Chapter 4
It wasn’t a fling.Not really. Charlie made sure of that by not falling into bed with Nick the way she wanted to. For the next few weeks, they kept it light. Running three miles before breakfast. Gorging on eggs and bacon and lots of coffee at the nearest strip mall diner. Then going about her day collecting amusing moments to share with Nick the next time she saw him.
She left briefly for a trip to Firelight Ridge with Ani, and when she came back she was absurdly happy to find Nick still in Barlow.
He showed her pictures of his daughter, Hailey, and talked about his life in Chicago. She told him about her three best friends and what life had been like growing up as a misfit in this town.
“A misfit? You?” He laughed in disbelief as they did their post-run stretching routines. “That sounds like something models say. ‘I was never the pretty one growing up.’”
“I’ve never been a model, or a volleyball player, or a basketball player, or any of those typical tall-girl things.”
“What do you do? You never talk about your work.”
“It’s boring computer stuff. There’s literally nothing to say.”
“Computers run the world these days. How could that be boring? Besides…”
“What?”
He gave her a wry smile as he wiped sweat off his forehead. “You could probably make the phone book interesting. And phone books are practically historical artifacts these days.”
She felt a smile tug across her face. Those sneaky little compliments…they got to her every time. “Listen, I have to skip our run tomorrow. I have somewhere else to be.”
The Indiana State Penitentiary, specifically, but he didn’t need to know that. She had to give her father a heads-up about what was about to happen.
He slung the towel over his shoulder, which bulged with muscle under his damp gray t-shirt. Sometimes she thought he was too muscular to be a good runner. He was more like a boxer running laps to lose weight before a match.
“Funny, I was just about to tell you that I’m going home later today. They want me to deliver a report to a board meeting in person.”
“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but couldn’t quite manage it. Side stretch. That would allow her to hide her reaction. “Of course. Fly safe, and I hope it goes well for you.”
“If it goes well, I’ll be back in a few days.”
“Great.” To hide her smile, she performed the same side stretch on the other side. “But I won’t be slacking while you’re gone. We’re going for five miles next time.”
After breakfast, as they said goodbye in that strip mall parking lot, she could have sworn he thought about kissing her. She certainly thought about kissing him. She might not get another chance to feel what those nicely carved lips felt like. Things might not go well, after all. He might be not come back to Barlow, Indiana.
But instead she tossed him a casual wave as she slipped on her sunglasses and slid into her granny’s Buick. It was good that he was leaving. Perfect timing. No more distractions. If all went well, her father would be out of prison and under the care of medical professionals within days.
The next day,Charlie drove the five hours to the Indiana State Penitentiary. Then came the familiar routine of going through security, surrendering her ID, emptying her pockets, nodding a greeting to the guards. The prison moved at its own pace, and visitors just had to accept it. It was a small taste of what life was like for the inmates, whose time was never their own.
She caught a glimpse of the guard she was working with, and exchanged the tiniest of nods with him. We’re on track.
Gomez had been working at the penitentiary for years and had gotten to know her father. He’d even testified at his last parole hearing. And of course his daughter could go to college with what Charlie was going to pay him. She’d selected him very carefully, after tons of research.
By the time Donato Santa Lucia came into the visitor room in his familiar orange jumpsuit, she was almost ready for the shock. Every time she saw him lately, he’d lost more weight. His jumpsuit sagged on his body, and his normally cheerfully full face looked gaunt.
“Daddy,” she murmured as she gave him the brief embrace that guards allowed. He’d been locked up for so long now, giving only minimal trouble, that he was allowed certain privileges. “How are you feeling?”
“Tip-top.” He always sounded so chipper, no matter what. “Always happy when I get to see my girl.”
At a gesture from the guard, they both sat down on opposite sides of the table. “What are the doctors saying?”
“Oh, doctors. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I feel just as spiffy as ever. Let’s not talk about all that. How are you? Has Molly found Lila yet?”
Her father always loved hearing about her friends.
