Chapter Eight #2
He chuckled. “As welcome as I’m sure you’d be, the answer’s no.”
She rubbed her tired eyes, wishing she’d wake up from this outlandish nightmare.
She wanted to be back in her apartment, sitting at her laptop and writing the first chapter of her new novel.
Lately she’d been experiencing writer’s block and couldn’t seem to put her thoughts into words.
She’d tried everything from long walks to binging Netflix to using her trusty vibrator that she could usually rely on to relieve all the pent-up emotions. But nothing worked.
Mario had told her recently, “You just need a big dick”. He so helpfully suggested that it always helped him alleviate his negative energy.
She snuck a glance at Hawkeye’s crotch. A sure bet a man built this rugged and masculine wouldn’t disappoint.
She wasn’t sure about the “large” part without inspection, but she envisioned him being a savage in every way that it counted.
She could hear Mario now, “Girl, if you don’t grab onto that one with your mouth, I won’t talk to you again. ”
Her snicker gained a curious glance from her new business partner. Rule One: Never trust anyone. Rule Two: Always watch your back. Rule Three: Never sleep with business partners. It could turn messy.
Clearing her throat, she moved on to a different topic. “Why don’t you admit it. You haven’t really thought this plan out. We’re just winging it, right?”
“I haven’t, but in my defense, I didn’t have the day’s itinerary written in my planner. Man gets shot. Rescue a woman. Twice. Listen to her harp about every detail. Things were a bit…unexpected.”
“That makes two of us,” she said quietly. “And once.”
“What?”
“Technically, you only rescued me once. I feel like I deserve to know what the next few days…weeks, are going to look like for me. I have no clothes. No phone. I’ve never heard of Fin’s Creek and people who murdered Leo want me dead and I have no clue why.
I’m not hiding a secret formula that will save the world.
No hidden diamonds or gems. I’m just your average person. ”
His jaw softened. “I understand your concern, but I can tell you that you’ll be safe at Creed’s Creek. No one will ask questions, and they’ll accept what I tell them. I think as close to the truth we can stay the better chance that we won’t get caught up in any lies.”
“Sounds like you’ve had lots of practice.”
“Hardy-har-har. How’d you get to be so funny?”
“It comes naturally.” She hid her smile.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“Besides creating magical potions and truth-serums? I’m a writer.”
“Interesting.” He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Most people when she told them what she did as a career they asked, “Magazine? Newspaper?” When she told them dark mystery, they always took an internal step back.
“I’m assuming you don’t know what books are.” She’d crossed a line, but he didn’t seem the least bit annoyed or pestered.
He stared straight ahead and then said in a monotone voice, “Iraq turned me into a Dean Koontz fan. Know him?” When she nodded, he continued, “There were always care packages being shipped in by family and strangers. Usually, the books ended up in a box in DFAC.”
“DFAC?”
“Dining facility. Hell, I was more than happy to take whatever I found. There was a bit of idle time between combat duties and I got real bored staring at miles of sand.”
“Which branch of military were you in?”
“Navy SEALs,” he said proudly. “You have any fans?”
She swallowed hard. “I’m not Colleen Hanover if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who?” He looked stumped.
He was the only one in the country, or world, who didn’t know who Colleen Hanover was.
“A few,” she said.” I assume it’s possible someone might know who I am, but I write under the pen name, Margo Deveraux.
I won’t be asked for autographs because most people would never recognize me.
I’m not the type who enjoys the spotlight.
I don’t go to book signings and author events.
” She hated talking about her career with a stranger.
She always felt like she needed to validate why she wasn’t a New York Times bestselling author or hitting it big and writing books-into-movie novels.
During the time she’d been taking care of her grandmother Margo had put writing on a back burner. Readers liked consistency and she hadn’t been supplying the demand.
“Then what’s your real name?”
“Margo Winnfield.”
He was mulling something around. “You’ll be CaDee’s cousin,” he said. “You two could pass as cousins without suspicion.”
“Who’s CaDee?”
“CaDee is Sharp’s wife.” He slowed the truck when they approached a tractor on the back road going twenty.
They weren’t in the city any longer. The scenery had changed miles back from apartments, subdivisions, to farmhouses separated by pastures.
Barns of all colors and sizes dotted the land and livestock grazed landscapes.
“He owns the ranch—he and his father, Bradley. Sharp and CaDee married a few months ago, and they have a son, Carsen. She moved here from Chicago, or it was New York, but it doesn’t matter. ”
“Will she be okay with telling people that I’m a relative?”
“It’s no biggie.”
“To some lying is a big deal.”
He snorted. “You’ve never told a harmless lie? Ever?”
She’d walked herself right into a corner on this one. “As a teen I would tell fibs to get out of trouble.”
“What if someone’s safety depended on you “fibbing”?”
“Of course, if their safety depended on it, but—”
“Just as you told the officers a lie. There is no if, and, or buts, Margo. Not everything is clear cut or simple. You’ve been sheltered in life.”
“How do you know that?” she huffed. “That’s you being presumptuous.”
“No, it’s me being observant.”
“Yes, but—”
He cut her off again. “There are things in the world that are unsightly, miserable, and can make a man, or woman, hate people. The white lie that keeps you safe is the least of our worries.” He seemed agitated. “See my point?”
