Chapter 8
GRIFFIN
We pull into the roadside diner right after crossing the border into Vermont at around eight. I pass this place every time I take this back route home, but I’ve never stopped in it before.
“It might be shit,” I apologize. I try not to look at the way Sasha shakes out her hair after removing her helmet.
I haven’t seen her face since I pulled up next to her in that alley, and I have to turn away from it now, my chest tight.
The relief I felt at seeing her there, after a thousand taut seconds of not knowing whether she’d be okay, hits me like a hammer even now.
I’ve only felt that kind of relief a few times in my life: Once, when Jude fell into the Quince River as a little kid and Dad went in after him, pulling him out a full two minutes later, blue-lipped but sputtering weakly.
Another time, when I was overseas and our baby sister Chelsea was in a brutal car wreck, but they told me she was going to be okay.
When I found someone I thought I’d lost in the rubble of a factory explosion, her walkie still clutched in her hand.
That time, my relief was short-lived.
This time it won’t be. When I pulled her onto my bike, I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to let Sasha Macklin out of my sight again. Not for a fucking second.
I know that’s impossible, but I’m not worrying about that right now.
I hold the restaurant door open for her.
“God, I’m so hungry I could eat a cardboard box.”
“I’d kind of like to see that,” I say, even as I scan the restaurant, checking out the exits and assessing any possible issues.
She laughs softly, and the sound is a balm to my ears.
The place is sparsely populated at this hour.
An older couple sits at the row of booths on the far right of the room; a family with two tired-looking teenagers sits at a table in the middle.
There’s a bar up front with a couple of truckers at it, a middle-aged blond server pouring coffee for one of them.
“Seat yourself,” she calls out to us, not looking up.
I relax just a little. This is fine. Better than fine. This is the middle of nowhere, off the main roads, halfway to Quince Valley.
“There’s no way he could have followed us, is there?” Sasha asks after we seat ourselves in a booth far from any of the other patrons.
“No.” I know because I made sure of it. Right after we got out of Sasha’s neighborhood, I pulled over and asked for her phone.
After removing the SIM card and tossing it into a garbage bin, I dropped her phone onto the ground and crushed it under my heel.
“I’ll get you a new one,” I promised. She just sat there, nodding, with that huge helmet on her head, still too shaken up to argue.
I took us on several circuitous trips through side roads, as well as a gas station stop where I filled up and bought Sasha a pair of rain boots, which were the only footwear they had that fit her.
“He didn’t even follow us out of your neighborhood, Sasha. You made sure of it by losing him yourself.”
She meets my eye. “I wouldn’t have without your help.
Thank you, Griffin. Sincerely. I…I promise to make it up to you once I figure out what to do.
” Sasha’s eyes dart out the window to the road, where a lone car goes by, taillights glowing behind it.
She brings her hand to her lips, then drops it again.
I remember how she did that at the wedding, when I was watching her from afar. It’s a nervous tic.
“He’s not here,” I remind her. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to let my guard down.”
Sasha drops her hand. “Thank you.”
Fuck, I want to scoop this woman up in my arms and hide her from the world. Instead, I pull out the laminated menu and hand it to Sasha.
She looks at it but doesn’t seem to see. “Can you just…get me a coffee for now? We’re going to be up for a while, right?”
“A couple hours more, yes.”
“Okay. I need to use the bathroom.”
“I need to check it.”
“Not if what you just said to me is true.”
My jaw ticks. She’s too clever for her own good. I relent, letting her get up without argument. She’s right. Besides, I’ve looked after people in her situation for years, and there’s a thin line between being overly cautious and freaking them out.
The only thing new here is my level of nerves. They’re through the fucking roof.
Take a fuckin’ breath, Griffin.
I do, and immediately feel like myself again. Or maybe that’s not having Sasha Macklin right next to me. Either way, the server comes over and I take two coffees, then hammer out a quick text to Ford, explaining in as few words as possible what happened.
Ford: She okay?
Griff: I’ll make sure she is. Going to take her home for the weekend to regroup.
Ford: I’ve got everything covered here. I’ll keep eyes on Creelman, too. I’m sorry we don’t have the resources for ground surveillance anymore.
