Chapter Eight
I peel out of the lot like a bat out of hell. The Dart handles like a parade float—and for all I know it’s scheduled to roll down Main Street as part of the festivities later—but it’s going, and that’s all I care about.
The deputy’s directions were right. My long-buried knowledge of downtown Nottingham kicks into gear as I zip down the road that circles the perimeter: a quarter mile or so up, right turn, and I’ll be able to skid into that alleyway. I should be able to restart the car again, so long as I can get in and out of the town hall in five minutes or less. The key fob presses into my thigh as I swing the wheel, like a magic talisman burning against my skin through my pocket.
There’s no traffic on the side streets as I creep back into town—it’s almost eerie. I don’t know how long it’s been since I slipped away—five minutes? Ten?—but I’m praying it’s still within a plausible realm of deniability. Praying Guy hasn’t suspected anything, hasn’t raised an eyebrow and whispered a question to a deputy, hasn’t glanced at his keys and noticed one crucial missing piece.
I glide to a stop at a stop sign, the last one before the alley. Off in the distance, I hear the marching band, brassy and bright, and as I push the gas, I can see a lone balloon drifting up towards the clouds, a single red dot free against the blue.
For whatever reason, it gives me hope.
Two minutes later I’m parking behind some dumpsters and vaulting out of the car. The official parking garage for town hall is just to my left, and the back entrance—the one not monitored by a deputy or a metal detector—is here waiting, the keypad light beaming out its red light like a cyclops eye.
I dig for the fob in my pocket and slap it against the pad. It flashes red—God, no—and I twist the fob slightly.
Green. Go.
I wrench open the door and scan the directory. DA’s office, third floor. I take the stairs—can’t risk a slow or stuck elevator—and take them two at a time, heart pounding until I get to the landing.
It’s cool and dark in there—air conditioning set to max for all the men in their three-piece suits—and a portrait of the governor greets me as I round the corner towards the small reception area. Empty, thank you Jesus. Just to the side of the dark wood secretary’s desk are inboxes, small slots labeled with names and variously filled with papers, inter-office memo envelopes, and folders.
Quickly, quickly. I scan with one finger out, down the alphabet until I find G. GISBOURNE, and there it is— there it is , the simple, nondescript manila envelope that contains the key to my freedom and my future.
My hands tremble a little as I slip it out. There’s a Post-It attached to the front: Mr. Gisbourne, as you requested. —Dawn. I peel it off and crumple it to the ground— God bless you, Dawn —and shove my hand inside, just to double check.
The edge of a curlicued frame, then the words COMMONWEALTH OF VIRGINIA, and— yes. Me. Maren de Mornay. In black and white, and no uncertain terms.
I’m real. I exist. I’m here.
A surprise lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it. No time for sentimentality. I’ve got to go—where, I have no fucking idea, just as long as it’s anywhere but here. I stuff the certificate back in the envelope, spin on my heel, and rush for the stairs.
I’m out of breath as I burst out of the building back into the puff of humidity. The first thing I notice is the cold sheen on my skin as I leave the air conditioning. The second is the sound in the air—a siren. And the third is the man standing in front of the Dart.
It takes me a minute to place him, but then my brain clicks into gear. The plaid shirt, the worn jeans, the sweat-stained hat—it’s the winner, the guy who dominated at the archery contest.
But before I can reason out what the hell he’s doing here, I look at the face under the hat, and my breath catches in my chest. It’s not him. Not some guy with a scraggly beard and wraparound shades.
It’s Rob.
Oh my God, it’s Rob.
Shock rockets through my body, hitting every nerve ending and vein. My skin feels electric, and my heart whirs like a rabbit’s.
I stiffen, swallow, and curl my fingers around the envelope, making it crackle.
How did...how could...
“It’s you,” is all I manage to say out loud.
“Maren,” he says. His voice is low, serious, heavy with something I can’t quite name.
I blink. Shake my head, wishing the panicky, static feeling taking over me would dissipate, would let me focus.