“Yes.” And she did.
“Problem solved.”
She wished she could feel a sliver of his wistful thinking. “I might not be worldly but that doesn’t make me shallow.”
His jaw clicked. “Shallow’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you. I said you were sheltered. A lot of people in the world live sheltered lives.”
No reason to argue. He was accurate.
Chills raced over her body thinking where she’d be right now if the man in the suit had managed to do what he wanted. Some things were difficult to wrap a person’s mind around, but Hawkeye was a man that lived in the chaos. What was his story? What was he hiding?
“What does a woman like you see in a man like Davani? He was a douchebag,” Hawkeye said.
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” She laid her head back. Her brain was overloaded.
Hawkeye’s snort reverberated off the leather interior. “He was shady and lined his pockets from the underbelly of the drug world. I presume you didn’t want to see those characteristics in him and chose not to.”
“You keep talking as if Leo and I were one step away from the alter. It wasn’t like that between us. We dated off and on and when it was over it was over. No strings of attachment.”
“A year’s a long time to date someone who isn’t someone you see yourself with long term.” He braked at a stop sign and cast his glance at her.
Had she told him how long she dated Leo? She just couldn’t remember. “Now you’re a relationship therapist?” She snapped up a brow.
He chuckled. “Just an opinion.”
The tractor went left. They went right. When Hawkeye pressed the gas, she was pulled back into the seat.
“It’s easy for me to look back now and see that he wasn’t my person.
I kept him entertained until he found something else that lit his fire.
He and his assistant thought what they were sharing was a secret. ”
“You knew they were lovers?”
She looked over at Hawkeye, seeing his regretful expression for blurting the words. “I guess everyone knows then.” Margo shrugged indifferently. “Catarina would have eventually been as disappointed as I was to learn that the only person Leo could love was himself.”
“She might be relieved that he’s gone.”
“I get angry when I remember how terrible he was as a boyfriend, and a lover.”
“Get all that clutter out of your headspace. Who cares about the relationship, or lack of, that you had with him. He’s gone.
Now you need to focus on staying safe. I wish I could tell you what, or who, you needed to stay safe from, but right now it could go in a lot of directions.
At least we know Davani is no longer one of them. ”
Even though his words struck a chord in her, she also found them valuable. “Who would have known you could say more than three words at a time. But thank you, I needed to hear that as a reminder.”
“You’re chattiness is rubbing off on me.”
“Talking and communication is how we learn to trust one another.”
“I saved you, didn’t I? That automatically makes me trustworthy.”
She tilted her chin. “The jury is still out on that. Let’s see what happens until I get the package in my hands.” She laid her head back on the headrest and steadied her narrowed gaze at him. “I mean, obviously you’re not ecstatic about this situation.”
“Neither are you,” he said glumly.
“Still wearing my ex-boyfriend’s blood spatters, no laptop, no phone, no I am not.”
“Remember, I’m as clueless about what’s in this package as much as you are. Keep your fingers crossed that this will only be a short period of time. Death is permanent so we need to prevent that from happening to you.”
“Fine, I haven’t said much but I’m grateful for you rescuing me on the street.”
“Thanks. That didn’t kill you, did it?” He chuckled. “Is there anything more you can remember about the man?”
She hated reliving the scene. “There’s nothing really.” She looked through the window at the blue sky with cottony clouds. “I haven’t seen him before.”
“When and where will this mystery package arrive?”
She started to answer but caught herself.
She might not be smart when it came to criminals, but she knew opening all doors and lifting all windows could put her at risk.
Hawkeye was a stranger and therefore needed to be managed with care.
She didn’t have to overshare. “I have no clue.” There was a white lie.
She did have a clue, and it was written on the slip of paper Leo had given to her.
She couldn’t read it now without making Hawkeye curious.
She was bone tired and wanted to sleep.
She started to close her eyes and a thought popped into her head. “I do remember something about the suited guy.”
“You do?”
“I remember he had a tattoo. Here—” She pointed to a spot behind her ear. “The number 11.”
“Have you heard of the Knights Alliance drug cartel?” Hawkeye asked. “Particularly the leader, Juan DeLupa, nicknamed “Silver”, named after the unique color of his eyes and hair.”
“Yes. Leo had mentioned him during our last conversation. But I can’t remember what he said.”
“It’s important,” Hawkeye said.
“I know it is, but a lot has happened today. Refresh my memory about Silver.”
“He was arrested on crime charges that finally stuck, but Davani and the legal team tried to get the charges dropped due to insufficient evidence. As the kingpin was led away in handcuffs, he’d threatened a list of people, saying he’d bring the hammer down on those responsible for his conviction.
Silver blamed Davani for not getting the case dropped.
I warned Leo after the trial to be careful and to watch his back.
All Knights Alliance members are visibly tattooed with what looks like the number eleven.
It’s actually two identical towers—showing unity and everyone working toward the same goal of following the leader’s wishes.
They live and die for each other—and while they’re alive they bulldoze anyone who gets in their way. ”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think about this anymore right now.” She was dirty, tired, and felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she closed her eyelids, not wanting to lose anymore self-control. Not wanting to come across as the weak girl that Hawkeye needed to save.