Chapter 31 #2
Luther carries the information in his head, too. Destroying the folder doesn't destroy the knowledge, which means even if I find it and burn it, Luther can still talk. Can still make the call. Can still bury Rio and GhostEye and everything Rio has spent all these years building.
The folder alone isn't enough.
Luther needs to disappear, too.
I need him dead.
The idea forms with a cold clarity that I recognize as the part of me that grew up inside Iron Covenant — the part that knows exactly how this world works and what it takes to survive it. I begin to see the shape of how this plays out.
I’ll get someone to kill Luther.
I set Tina down on the bed gently.
"Stay," I say, as if she'd go anywhere without me.
I look around Rio’s room — at the white rumpled sheets, the afternoon light fading now toward evening, the security of a house that belongs to someone who built everything in it with his own hands.
You're free, Delilah. Free to choose where you belong. And you belong here.
I know that.
But there’s nothing to belong to without him here. I want this just as it is.
I scratch Tina behind the ears one last time. She leans into my hand.
"I'll be back," I tell her and hope she understands. “Rio will be back soon.”
I can't take her with me. I don't know how this will play out, and she'll be better off here.
But warm tears well up in the corners of my eyes as I pack my bag in the guest room, ready to take my meager belongings back to Sacramento.
My Vivienne Westwood dresses hang in the closet like ghosts, and that night feels so far away, the evening when I realized I was falling for him.
A few tears escape. I’m sad, scared, and uncertain despite my determination. I wipe my eyes, zip up my bag and go downstairs.
I clear my throat, straighten my shoulders and find normal Delilah under the goosebumps on my skin.
Vance is on the porch when I open the front door. His eyes narrow when he sees me — bag over my shoulder, keys in hand. Suspicion and questions flicker in his expression.
"I need to get out of the house," I tell him. "Clear my head."
That’s enough information. I need to play this by ear. The less he knows, the better.
He nods once and falls into step beside me, but I’m sure he wonders why I have this duffel bag. Still, I’m not a prisoner, and to interrogate me would be overstepping his brief. His only job is to make sure I stay alive.
My heart hammers the entire walk to the car. If I can't shake Vance, none of this works. There is no plan B. I have to get to Sacramento.
I need to be in that car alone. I need to be on that freeway.
And right now, there is a very professional, very attentive man getting into my passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt with absolutely nowhere else to be.
I drive.
The grounds of Monarch Hills disappear from my rearview mirror — the paddocks, the mountains red at the edges with the setting sun. Vance salutes the guards as we drive out the wrought iron gate.
Vance is quiet beside me. He doesn't ask where we're going. He doesn't make small talk. He watches the road, highly alert.
My hands are steady on the wheel. My heart is not.
I think about Rio sitting at his desk right now. Telling himself that morning will bring progress. He won't check on me for a while — maybe he’ll be gone for an hour.
How long do I have? Could he catch up to me on the freeway? I can't think about that now.
I need to lose Vance.
Sacramento is nearly two hours away, and I need a good head start on Rio. Once I'm there — once I'm actually back in that world — Rio’s only move is to build the case. Enzo and Ava won’t let him turn himself in. Would they?
It doesn’t matter. I’m committed now.
The edge of town is coming up along with the freeway junction. Vance hasn't said anything yet, but he will — a woman getting fresh air doesn't usually take the on-ramp to Sacramento.
The last stop before leaving Echo Valley is a gas station on the edge of town. I pull in.
If I can't lose Vance here and now, what do I do? Go back to Monarch Hills? Let Rio turn himself in? Watch those two women get handed over to men who will pay for them like they’re furniture?
Failing is not an option.
"I need to use the bathroom," I say, and immediately open my car door.
He’s out just as fast as I am and follows me inside, the doorbell jingling behind me. I follow the signs for the bathrooms and shove through a door marked Ladies. Behind me, I hear Vance's footsteps stop just outside.
I lock the door.
The bathroom is single occupancy, small, with a fluorescent light that buzzes faintly. Above the toilet is what I was hoping for. A window. And it’s one big enough for my ass to get through.
I climb quietly onto the toilet lid and reach for the latch with both hands, but it’s stiff and painted shut. I press with my thumbs til they hurt, until my face burns with held breath, but the latch doesn’t budge. It might as well be part of the wall.
My whole plan is resting on a window latch that hasn't moved since the Clinton administration.
I look around the bathroom. Paper towel dispenser. Soap pump. A metal garbage can for sanitary waste with a small lip on the lid.
I step down off the toilet, grab the can, and step back up.
I wedge the lip of the bin against the latch and push. My muscles strain as I use the metal to edge the lock. Then finally, it gives without me expecting it to and the metal garbage can surges from my grip and onto the floor with a clang.
The loud, horrible noise bounces off every hard surface.
Shit.
“I’m okay,” I call out, not wanting him to get worried and try to rescue me. “Just kicked the can over.”
“You sure?” Vance’s muffled voice comes through the door.
“Yup.”
I take a deep breath and pound the window open bit by bit. It’s stiff but gives, and finally, the cooling late afternoon air comes in. I could cry with relief.
The window is small, but I squeeze through.
The frame catches my hip. The concrete sill scrapes my palm raw.
I drop down onto the gravel on the other side— the impact shuddering up through me — and for one horrible second I just kneel there with gravel biting through my jeans and my scraped hand stinging.
Move your ass, Delilah.
I get up, keys already out of my pocket, and I run. Vance is nowhere in sight when I throw myself in the car. I start the engine.
I grip the wheel and pull out of the lot, tires screaming.
I don't look back. I cannot look back.
How long before Vance knocks? He'll give me a few minutes — he's professional, respectful. A few more before he gets someone to open the door. By then, I need to be far enough ahead that it doesn't matter.
I press the accelerator down.
The road into Echo Valley falls away behind me. The freeway opens up ahead, dark and wide and going exactly where I need to go.
Two hours to Sacramento.
Two hours to convince someone to kill Luther.