Freckles

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

FRANCESCA

I beep the remote alarm for the car, then Aidan waves to me from a few vehicles down and I pause, waiting for him to join me. “Hey, stranger. Does this mean I’m not persona-non-grata anymore?”

He pulls a face. “Yeah… sorry about that. It wasn’t my choice.” He glances around with a shifty gesture I didn’t know was part of his repertoire. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Doesn’t this count as private?” I laugh. “There’s no one else here.”

“It’s…” He puffs out a breath. “Look, you’re with Kincaid and that’s your choice, obviously, but I just wanted you to know…” Aidan’s voice trails off like he’s struggling with his emotions, but if he is, there’s a disconnect with his expression.

He looks pissed , and it makes me uneasy. Just like with Lance on the weekend, it’s like he’s peeled away his outer disguise to reveal a different persona underneath.

I shiver, then pretend it’s from the cold, rubbing my arms and turning my back to the wind. “Could you just tell me? I mean, it’s obvious either Kincaid or Ezra warned you away from me and I know how much sway they have in the team. I don’t hold a grudge for putting rugby first, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Is that what he told you?” Aidan gives a hoarse, humourless laugh. “You think I’m that petty?”

“Kincaid didn’t tell me anything.” I wait a second but when he still doesn’t talk, I add, “And neither have you.”

“I couldn’t.” He blows out a breath, placing his hands on his hips. “He warned me if I got in contact with you, he’d cut you. Like properly cut you, so you’d wear the scars for life.” When I don’t react, his voice gets higher pitched. “He threatened to slice open your face.”

“When?”

Aidan looks astonished. “Does it matter? I just said your boyfriend threatened—”

“A while ago, then?” I’m not sure why I’m salty at his admission, but my temper is all the way fired. “But you waited till today to tell me?”

“I was scared before.” Outrage creeps into his voice. “Scared for you.” When I still show no signs of having the right reaction, his cheeks mottle with colour. “I don’t know why you’re upset with me. I’m the one trying to help.”

Trying to help. The idea is a drill bit in my brain.

“If you were scared before, what changed?” He doesn’t answer but his eyes narrow and I keep my gaze trained on his face, trying to catch every micro-expression. I vividly remember how much of a gut-punch it was when he ignored my greeting in the corridor.

The day I walked inside with Kincaid holding my hand.

“It was the Thursday I bunked off my afternoon classes, wasn’t it?”

His lips purse and I take it as a yes. The day I went to the clinic and the pawn shop. A day where I could have used a friend.

Later, Kincaid had showed his vulnerability while confiding how he got his scars, and everything between us started to change.

If Aidan had told me before that, would it have been any different?

An impossible question, but my instinct is probably not.

It wasn’t like Kincaid ever hid his possessive streak or that he wanted me by his side in the cafeteria. With all that’s happened in the past few weeks, I don’t believe he would ever have cut me. It was just an empty threat to control the situation and get his preferred outcome. He’s been shameless at using every tool in his arsenal.

The crowd at the game roars, signalling the team is jogging onto the field, which begs a new question. “Why aren’t you at the game?”

He appears utterly perplexed. “Because I needed to tell you and thought—”

“Bullshit. You kept this a secret and let me spend every day in Kincaid’s company when you could easily have told me without him knowing. We’re in two classes for Christ’s sake. If you’re concerned now, it’s only because it suits you.” I take a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Did you fuck up and get kicked off the team?”

His thunderous expression tells me the truth, and I’m done.

“Save your crocodile tears. We’re not friends any longer, Aidan. Considering your priorities, I don’t think we ever were.”

I get into my car, locking the doors when he stands in place. I only came here to get the rug, but under Aidan’s glare, I decide to go home to dress in something warmer. The unexpected confrontation has driven every sexy thought from my brain. With the mood killed, to sit in the stands, wearing what I am, would be uncomfortable. Even dirty.

I’m deep in thought when I pull into the driveway, thinking over everything Aidan revealed. Turned so far inward, the shadow in the corner of my eye doesn’t register.

Not until a man jumps into the back seat of the car, grabs my seatbelt from the holder, and wraps it around my neck, pulling the heavy nylon tight against my windpipe.

