Chapter Nineteen
Jack woke early, before the first hint of dawn was visible outside their window. Sometime during the night, he’d crossed into Ava’s space, and now her head was pillowed on his shoulder, his arm flung out across the bed, settled on her.
They were cuddling.
Jack eased his arm out from beneath her head, and she mumbled in her sleep, eyebrows furrowing. When he rolled out of bed and onto his feet, noiseless as always, she reached out one arm as if looking for him.
For him.
Jack had never been anyone’s comfort. Not even when he’d had a husband who loved him.
He had been too isolated, too avoidant, too . . . too closed off.
Jack shook his head, as if that could clear the mental cobwebs.
He packed their things—the small cooler he’d gotten from Safeway, the remaining groceries, the go bag he’d taken with him when he left the rental house outside Portland.
They didn’t have many next moves, at least not viable ones, but one thing he could do while Ava slept was get closer to Cale Jacobson’s compound and do some scouting.
He shouldn’t take her, either. She had heat on her unlike anything Jack had ever experienced. But she’d be pissed if he left her behind.
Jack looked down at her sleeping form and sighed before he moved quietly across the room to fish Ms. Rae’s phone out of Ava’s purse—how she had stolen it in the first place, much less held on to it through her kidnapping, was beyond him.
He’d been able to guess Ava’s passcode fairly easily, but with Ms. Rae, he had no place to start.
Instead, he’d have to do his best at decryption, see if he could uncover anything useful still on this phone.
“You won’t get in.”
Jack startled, his shoulders tensing. He usually wasn’t this easy to sneak up on, but Ava Cavalcante was constantly surprising him.
He turned.
Ava was wrapped in one of the motel sheets, leaning against the wall behind him.
“I thought ten a.m. was your earliest,” Jack said.
“And I thought you’d just ask for the phone instead of sneaking it out from my bag,” Ava said through a yawn. “Silly me.”
“You’re upset that I took a phone you stole?” Jack fought a smile. “If you have any ideas on how to get in, I’m all ears. I have some decryption software on my laptop, but that’s lengthy, and it isn’t my main skill set.”
“Your main skill sets being murdering people for money and making me come,” Ava said.
Jack choked.
“Am I wrong?”
Jack shook his head.
“Who’s Jay?” she asked.
Jack froze. “What?”
“You say his name,” Ava said curiously. “In your sleep. Who was he? Was—”
As if on cue, his own phone buzzed—if Jack had to guess, it was probably another increasingly impatient message from his client, telling him that Ava needed to go.
He rarely felt anything but trepidation when clients texted him, but this—this was a welcome relief.
Anything to avoid answering questions about Jay.
Who he apparently talked about in his sleep.
For a moment, in the predawn light, staring at Ava’s fierce hazel eyes, Jack had to fight the urge to open his mouth and tell her everything.
Not just about the client, their proposed hit on Ava, but the rest, too.
That he’d been married, once. That he’d been happy, once.
That it was his fault Jay was gone, that it was his fault he was this way now.
That if she had any sense, she’d leave now before he destroyed her like he’d destroyed every good thing he’d ever had.
Jack shook his head, clearing the cobwebs away. That was madness. He couldn’t tell her that, not ever. He’d get through this and then leave her behind to fend for herself, and of all the things he could do, that option was probably the kindest.
“Earth to Jack,” Ava called, waving the sheet at him.
“Sorry,” he said softly, and meant it. “We need to find a way into this phone, so if you know anything, tell me now.”
“Only if you take me with you instead of sneaking off,” Ava said sharply. That look in her eyes was no longer playful. Instead, the undercurrents there were deadly.
“I wasn’t—”
“Going to go scout around Cale Jacobson’s mansion today?”
Her words stopped him in his tracks. That was exactly what he’d been planning.
Ava let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why would I help you, Jack?” she asked. “Why would I help you with that phone, or anything else I know, if you’re going to run off and leave me first chance you get?”