“What are you—how did you find me?” It’s the first question out of my mouth, and not even the thing that’s most important. But I guess my subconscious knows better than I do what I need to know.
“Gisbourne got you,” Rob says, “and we knew he’d be here today, so we just—”
The sound of the plural pronoun makes my heart seize, but I ignore it. I have to. I have to ignore all of this.
“You knew that Guy had me at his house?” I say.
“Guy.” Rob spits the word like it’s something disgusting, and I realize too late that I sound familiar with him. That—oh God, if Rob was the one who won the tournament, who saw what Guy did, then he must think that I’m—that we’re—
“He smashed my cell phone,” I blurt out. “You couldn’t track me.”
“Yeah, we lost the signal.” Rob shifts his weight, his hands resolutely on his hips. Even in his raggedy disguise, he looks...well, he looks good. I hate it. I hate him. I hate thinking about this. I just want to be gone. I just want to be free. I just want all of this to be over and done with so I can be Maren again, whoever she is.
“So then how did you—”
“Pretty dress you’ve got on there.”
I flush in spite of myself. “You’re really bringing up clothes at a time like this?” I spit out.
“Jack,” Rob says simply. “That’s how we found you.”
My train of thought hitches. I glance down at the dress. Jack—from the boutique. I look up at Rob, and the confusion must register on my face because he cracks a bare smile.
“You think there’s a lot of places around here to get good clothes on short notice for a girl on the run? Jack’s no dummy, and he knew your measurements by heart. As soon as Gisbourne’s maid called in that order, he put two and two together.”
Jack. I think of him, the sweet, effusive, impressively stylish owner of the store where Rob took me back when I first escaped, back before anything had happened. I feel a surge of gratitude—not that I wanted him to tell Rob and the guys where I was, but then again, it’s not like Jack knew why I had to leave.
And didn’t I want them to know, just in case?
The wail of another siren shatters through the air. I clench my fist tighter around my birth certificate.
“I have to go,” I say. “You...get out of the way.”
To my surprise, Rob steps to the side, and for a brief moment, I’m almost disappointed that he doesn’t try to stop me.
But no, I don’t want him to. I swallow hard, jump in the front seat of the stupid Dodge Dart, and start fumbling around for the wires again.
“No key,” he says.
I don’t answer.
The starter wires have slipped far back inside the dash, and I can’t quite grab them. “Goddammit.”
Another siren.
Too many this time.
“I don’t think it’s for the parade,” Rob says. “I think—”
He pauses, and I freeze what I’m doing. I don’t turn around to look at him, just wait.
“All I know is that there was some kind of commotion in the tent a few minutes back—deputies talking to Gisbourne. He got out of there in an awful hurry.”
I clench my jaw. They figured it out. They noticed the car was gone, or that I’d been gone too long.
Maybe both.
I reach deeper for the starter wire, the edge of the dash scraping against my skin.
“Maren?” a second voice calls out. Another familiar one.
On instinct, I turn around, and there he is—tall, lean, with that silver hair and those piercing blue eyes. Will Scarlet, the dragon shifter, the impeccable dresser, the sarcastic city boy.
And just behind him—
“Is that her?”
It’s Tuck, his blonde hair askew and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he jogs to a stop behind Will.
Will glances at Rob. “How’d you find her?”
“Only Maren would hotwire the most conspicuous vehicle possible,” Rob replies. “Caught a flash of it turning through downtown and just followed the trail.”
“For your information,” I shoot back, “this thing’s the easiest in the lot to hotwire because it’s old. Not because it’s flashy.” Though I can’t help but feel a twinge of recognition—he’s right. A Honda Accord’s pretty easy to hotwire, too, but given the choice between that and this puppy, well, what can I say? I’m a woman of taste.
The slight moment of relaxation snaps, and I tense back up. What am I doing? These guys betrayed me, tried to trap me and hold me hostage, lied to me.
I can’t be with them. I can’t be here at all.