My pulse spikes. I claw at the strap, nails catching my skin as I try to loosen it enough to breathe.

“Put your hands down.”

The voice is distorted through a modulator, the low digital rumble enough to make my skin crawl.

My attacker wears a thick balaclava, and for one horrifying moment, I think it’s Kincaid’s uncle, but a glance in the rearview mirror shows me this guy is far too small and slender.

When he sees me watching, he releases the strap.

I gulp in a breath, then blurt, “You don’t want to fuck with me. Hurt me in any way, and my boyfriend will make sure you don’t wake up tomorrow.”

Instead of acting threatened, the man laughs, the voice distorter squealing with feedback. He turns it off and lets go of the strap, pressing something sharp to my throat. “Is that any way to talk to the man who tried to help you dispose of your freezer?”

Even without the explanation, I recognise his voice.

The mask and unexpected attack are still frightening, but at least I know who he is.

“And although I commend you on the lovely performance, considering what you asked me to do the last time we spoke, I wouldn’t be quite so sure anyone’s coming to your defence.”

My pulse accelerates. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure.” He gives another laugh, the sound devoid of any humour.

“What do you want?”

“Just a little help, my dear. Nice car.” I risk another glance at the rearview mirror and the blade looks like a scalpel. The type of weapon that could slice through my artery with the tiniest flick of his wrist.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“About your new friend.” He tilts his head. “Looks like he’s showering you with riches.”

I give a small nod, wary of too much movement.

“I wouldn’t mind benefitting from your relationship, too. You can help an old friend out with a few secrets, can’t you?”

“You didn’t even do the job I paid you for. There’s no way I’m handing you secrets.”

He shifts and the blade moves from my neck. I lunge for the door again, but he grabs my hair, yanking me back so hard my scalp screeches in protest.

“Settle down or someone’s going to get hurt.” This time when I look in the mirror, there’s a phone in his hand. “Here’s something to consider.”

My own voice blasts through the tinny speakers. The pitch is higher than it sounds in my head, the intonation flatter but still unmistakable.

“If you won’t reschedule the old job, then how about a new one? How much to kill someone?”

“Kill who?”

“Kincaid Tana.”

The recording breaks off, then starts again. And again. The repetition drills the point home. The words grow more ominous each time I hear them.

My attacker pockets his phone, not bothering with the scalpel now I know he has something far more deadly in his possession.

“Do you know what happened to the last person who challenged Lance Tana’s family?” Without a break to let me answer, he catches my eye in the rear view and draws his finger across his throat. “Word is it took the poor sod three days to die and the worst he’d threatened was a beating.”

My heart wants to protest that Kincaid would never let his uncle hurt me like that, any more than he’d follow through on his threat to Aidan.

But this concern is harder to dismiss. I remember our conversation in Auckland. He’d only hurt you if you threaten our family…

If Lance would be upset by a police complaint levelled at his son, a hitman hired to kill his nephew is certain to bring out his full wrath.

It wouldn’t just put me on the wrong side of his ledge, it would set fire to every spreadsheet, reducing his calculations to ash.

I doubt he will care that my attempt failed.

Kincaid might accept my explanation, but the strangely formal relationship with his uncle makes me doubt he could sway him. Even if he does now… what happens if he grows sick of me in six months? A year? A decade?

I’m so scared my bladder throbs a warning. I set my jaw to hold back tears.

“If you were anyone else,” the man continues, “I would hand this straight to Lance Tana in return for some ungodly sum, but since you’re an existing client, I’m going to give you the deal of a lifetime. Are you listening?”

I nod, then clear my throat enough to croak out, “Yes.”

“Good. There’s a USB drive in a safe at Tana Manor that belongs to me. Your little boyfriend stole it from a friend of mine, and now I want it back.”

“You want me to steal it?” I’m horrified. I have no clue how to break into a safe.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that. At this stage, I just want you to facilitate its return. Get me gate code to the property and a keycard for the door. I’ll take care of the rest.” He squeezes my shoulder, giving me a shake. “Doesn’t that sound easy?”