So I don’t have to kill you, Ava Cavalcante.
That was what he wanted to say. Wanted to blurt it right out and watch her eyes widen. Wanted it all out in the open.
But instead Jack cleared his throat and said:
“Can you be ready in ten minutes?”
“Definitely not, and getting from naked and sleepy to ready and out the door in ten minutes is an unreasonable ask of anyone,” Ava told him from under the sheet, but he could see the outline of her ass as she wiggled it at him. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I bought you clothes,” Jack told her, pinching the bridge of his nose. Clearance Walmart sweatpants were going to have to do, since she hadn’t given him any guidelines when he’d asked the day before. He tossed the bag to her and ignored her question a second time, because what could he say?
Ava wrinkled her nose. “You got me sweatpants that say Dog Mom on the butt? And are these . . . did you get me granny panties, Jack? Tell me your real full name so I can full-name you. You need to feel the extent of your shame.”
Jack had told her his real name, though he couldn’t blame her for thinking that was another stretch of the truth.
“I didn’t know you wore underwear,” Jack told her honestly.
Ava punched him in the arm, hard. “Get out of here.”
“That’s the plan,” he said. “Get dressed. Underwear or not. And are those really called ‘granny panties’? Or is that just a horrible name you gave them?”
“Everyone calls them that,” Ava said, rolling her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “And don’t look at me, I’m naked.”
“You were naked when you were riding me last night,” Jack said, leaning against the wall behind him and folding his arms, surveying her with a grin. “And when you got on your knees for me like a good girl. And when you cuddled me all night. But if it really matters to you now—”
“Excuse me, I cuddled you?” Ava snatched the underwear and started pulling on a pair—which was honestly a shame, because covering that ass seemed sinful to Jack.
“You wouldn’t let me move last night. Every time I rolled around, you’d reach out with those big long arms of yours and yank me against you.
I couldn’t have snuck out of here if I’d wanted to. ”
Jack arched an eyebrow. Why hadn’t he considered, last night, that she might still try to leave? It gave him pause. How sure he’d felt that she’d stay.
Only one night after she’d given him the slip, hot-wired his rental car, and nearly gotten herself killed.
“Did you want to?” he asked. “Leave?”
“No,” Ava huffed as she pulled on the sweatpants. “But you’re buying me a thong today. Maybe a few. And you’re buying me a nice dress because I’ll need a name-brand cocktail gown to get close to a billionaire. Which you would know if you were any good at this.”
“I’ve never had to buy a dress to do my job before,” Jack said. He’d never considered working with a partner, not even once in the long, winding journey that had brought him here. “Get a shirt on, and we’ll go.”
“I’m assuming you didn’t buy me a bra,” Ava continued complaining. “Really, Jack? Are my tits just supposed to be free balling in my shirt?”
“Free balling?”
“You heard me.” She pulled on a soft yellow T-shirt that read I’m Not Bossy, I’m Just the Boss above a coffee cup. “And now I’m dressed like a dog owner who lets her dog shit in somebody else’s peonies and then leaves it there. Who also wears slogan T-shirts. From Walmart.”
Jack opened his mouth to respond, but a heavy knock on the door stopped him in his tracks.
“Police!” a man’s deep voice sounded at the door. “Police, open up.”
Jack hooked an arm around Ava’s waist and hauled her back into the bathroom he’d fucked her in yesterday.
“What the fu—”
Jack clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he snapped in a hushed voice.
Another series of heavy knocks rattled the windows of the small motel room.
Ava’s eyes were wide, but at least she understood the stakes now. Jack released her, stepping back slightly.
Fuck.
If they breached the door, there was no way out. Not without killing a cop, and that would bring a federal manhunt for Jack and Ava. That would be heat that was impossible to stay ahead of.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How do they know? Ava mouthed at him.
Jack shook his head. You had to always assume they knew more than you wanted them to. You had to always assume that you were closer to being caught than you should be. You had to always keep moving.
