Chapter 12
This was not how things were supposed to happen.
Okay, so nothing had happened according to any semblance of any plan since Cole and Mother had walked into Alders’s party. It had been nonstop chaos and fuckery since shortly after Mother’s first cubism monologue of the night.
But in a matter of very few days, Cole’s entire world had gone off its fucking rails in ways it never should have, and there was no end in sight.
Case in point—he was now white-knuckling the steering wheel of a piece-of-shit rental car, speeding as much as Vermont’s twisty roads allowed, after getting an uncharacteristically panicked text from Lilith.
And on top of that, he was inexplicably relieved that Will Yarmouth was riding shotgun.
He wasn’t about to go down that mental backroad.
This was not the time to consider if he was just glad he hadn’t watched Will die on the pavement in Montreal, if he was relieved Will hadn’t been hurt or killed on his watch, or if he was actually—for reasons he couldn’t begin to parse—pleased Will was here.
That last one was impossible and he had no idea why it had even crossed his mind.
Will was a thorn in his side, an albatross around his neck, and a pain in his ass, and Cole would weep with relief if the man talked his way into someone else’s car.
Or stepped into traffic. That would be fine, too.
It would. Really, it would.
He glanced at Will, who was twisted around, peering out the back window, features taut and eyes sharp.
Even after Cole had faced the road again, he had a clear picture of Will burned into his retinas.
He hated how Will was exactly as nervous and calm as he needed to be in a situation like this.
He hated that Will was alert and quiet, keeping an eye on their surroundings while Cole navigated the narrow road through the dense forest. It was fucking annoying because it made it a lot harder to hope that as soon as they stopped for any reason, Will would leap from the car and disappear into Cole’s past where he belonged.
Cole was supremely displeased by the reality that he was probably a lot better off with Will than a million miles away from him.
As much as Cole preferred to work alone even when he had options that weren’t Will fucking Yarmouth, he understood that two heads were often better than one.
This was one of those situations, and he really, really, fucking really hated how much he liked that the other head in question was Will’s.
Maybe I fell off the tower in Montreal. Maybe this is just my brain firing off random delirious nonsense before I blink out of existence and—
“Silver SUV.” Will’s voice was calm to the point of conversational as he turned around and faced the windshield. “Three cars back.”
It took Cole a second to even emerge from his own ridiculous thoughts enough to parse Will’s words.
Another second to act on them, glancing in the rearview.
Despite the road whipping around tight curves and hairpins, there were in fact a few vehicles behind him.
If Cole so much as tapped his brakes, that battered maroon sedan on his tail would be in their backseat.
Behind that fucker was a blue car that looked like pieces should’ve been falling off.
And third in line, tailgating the crumbling blue car, was a silver SUV.
Swallowing, Cole faced the road again. “What about it?”
“He’s either just a dickhead,” Will said evenly, “or he’s trying to get up behind us.”
“And the clown who’s so far up my ass he’s tickling my prostate isn’t?”
Will was blessedly silent for a moment. Then, “There’s a gas station coming up.”
“And we have half a tank.”
“Uh-huh. And if we stop, we can see which of the three cars behind us is actually interested in us.”
Cole scowled. Much to his irritation, Will had a point.
The road wound to the right, then left, and sure enough, a gas station came into view on the right.
The rustic building probably wasn’t an aesthetic choice; it was likely exactly as old and decrepit as it looked.
Its uneven parking lot was narrow and had several cars in it, including one getting ready to leave (thus blocking the exit) and one beside each pump (creating more barriers if Cole needed to GTFO).
He debated not stopping after all, but he quickly mapped out an escape route and decided they could do this safely.
So… fine.
He put on his signal and started to slow down.
The clown who’d been doing his best impression of a hemorrhoid veered into the left lane and accelerated hard, the engine screaming and tires squealing as he flew past Cole.
As Cole eased into the gas station’s parking lot, the blue car cruised on by without incident… followed by the silver SUV.
Cole shot Will a look.
His passenger just shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
Cole just grunted.
He started back toward the road, but Will gestured at the gas station. “Stop anyway. I want to get some chips.”