“Yes, she found her in Alaska, of all places. I just came back from a quickie visit to see her for myself. She’s tending bar at a place called The Fang in this tiny little outpost in the middle of a mountain range. There used to be a copper mine there, but now it’s just mountains and trails and glaciers.”
“What in the bejeezus is Lila doing there?”
“You know Lila. She follows her own muse. Anyway, Daddy, I’m working on something. Something big.” She stole a glance at the nearest guard patrolling the tables on this side of the visitor room. “I want you to be ready.”
She watched his face as understanding set in. Then fear.
“No.” Her father reached across the table and gripped her hands—something he wasn’t supposed to do. “Don’t take any risks on my account. I’m fine. The only thing I worry about is you, bunny.”
“Don’t you dare worry about me. I might take that personally.” She flashed him her most confident, sassiest smile. “You should know by now that I always come out on top. I will this time too.”
“No risks. Promise me.”
Of course there was risk. Lots of risks. But she was used to skating on the edge of catastrophe. It was practically a lifestyle at this point. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll pull the plug if anything looks sketchy.”
“No hands,” the guard warned.
Her father pulled his hands into his lap and beamed up at the guard. “Can you believe this gorgeous woman is my daughter? I’m just so proud.”
The guard looked unimpressed. “Times up. Let’s go.”
When she collected her belongings on her way out of the prison, a note was tucked inside her phone case. You’re being tracked. Need a pause.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Cold fear trickled down Charlie’s spine. Tracked? What did that mean? Followed? Investigated? She wasn’t worried about herself as much as she was about her father. This entire prison break idea was hers. He didn’t know a single detail about it—she’d made sure of it. If any hint got back to the authorities, he’d be sent to solitary and she’d never get him out.
But a pause…shit. Her father was ill, he needed better medical care. Did he have time for a pause? How long of a pause?
It’s okay, she tried to reassure herself. A pause won’t ruin anything. At least Gomez hadn’t pulled the plug on the whole operation. Of course not—he wanted that money, and he was only going to get it once her father was free.
As she looked up from the note, a flash of light at the far end of the parking lot caught her attention. She stilled and scanned the lot, but all she saw was the usual coming and going of visitors. It must have been the sun reflecting in a rearview mirror. But the prickles on the back of her neck told her otherwise.
Binoculars?
You’re being tracked.
As if she didn’t have a care in the world, she put on her sunglasses and sauntered to the Buick, each step an exercise in self-control. Don’t run. Don’t look rattled. You’re just a daughter visiting her father. If they’re tracking you, make it boring for them.
Safely inside her car, she pinned her gaze to the spot where she’d seen the flash of light. She had her own binoculars in her glove compartment. They came in handy in all sorts of situations. Scrunching down in her seat, she snagged them from the glove box and put them to her face. It took a moment to find a good focus, and in that time, things shifted on the other side of the lot. A car was leaving.
She sat up higher and adjusted the focus. The car—an innocuous beige economy car, the kind favored by rental companies—cruised toward the exit. A little fast for a parking lot, perhaps, but not fast enough to gain attention. She zeroed in on the driver. Male. Mid-thirties. Dark hair under his beanie. Dark aviator shades. Nicely shaped lips?—
Jesus. Was that Nick?
She cursed under her breath as she watched the car disappear out of the lot. After such a quick, faraway glimpse, she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure it was Nick Perini. If she could have seen his hair, that would be different, but that beanie hid it almost entirely. She’d never seen Nick wear a beanie. But that didn’t mean anything. She hadn’t spent enough time with him to know if he never wore beanies, or if she’d simply never seen him in one.
She started up the Buick and set off after the beige rental car. The Buick handled like a slow-moving tank on a Sunday afternoon drive. It wasn’t the best vehicle for catching up to someone. Probably best, she thought. What would she do if she caught him—whoever it was? She wasn’t interested in any kind of confrontation. All she wanted was to know what was going on and how much jeopardy she was in.