Griff: There’s no way we could have seen this one coming.
They had to have talked about it offline. Did that mean Creelman knew he was being watched? Probably. He’s not an idiot. I made sure to hide my face in the restaurant, but even he had to know a fire alarm at just that moment was more than coincidence.
But fuck Lionel for putting Sasha in serious danger again, even inadvertently.
Ford: Hey Griff?
Griff: ?
Ford: Be careful
The words feel heavy. I know he doesn’t mean in the practical sense. I’m always careful. He means he knows I’m operating half on feelings now, which is never a good idea.
In fact, it’s a very bad idea. I know it from personal experience. I think back to Lionel’s face in that boardroom, how much it’s changed in the decade since I met him.
How much I can still see her eyes in his.
Sasha comes out of the bathroom.
I pocket my phone, letting out the tense breath I’ve been holding having her out of my sight.
Her hair is pulled back, face washed off. She looks like she could use at least twelve hours of sleep. But she could be covered in mud and she’d still be so fucking beautiful I’d have a hard time looking directly at her.
I want very much not to care how bad an idea this whole thing is. I want to whisk her away to fucking Thailand or something, where maybe I could fucking relax knowing there’s an ocean or two between us and Creelman.
But it is a bad idea. All of it. I need to put a damper on whatever personal feelings I’ve got going on and see this for what it is—an off the clock protection job, that’s all. I’ve done them before. She needs protecting, and it’s what I do.
Nothing more.
She slips back into the booth.
“So, you fight any bad guys while I was gone?”
“Only a couple.”
She smiles, but it drops away quickly. She reaches for the sugar, carefully pouring exactly one and a half teaspoons into her mug.
Next she measures out three teaspoons of creamer.
As in, she opens the individual creamers and pours them into the spoon before tipping the spoon into the coffee.
“It’s the ratio,” she explains, like that helps make it make sense.
I sip my coffee, watching her stir it just so, then take a test sip. She nods and takes a sip from the cup directly. “You think I’m weird, right?”
“Yes.”
She grins. It’s a beautiful sight.
“So, I just wanted to tell you…” She hesitates. “I don’t normally need so much rescuing.”
She’s been thinking about this.
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m some damsel in distress. I backpacked around Southeast Asia by myself when I was twenty.”
So she’d be okay with Thailand.
“I moved to London without telling anyone I’d applied to grad school. Oh, and I ran my own business during college.”
“Doing what?”
She goes pink. It’s fucking adorable.
“A friend and I set up a matchmaking business.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“After we hooked up a few friends—who are both married now, I’ll add—we started running it by donation. She needed money to stay in school, and it was pretty fun to see the matches working out. I always know when a couple’s going to work out…”
I sit back and watch as Sasha talks animatedly about compatibility and personality traits and something called love languages. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about, but I could listen to her talk about it all day.
“Anyway,” she says, seeing the server coming our way. “I promise I can take care of myself. You should know that. It’s just been a bad few weeks.”
When the server comes, Sasha orders a full breakfast-for-dinner—pancakes, eggs, and sausage. She explains very carefully and almost apologetically how she likes her eggs and asks if she can please substitute one pancake for a piece of toast and if she could please have some honey, too.
The server’s eyebrows draw closer together with each request, but Sasha gives her such a sweet smile that by the end, the older woman smiles indulgently.
She’s difficult without being difficult. It’s fascinating to watch, and it’s endearing as fuck.
I opt for just a refill on my coffee. I’m not hungry when I’m on alert, and I’m not going to let my guard down until we’re at my place in Quince Valley.
After we’re alone again, I study her for a minute as she worries at the collar of her shirt. Then I set my coffee down. “I don’t think you’re a damsel in distress, Sasha. Most people don’t have brothers involved in dangerous shit who drag their innocent sisters into it.”
“No, I’m just an idiot. At least Leila and Cal were smart enough to move to the other side of the country this year to get away from him.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I say, anger flaring in my chest. “None of this is on you. It’s on your brother.
” I can barely get the word out without spitting it.
It’s a good thing Lionel’s got me staying away from him.