Jack should be long gone.
The loud knocking paused, and Jack breathed out. Then it resumed, but farther away.
Jack let out his breath, dropping to a seat on the edge of the tub. “They don’t know, not for sure,” he said softly. “Or they’d already be in here. But they know they’re close to finding us, so they’re going door-to-door to see if they can get a lead. Ava, we have to go.”
Ava’s face was pale, but somehow she looked less daunted by this turn of events than she should, less afraid. “You’re still buying me a thong today,” she said. She almost looked defiant as she said it.
Jack shot to his feet, his heart pounding.
“I could go open that door right now, Ava,” he said softly.
“Tell them I picked you up at the bar last night, that I didn’t know you were dangerous until I saw your face all over the news.
Should I? Give me one reason to think you’re taking this seriously enough, Cavalcante.
That you’re not going to get us killed.”
It took everything he had to moderate his tone, to keep from snarling the words at her.
“I give good head, O’Sullivan,” Ava shot back. She tipped her chin up and met his gaze, unrelenting. “And I know how to get into Ms. Rae’s phone.”
Jack grimaced. He did need that fucking phone—or it would at least be helpful. If they managed to make it out of here at all, that is.
He had decided, somehow, not to kill Ava. He’d decided to keep her with him until the job was done, to keep her from snitching on him in favor of a plea deal—because whether she knew it or not, she was one of the only people alive who still knew him by his full name.
Jack had even, stupidly, decided to fuck her. A decision that was beginning to complicate things.
“Fine,” he gritted out. “Let’s go. Take only what you can carry. Wear a hoodie, keep it low, and wear a mask. I have a box with the groceries—that’ll throw off facial-detection software, and out here there are still enough people masking that people don’t really think twice about it.”
“Try masking in Iowa,” Ava said. “Everyone stares at you like you have two heads.”
Jack grunted, moving past her.
“Jack—”
“Go.”
They didn’t have time for more of her banter, her quips, the humor that melted him until it felt like he was defenseless.
Jack shoved his recent grocery purchases back into their sacks—some into his duffel, so there were fewer items to carry—and grabbed his bags.
He kept them packed. He’d had luggage packed even when he and Jay’d had that little apartment in Atlanta, back when Jack O’Sullivan was still trying to convince himself that he was someone who could stay in one place.
“I’m ready,” Ava said, a little breathlessly.
Despite her defiance, her refusal to do this on Jack’s terms, she was darting around, grabbing her belongings and shoving one foot into the sneakers he’d bought her.
The cops were a few doors farther down now, still knocking on doors.
An elderly woman shouted at them to go away, and more voices were mingled now.
Jack thought he recognized one of the owners, the nervous but flamboyant man with an impeccable sense of style who had checked Jack in the previous day.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Jack said. “And no, you’re not ready. You’re still running around. Finish up.”
This would be tight—the odds of escaping without detection of any kind were low. The growing commotion outside could help, because it would be easier to get lost in a throng of people than sneak out with nobody else outside.
An insistent, flustered voice sounded sharply outside—
“You cannot interrupt our guests’ beauty sleep!”
Yes, it was the owner. Jack breathed out.
This could work. Maybe. If the cops were distracted by the owner fussing at them, Jack could get into the van without drawing attention.
It sounded like there were two, maybe three, police officers, which meant they couldn’t be that sure Ava was here.
Crimes against billionaires always brought out an absolute army of cops.
“I could fit out the back window.”
Jack stopped, one hand on his duffel bag. “I can’t,” he said. “And besides, I have to get the van or we’ll have no way out of here.”
“Come pick me up around back,” Ava said. “You could leave out the door. They’re not looking for you.”
Jack hesitated. The look on Ava’s face was guarded, cautious.
But she was offering this like a lifeline: her trust.
He could walk out that door, drive north out of town and up to Cale Jacobson’s mansion. Leave Ava Cavalcante behind completely.
And she, impossibly, was trusting him not to.