Once she was sure the car was out of reach, she pulled over at a rest stop and hauled out her private encrypted internet Mi-Fi. No one could track her moves on it, other than the NSA, the CIA and probably multiple other spy agencies. But there was no reason she’d be on that kind of radar.
Besides, all she was doing was a simple internet search on a guy she found attractive. Standard practice for single ladies everywhere. She should have done it earlier. Too distracted.
Nick Perini and Nicholas Perini both turned up multiple hits and pages of images. She scanned through the images first to make sure she got the right guy. Not a single one matched the man she knew as Nick Perini.
That was suspicious. But not impossible. Some people weren’t on social media, strange as it was these days.
Nick worked for himself, so no company would have posted a photo of him on their public-facing page. But wouldn’t he have his own site somewhere? Nick Perini, researcher for hire. Let me be your eyes and ears before you lose your shirt, or something like that.
Her searching turned up nothing, so she switched gears. He’d been staying at a hotel within walking distance of Il Trovatore. A quick check of all the nearby hotels would at least tell her if he was back in town, with a rental car to follow her to the penitentiary for some reason.
She didn’t spot any beige rental cars in the parking lots of any of the three hotels near the restaurant. Would it be worth going inside to ask if he was staying there? Probably not. She’d have better luck hacking into their reservations systems.
As she drove home to her laptop, she sorted through all the other details Nick had dropped during their encounters. His daughter. Was she even real? What if he’d made up that entire wild story to gain her trust? Was anything he’d said real?
Hector the bird was real.
She swerved the Buick in the tightest semi-circle it could manage, which called for executing a five—make that seven—point turn in the middle of her street, and headed for the Wildlife Waystation.
“He’s recovering well,” the white-bearded avian vet assured her. “He should be ready for release into the wild in a week or so.”
“What a relief! I wonder if you could help me. When Nick and I brought the bird in, he asked me to send him regular updates on how Hector was doing. But I dropped my phone in the toilet—long, embarrassing story—and I don’t have his number anymore. Is there any chance you could help me get in touch with him?”
“Oh, there’s no need. He came in earlier today to check on Hector. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, he did not, it must have been a last-minute change in plans. Well, as long as he knows how great Hector’s doing. That’s what matters.”
That wasn’t what mattered. Not at all. What mattered was the fact that Nick was in town when he was supposed to be gone, and the chances that he was the one tracking her had just skyrocketed.
Who was Nick Perini? Law enforcement? Her stomach roiled at the possibility. If he was regular law enforcement—a police officer, a U.S. Marshal, even an FBI agent—there would probably be some mention of him somewhere on the internet. But he could be part of a more low-profile group.
Or he could work in private security. So private he didn’t post any pictures of himself anywhere.
What if he was working for Hobbs Financial Services, trying to figure out who had secretly siphoned two million dollars off their obscenely overblown bottom line?
Suddenly Barlow, Indiana, felt far too small and exposed. Nick knew her car. He could easily find out where she lived, if he hadn’t already. In fact, now that she thought about it, hadn’t she noticed a smudge of dirt on a windowsill where there shouldn’t have been one? She liked to keep Granny’s house as clean as Granny had—in other words, literally spotless. Otherwise, she might get a ghost scolding.
She ran through her options. The first one that came to mind was to pretend that she hadn’t spotted Nick and carry on as before. Maybe Nick would reappear and she could try to figure out what he was up to.
Another option would be to confront him.
Neither of those options appealed to her at all. Nick might just be the tip of the iceberg. Whether he was law enforcement or private security, he had access to backup. She didn’t.
What if she was wrong and he wasn’t tracking her? Someone was—that note had told her that and asked for a pause. What better way to “pause” than to disappear for a while?
Which brought her to the next option. Leave town. Lay low. Until she knew what she was dealing with, she needed to stay off the internet. Make zero phone calls. Charge nothing on her credit card. In other words, she needed to go into hiding.
Only one place came to mind. The perfect remote off-the-radar off-grid location, complete with friends for support. Firelight Ridge.