“I’ve got the scanner up,” Tuck says, holding up his phone. A crackle of static comes from it, followed by some indistinct, mumbling voices. “There’s an APB out for the car she stole.”
I pause, my hand halfway to root around for the starter wire again.
“Of course there is,” Will says. “Whatever Southern gentleman owns that thing isn’t gonna let it slip away that easy, no matter how many juleps he’s chugged down today.”
“You’re sure?” I say to Tuck, ignoring Will. “It’s not someone else?”
Tuck nods and scrubs his finger over his phone screen to rewind the playback. Sure enough, the dispatcher crackles out the exact make and model: 1969 Dodge Dart.
“Fuck,” I whisper, sliding into the driver’s seat and placing a hand on my chest in an attempt to calm my beating heart.
Another siren. This time, it sounds closer.
“Maren,” Will says, “I think you should come with us.”
“No!” I cry, louder and more forcefully than I mean to. “I can’t,” I say, softer.
“Maren, please,” Tuck says. “If you just come with us, we can explain everything. We’re so sorry, and—”
“Easy, kid.” Will throws out an arm, catching Tuck in the solar plexus as he moves toward me. “We can’t force her.”
I glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t. The sight of the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at me with deep concern, with worry, and with a hint of happiness—perhaps because I’m alive and here in front of them and still real—it’s too much. It’s too close to what I want, but what’s impossible.
“And yet,” Rob adds, “it’s her choice. Will’s right. She can come with us, or she can get nabbed by the cops.”
His expression is unreadable. Arms folded, he barely shrugs. “Up to her.”
Rage blossoms in my chest. How dare he , I think. How dare he be so cool and collected and nonchalant when it’s his fault. He’s the one who did all this. He’s the one who made all the mistakes. He’s the murderer, and he’s not even trying to plead for forgiveness? He’s not even desperate to explain, to win me back, to help me?
I tense my jaw, willing the tears not to come. I can’t. I have to think. I have to make a plan. I can’t let the sheriff’s guys get me. I know that much. Best case, they hand me back over to Guy, and I’m trapped. Again. Worst case, I don’t even know. Jail? A fine I can’t afford? A criminal record for stealing a car?
Instantly, I leap out of the seat like the car’s on fire, like I’ve been electrocuted and need to distance myself. I stand in the alleyway, looking back and forth, clutching my birth certificate. I’ve never been so close to freedom and yet so far away—and definitely never been so confused.
“We won’t...we don’t want to...” Tuck tries again, fumbling over his words. “Maren, just... please, think about what you’re doing. If the sheriff gets you—”
Whatever he’s going to say next is cut off by the roaring throttle of a motorcycle. A split second later, a bike tears into the alleyway, squeezes past them, and fishtails to a stop between the three of them and me. The rider flings down a leg and chucks off his helmet.
It’s LJ.
“Princess,” he says, staring me up and down. Even he can’t hide the relief on his rough face. “You’re all right.”
“I am,” I say, my voice breaking. I can’t help it. I can’t deny it. I’m so glad to see him that it feels like I’m being cracked in half.
“I just...” The words rush out of my mouth in a babble. “I just need a safe place to get my things together. That’s all. I don’t have anywhere to go, and—”
LJ throws a look at the other three. “I don’t know what you fuckers have been telling her,” he says, glancing back at me, “but don’t listen to any of them.” He slices his gaze back at the others. “If anyone’s taking her home, it’s me.”
As he says the words, I could almost cry with relief. LJ was the one I thought hated me, the one I thought I could never trust, the one I believed had it out for me for so long. And yet now, I could cry with relief, seeing him here.
It’s foolish and stupid, but I’ve got limited choices and less time. And I just... God, I just want to be with him. I want him to keep me safe. For whatever reason, I trust him to do that. I really do.
A final siren wails from what sounds like just the other side of Town Hall. Will, Rob, and Tuck exchange glances, then look at me. But I’m only looking at LJ.
“Move over,” I say. “Let me on that bike.”