "Thank you for saving me."
As I slam the door closed, I hear him say, "Dallas. I didn't lie about that."
I swallow around the hard lump in my throat and hurry across the street. There's a big hotel at the end of the block with a cab stand, and in minutes, I'm on my way home.
As the cabby nears my house in the Garden District, I turn to look out the back window. No one followed.
I'm not disappointed.
I can't be. That would be insane, right? No matter how he kissed.
The house is dark when we stop at the curb. Eerily dark.
"Are you sure this is the right place, ma'am?" the man asks.
Ice slides down my spine. Even when the family isn't home, Charles and Matilda are there. The caretakers have lived with us since before my real father died.
Maybe they went to a movie or dinner. Except I know that's not the case.
"Ma'am? That's $15.50."
I don't have any money on me. My clutch was left behind at the gala. I expected Charles to come out with his jovial smile and could pay the driver for me. "Can you wait? Just for a moment?"
He frowns at me but nods.
I step out of the car and look around. Lights glow in the mansions up and down the street. The neighbor's dog is barking, and someone's television is too loud. In the distance, I hear the cars on St. Charles. Nothing seems amiss.
"Ma'am?"
"I'll be right back." I close the door and hurry to the front gate to enter the code.
A body slams into me from behind, one arm locking around my waist and the other over my mouth. "Got her," a gruff voice calls. The stench of sweat washes over me, making me gag.
I scream against his palm and thrash to break free.
He grips me tighter and spins me away from the gate.
A second man is waiting there. "Hold her," he says, lifting his hand.
The streetlights glint off the hypodermic needle held there.
I buck against the one holding me, trying to bite his hand, anything to break free.
The cabbie peals out and zooms down the street.
No! I can't die like this. I should have stayed with Dallas. He may be a killer but he wouldn't hurt me. Even for the money. It was there in his eyes when I closed the truck door.
Regret. Maybe even shame.
I should have trusted my gut when it told me not to run. Now it's too late.
My whole body shakes when the man steps forward with the needle. Tears prick my eyes but I won't beg. Not even if he could hear me with the giant palm over my mouth.
"You won't feel a thing," he says.
A hysterical laugh escapes me. As if that makes this better. I wish I'd been able to say goodbye to my mother and tell her I loved her. I wish I'd been nicer to Dallas.
The man grabs my arm, holding it straight. The needle inches closer.
I can't hold back the whimper. I hate needles.
A crack pierces the air.
The needle drops as the man spins wildly away.
"What the fuck?" the one behind me snarls.
A shadow moves in the darkness. Before I can make sense of what's happening, the man releases me and I stagger forward a step.
Sharp thumps and grunts come from behind. The man with the needle lays sprawled on the ground, unmoving, as blood pools beneath him and seeps into the grass.
When I turn, Dallas is there. He makes a sharp twist, and the giant man who grabbed me drops like a stone.
I stare at him a beat.
Then fly into his arms as the tears finally break free.
His arms close around me, holding me against his chest like I’m something precious. “I’ve got you, honey,” he murmurs into my hair.
Despite everything, I trust him. He saved me. Again. Even when I ran from him. And as I cling to him, feeling his lips against my temple, by racing heart begins to settle. Dallas won’t hurt me.
He’ll hurt anyone who tries.