19. Brooke
I’m either a genius or the world’s biggest fool, I think to myself as I ride in the back of Joe’s delivery truck. Either way, this is what I have to do.
I can’t have my baby growing up in a world where you can be kidnapped and beaten to prove a point to your rival in crime.
Another thing I can’t do is think about what it will do to Lev when he finds out I’m gone. I’m taking his baby, and I know it will hurt him, and I feel that pain already in my chest when I think about it. But I can’t let that distract me from what I have to do to protect this baby. It’s not about me or Lev anymore.
The truck hits a pothole, and my bones rattle with the vibration. It takes me back to the night of the explosion, and I shiver. I’m cold, and my bones are stiff from sitting in this cramped position for the last twenty minutes.
The plan is to sneak out of the truck when Joe stops for his next delivery and find somewhere safe to stay the night. I’ll admit this isn’t the best thought-out plan. Time was of the essence when I decided to flee.
Finally, after what feels like the bumpiest, longest ride in the history of driving, Joe pulls up and opens the back door. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t see me hiding behind a stack of boxes toward the rear of the truck.
Fortunately, he pulls out a tray of bread and then leaves, and I see my chance to finally sneak out.
Outside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the late afternoon light. It’s going to be dark soon.
You need to find somewhere safe to sleep.
We’re parked out in the front of a strip mall. Across the intersection is a gas station, and next to it is a motel.
I dash across the road and disappear inside the motel. An older lady with a kind face is behind the reception counter and looks me up and down when I walk in. She looks for my luggage but doesn’t say anything when she realizes I don’t have anything. Going by the dated furnishings and original carpet from the eighties, I think discretion is this motel’s selling point.
“It’s twenty-five dollars for the night, sweetheart,” she says.
I don’t have any cash or a card, but luckily, I have my Apple wallet on my phone.
But then I remember, Lev will be able to trace that.
Damn it. How am I going to do this without him finding me?
I call Henry, who is currently staying in my apartment back in Chicago, and he answers on the second ring. “You know, I could get used to living here. Do you know you’re in the delivery area for the best Chinese food in the city?”
“That’s great, Henry, but I need your help.”
Hearing the tone in my voice, he’s immediately concerned. “Why do you sound so panicked? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine and safe, but promise me you won’t freak out when I tell you that I need a motel room for the night and that I need someone other than me to pay for it.”
He pauses, then says, “And that someone else is me, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay? Wait—” His concern turns to wicked suspicion. “Is this for some kind of tryst? A little afternoon delight between you and a mysterious stranger?”
I hold back telling him I’m done with mysterious strangers.
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Does he have a wife? A girlfriend? Is that why neither of you can use your own credit card?”
“There is no one else here but me.”
He goes quiet for a beat.
Then I hear the concern in his voice again. “What’s going on, baby doll? Should I be worried about you? Oh my God, is someone forcing you to make this call? Say the kitty litter is in the pantry if you want me to call the police.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Henry is an avid armchair detective. He watches so much Crime Channel he could probably commit the perfect murder.
But then the memory of Lev shooting the man on his knees in front of him flashes through my mind, and a cold shiver rolls through me. In my old life, murder was a foreign concept. In this new one, it’s a fucking regular occurrence.
“I’m fine, I promise, but I’ll explain it all to you later.”
He doesn’t sound happy, but he doesn’t push me. “Okay, let me get my credit card.”
After Henry gives the lady behind the counter his card details, she slides a key across to me. My room is at the far end of the motel and only accessible via the parking lot.
As I make my way along the path, I see a lady waiting in the doorway next to mine. A man pulls up in a car in front of her room and walks over.
“Hey, baby, you Candy Kane?”
“Yeah, sugar. You my three o’clock?”
“That’s me, baby, Mr. Three O’clock.” He chuckles.
“Well, best you get your cute ass inside, baby.”
They disappear behind a closed door just as I pass by, and I hear laughter and then Candy Kane saying, “Oh, you’re a keen one, aren’t you, baby? Come here, big boy, and give that thing to mama.”
I unlock the door to my room and am immediately hit with the odor of stale carpet, musty window furnishings, and Lysol.
Closing the door behind me, I sit down on the bed and stare out at the neon vacancy sign outside my room.
This is my life now.
This is how it has to be.
I look at the business card in my hand.
Agent Garrett Michaels.
Pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket, I ignore my protesting heart and dial his number.