“Some—” Cole blinked. “I’m sorry, did you miss the part where we need to get the fuck out of Dodge and find another place to hunker down?”
It was a struggle, but Cole managed to stop himself from backhanding that stupid smile off Will’s face.
He did, however, put up his finger. “Call me ‘honeybee’ one more time, and so help me God, I will leave you here.”
Will fucking winked. “Just park, sugar.”
Cole did, backing into a space in front of the store, wondering all the while if perhaps he should backhand Will just for fun. Before he could make a decision, though, Will was out of the car and striding into the shitty little convenience store.
Alone in the car, Cole pushed out an exasperated breath. He kept the engine running—he was still too nervous to let his guard down. As long as he didn’t have to watch the road, though, he did look at his phone.
No new texts. That could’ve been a good thing or a bad thing. No news could be good news, or it could be super horrible bad fucking news.
He opened the text app where he’d gotten the message from Lilith that had sent them flying out of Will’s safehouse.
I think Marcus told Alders that you and Yarmouth took the Puffin. Wherever you are, get somewhere else, because his minions know you’re in Vermont.
Even now he could feel the way his blood had turned cold and his stomach had hit the floor.
He didn’t want to know what kind of “minions” Alders had, but a narcissistic billionaire—particularly one who’d been robbed and humiliated in his own home—had the means to hire just about anyone.
A team of actual mercenaries was not outside the realms of possibility.
Neither was a hitman. Especially since Cole remembered seeing that one couple at the party who allegedly were hitmen.
There were rumors about those two—some of which were likely legends, but others were oddly specific enough that they had to be true.
They were retired, apparently, and extraordinarily wealthy, living a life of weirdly-mismatched-but-apparently-happy wedded bliss, but a particularly enticing job could potentially coax them back into action.
He shuddered. Just what he fucking needed.
Well, if that was the situation he was in, then that was the situation he was in, and there was nothing to do but deal with it. While he waited for Will—for fuck’s sake, how long did it take to buy some chips?—he texted Lilith.
On our way to Philly. I’ve got a safehouse there near Strawberry Mansion. We’ll hunker down for a few days.
I’m stunned that you would go anywhere near Strawberry Mansion.
Desperate times, etc.
Fair enough. No one will think to look for you there.
Any idea who he’s sending after us?
Difficult to say. I don’t know if Marcus fed him more information than just blaming you for the Puffin theft, but he’s furious. He wants your heads, and he might mean that literally.
Great. I’ll ping when you when we’re in Philly.
The response to that was a thumbs up.
A moment later, the passenger door swung open, and by some miracle, Cole didn’t have a heart attack or piss himself. He’d even recovered most of his dignity by the time Will deposited himself in the seat with all the grace of a fish out of water.
Oblivious to Cole’s brief panic, Will shoved an open bag in his face and asked around some chips, “Want some?”
Cole glared at him. Then he rolled his eyes and shifted the car into drive. “Let’s just go.”
“Suit yourself.” The bag exited Cole’s peripheral vision, and it crinkled as Will apparently dug out another chip. As Cole pulled out onto the highway, Will said, “Uh… this is the way we came.”
“Mmhmm.” Cole turned left and accelerated. “So if that silver SUV is waiting for us somewhere down that way”—he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb—“they’ll be waiting a while.”
Will crunched thoughtfully. “So you do think I was right that he was—”
“I think it’s smart to not take unnecessary risks.”
“Admit it—I was right.”
Cole just rolled his eyes and kept driving.
“Where are we going, then?”
“Buffalo. I’ve got a place in Larkinville we can stay until we know which way is up.”
Will didn’t question him. Cole admittedly felt a little guilty about lying to him, just like he felt guilty about lying to Lilith.
This was, however, one of those situations where he had to be extremely careful who he trusted…
and he saw the value in dropping bits of disinformation to see who reacted.
If someone showed up at his Strawberry Mansion or Larkinville safehouses, then he’d know there was a leak somewhere.
Someone was monitoring his phone, the rental car, or a damn Airtag somewhere.
Or Will’s the leak.
Or Lilith.