I don’t know what I’d do if he was within reaching distance, but it would probably land me in a holding cell.
Sasha doesn’t let go of her collar, just twists it in her fingers.
Then she drops her hand, looking down. “I can’t believe all those articles about Sam were right.
” Her voice wobbles slightly. I want to tell her not to shed a fucking tear for her piece of shit brother.
But then she finally looks at me, and she must see the thought in my face, because she says, “He wasn’t always like this.
I mean, he was always ambitious, always had to be the best at everything.
But he didn’t cheat to get to where he is. ”
Her eyes go watery, and she blinks fast, looking up.
Suddenly I see it. The little girl with the larger-than-life big brother.
I’ve read the file. Sam Macklin was a football star, the lead in the high school play, and valedictorian of his high school and university class.
It was hero worship, and even today, she wanted him to be the hero he was in her mind.
My hands clench. No feelings, I remind myself. This is a job. Nothing personal.
But the only thing I can think of is personal. It’s my own family and how I’d feel if one of them took a dark path. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to believe it until the evidence was right in my fucking face.
“I’m sorry, Sasha” is all I can think to say as a tear rolls down her cheek. She’s got something in her hands—I can’t quite tell what it is, but I see a spot of yellow in her palm.
But just then, the server appears with a giant platter of food. “Eggs over easy and…lightly fried? Plus all the rest as you wanted, hon.”
When Sasha looks up, she smiles, but it’s wobbly, and the server sets the plate down with a clunk, rounding on me.
Her eyes shoot daggers. “Is there a problem here?”
Jesus. She thinks I’ve made her cry.
But before I can say anything, Sasha says, “Oh!” Then reaches across the table and takes my hand.
I know I look stunned, because Sasha laughs again.
“It’s not him.” She wipes at her eyes with the heel of her other hand, that yellow thing still wrapped in her fingers. “I swear. My brother’s been an asshole lately, and he’s…whisking me away from his assholery.”
The woman looks between the two of us. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Sasha says, meeting my eyes. There’s gratitude there. And strangely, something like hope. All I feel is inadequacy—like I’m in the presence of a goddamned angel who’s dared to drop down from heaven to sit with me.
The woman instantly softens. “Would you look at you two? He’s a regular hero, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Sasha says at the same time I say, “No.”
The woman lingers a moment, smiling, until I clear my throat. She titters before heading off.
The minute she’s gone, Sasha shovels food into her mouth like it’s her first meal in weeks. “Oh God,” she says around a mouthful of eggs. “This is the best food I’ve ever eaten.”
To my astonishment, she downs nearly the entire contents of her plate in what I’m pretty sure is under five minutes, then holds a hand over her mouth, presumably to hide a burp.
“You good?” I ask, working hard to hide the laughter in my voice.
“My mother would kill me if she saw me do that. She always wanted me to be a proper lady.”
“Aren’t you?” She looks pretty fucking ladylike to me. Well, maybe except the food-shoveling, but I liked that part.
Sasha breaks out into a kind of wicked grin. “I only look proper.”
Well, fuck if that doesn’t make my lower half stir to life.
I clear my throat, downing the last of my coffee.
We should get going, even though I want to sit in this anonymous greasy spoon for a year, learning everything there is to know about Sasha Macklin.
Specifically how she turned out so night and day different from her brother.
But I don’t need to know any of that right now. I check the time—we need to get going.
As we climb back on the bike ten minutes later, I try to ignore how good Sasha’s arms feel around my waist and how much I love the little squeeze she gives me as I kick the starter and the bike roars to life.
“Your place is going to be safe, right?” Sasha asks through the speaker. Her voice is tentative, like she feels embarrassed to be asking that.
“Yes. The people after you don’t know me, and that’s on purpose. They won’t be able to find me, so they won’t be able to find you. It’s the safest place for you right now.”
I pull onto the highway, taking the bike up to speed.
“And after that?”
“After that, we’ll make a plan. But I’m not leaving you alone until this is all done. I hope that’s okay with you.”
I think I hear the hitch of her breath or her voice through the speaker, but it’s hard to tell with the rushing wind and roaring engine. “That’s okay with me,” she says softly.