It sounds like a shortcut to getting killed, but I play along. “And if I give those to you, you’ll delete the recording?”

It doesn’t matter what he says. It would be stupid to get rid of leverage against a business rival. Even if he never plans to use it, keeping it in his back pocket for a just-in-case scenario still leaves me exposed. I could kill him right now and it would just pass to whoever is second-in-command.

It will always hang over my head.

Fear swells until I’m choking on it, struggling to breathe.

“We’ll see,” he says, not even trying to allay my worries. “Get me the information and I’m sure we’ll come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. How does that sound?”

Dark spots fill my vision. I nod and he climbs out of the car, pausing with his hand on the open door.

“You’ve still got my number. Text me the details when you have them, and I’ll rent a box where you can leave the access card. Don’t do anything stupid or that recording goes straight to Lance.”

He slams the door, cutting through my neighbour’s section and quickly moving out of sight while I collapse into the seat with my shoulders slumping.

I can’t go to the police.

There’s no way I’m giving him the code and card he requested.

Telling Kincaid is tantamount to throwing myself on his uncle’s mercy.

The only viable option left is to run.

I move indoors, packing a bag with necessary belongings, tossing the cash and burner phone from the pawn shop in there, leaving behind anything that doesn’t matter.

Panic is nipping at my heels, but I keep it at bay by staying on the move, letting my head filter through the ideas on where and how to run, getting back into the driver’s seat in ten minutes flat.

The car isn’t in my name yet. If I drive anywhere for too long, they’ll report it stolen and let the police bring me straight back into their trap. With less than an hour before the game ends, Kincaid will soon discover I’m not where I’m meant to be.

I need to ditch it before then.

Although the airport is tempting, the airlines won’t let me board without ID, and I don’t have the money or knowhow to arrange a pseudonym at short notice. Use my real name, and Kincaid will be waiting at my destination.

Breathe.

You still have time.

I head to the airport anyway, and leave the car in the long-term parking, tossing the keys into the nearest rubbish bin. I’m about to board the shuttle to the bus exchange when my phone buzzes against my hip.

Panic screams through me as I realise my first big mistake.

He’s tracking the phone.

I hunch my shoulders, taking covert glances at my surroundings like I’m being watched in real time, then I force out a laugh.

Kincaid’s good but he’s not that good.

The laugh resets me, clearing my mind enough to think. I retrace my steps, finding the same bin I tossed the keys into, and hold the phone above it. I could take out the SIM card and keep my number, but chances are that’s traceable. Better to throw the lot away.

My fingers refuse to release it. I stare at my hand, breaths getting shorter as my knuckles turn white.

I don’t want to ditch the last connection I have with Kincaid. I hate that I remembered he can track it because all I want is for him to come and rescue me, wrap his arms tight around my torso and tell me everything’s going to be all right. Save me the way he did before, when I confessed the truth about the man in my garage freezer.

But this isn’t the death of a stranger he doesn’t give a damn about.

The points are valid, yet my fingers still refuse the command. I shake, standing beside a bin in the crowded airport carpark. Struggling to breathe.

Pathetic.

I was a girl who wanted to send people to the stars, and now I can’t even control my fingers.

“Do you need a hand there, love?”

The sudden query makes me jerk and I drop the phone, giving a cry as I spin to see a man frowning at me, his eyes thrown into shade by the long bill of a promotional cap.

I skitter away from him, shaking my head, grateful to see a new shuttle has already pulled to the curb.

A few passengers shuffle their feet, waiting for it to open its doors, and I join them. Bag over my shoulder, head down, not making eye contact. Wishing I’d thought to bring a cap to hide my distinctive hair.

Once I’ve boarded, I sigh in relief as the shuttle pulls into the flow of traffic, heading for the central bus depot. A minor piece of redirection that might gain me anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours head start, and at this point, I’ll take any advantage I can get.

When I arrive, I book a ticket to Wellington, the cheapest available, including the ferry ride across the strait.

During the short wait until boarding, I pace back and forth, scared to move too far in case the vehicle leaves without me.

Even when I’m seated and the bus pulls away, I can’t relax.

I might never be able to relax again.