Chapter 6 Hudson
HUDSON
After four days, the work crew has settled into a rhythm, and everyone knows their jobs. Everyone except Willow, who thinks it’s okay to play by her own rules.
But I feel a twinge of uneasiness as I remember her pale face yesterday when she looked at her phone and the way her hand trembled.
I spot Janelle by the fence stirring a tin of paint and make my way over, crouching next to her. She looks up with a smile, and for a moment, I think I’ve got the wrong woman. Her eyes are bright, and there are no dark smudges under them.
“Have you seen Willow?”
Janelle glances around the courtyard. “She was right behind me. Said she forgot something and would drive up.”
“She’s not here.”
I glance at my watch again. 09:18. I’m used to Willow being a few minutes late, but this isn’t like her.
“She probably got inspired and went in to paint,” Janelle says hopefully.
“Maybe.”
I stand up and stride toward the parking lot. The uneasiness in my gut grows. And I’ve learned to trust my gut.
Blaze is shoveling gravel from a wheelbarrow onto the paths. I slap him on the shoulder as I pass. “I’ll be back soon. Make sure the paths get done this morning.”
He nods once and turns his beady eyes back to the group. “You heard the man. Get shoveling.”
I jog toward the parking lot, but Willow’s car isn’t there. Maybe she broke down on the way up the mountain, or maybe whatever that text was about has caught up with her.
I jog to my pickup and slide into the driver’s side. Joel stands at the doorway of the center and gives me a quizzical look. But I don’t have time to explain, so I just give him a wave.
He’ll have to check in on the work himself, but I trust Blaze to keep them motivated.
The veteran’s center is nestled a little way up the mountain where the land plateaus before the jagged ridges and valleys of the mountains.
It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the town of Hope at the base of the mountain, and my pulse races the whole way. I take the final corner too fast and skid into Hope with a squeal of tires.
I pass the airbase and the Bedrock Security offices just as Marcus pulls in, and I speed past him, noting his WTF look. I do contract security work for him, but I’m taking time out to help Joel for the final few weeks before the center opens.
A moment later, my phone rings, but I ignore it. I can fill Marcus in later.
The hostel where the work crew is staying is on the other side of town. In the summer, it’s full of hikers, climbers, and seasonal workers who bolster the local workforce during the tourist season. But this time of year there aren’t a lot of tourists.
As I speed toward the Sunny View hostel, there is neither sunshine nor a view. It’s nestled down a back street next to a laundromat and a fried chicken shop. Out front is a parking lot, and I spot Willow’s run-down Ford Focus. Relief turns to anger as I pull into the parking lot.
She’s just late. While everyone else is working, she’s slacking off back at the hostel. Unless she’s sick or injured, there’s no excuse for letting her team down.
As I circle the parking lot, the door of the hostel bangs open, and Willow strides out. Her hair is caught in a topknot, exposing her long pale neck. She’s not even got her overalls on. Instead, she wears a floaty floral dress with her work boots, and she has her backpack thrown over one shoulder.
As she barrels toward her car, I swing around to pull up next to her, causing her to let out a cry and jump back, her eyes wide with fear.
“Hey, it’s me, Hudson,” I tell her as I stick my head out the window.
Her hand flutters to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me. Why are you careening around the parking lot?”
She’s annoyed with me for scaring her, but something’s got her jumpy. I climb out of my pickup as she swings her backpack into the passenger seat of her car.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She slams the passenger door and moves around to the driver’s side. Her gaze darts to the street as she opens the car door.
I walk around the car, noting the gear piled up in the back seat. There are sticks of wood, and it takes me a moment to place them before I realize it’s an easel. I also spot a canvas in the back seat and a large carrier bag with a pillow on top.
“You going somewhere?”
“Nope.” She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
“Whoa.” I grab the door before she can close it. “Hold up.” I’m not letting Willow drive away without an explanation. You don’t just break the rules of your parole for no reason.
Glaring at me, Willow turns over the engine and starts to drive. I cling to the door, stumbling as the car moves forward.
“Stop the damn car. I want to talk to you.”
She huffs out a breath and brings the car to a stop, but I keep a hold of the door in case she tries it again.
“You’re skipping town?”
She scowls at me. “It’s none of your business, Hudson.” Her eyes blaze with fire and determination. I should let her go. It’s none of my business if she wants to break her parole; she’ll have to face the consequences.
But I can’t forget the way she looked at me just now, the messages that have been worrying her, and the fear that radiates under the surface of her determined glare. I can’t let her go like this.
“You’re right. It’s none of my business, but is it worth breaking the terms of your parole?”
“I suppose you’ll be the first to report me.” She bangs a fist on the steering wheel, desperation breaking through her anger. “Can you just give me an hour before you call it in? I just need one hour.”
The fact that she thinks I’d report her makes me wince. I believe in doing what’s right, but I’m no snitch. If she wants to break her parole and get herself sent to jail, then that’s on her.
I can’t imagine Willow in jail, wearing a gray jumpsuit and eating sloppy food, being cooped up in a cell, her light hidden away.
“Whatever’s going on, maybe I can help.”
I release the car door, but she doesn’t drive away. Instead, she clasps the steering wheel and shakes her head.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She gives me a wary look, and I feel her sizing me up. I’d like to smooth the worry lines from her forehead, but instead, I clasp my hands together and stop myself from capturing the loose strands of hair that have inevitably come loose from her topknot.
“My brother got involved with some bad people.”
“The Street Kings.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “How do you know?”
I shouldn’t have said the name of the gang. That information is supposed to be private, and I can’t admit that I was peering into files I have no right to peer into. But if I want honesty from her, then I have to show it myself.
“I read your file.”
For a moment, the worry washes off her face, and she raises an eyebrow at me. She likes that I read her file, and I store that info away for later. Her half-smile makes her eyes dance, but I can’t be distracted by her beauty right now.
“I read all the files,” I add.
“Of course you did.”
The smile falls from her face, and I internally punch myself for bringing her down again. She peers out the window, and her gaze sweeps the parking lot, the worry sitting heavy on her features.
“You were telling me about your brother,” I say gently.
“He got in with a gang. I tried to help. I got caught.”
She says it simply, laying out the facts. But there’s more to the story than she’s telling me.
“So what’s going on now? Why are you leaving?”
Her gaze comes back to find mine. “If you read my file, then you know about the Street Kings.”
I’ve spent the past week finding out everything I can about them and trying to figure out how a woman like Willow got involved with people like that. They’re into everything from stolen goods to drug running and intimidation.
“I’ve heard things.”
“They think I owe them, and they know where I am.”
Her words send a shiver down my spine. My blood goes cold, and I meet her gaze, the fear no longer hiding in her expression.
Tendrils of hair caress her cheek, and her lips press together. I want to keep her safe from them. I want to preserve her light and make sure she never comes to harm.
“I can help.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not going to the police, Hudson. I took a plea deal to stay out of jail. In the eyes of the law, I’m part of this gang. They’re not going to have any sympathy for me wanting to ditch my parole and escape.”
“But they can keep you safe.”
“No,” she says. “They’ve never kept me or my family safe. My only option is to get away from here and find my brother before they do.”
She grips the steering wheel, and her eyes blaze. She may be fierce sitting behind the wheel of her car, but what does a woman like Willow know about tracking someone?
“Do know where your brother is?”
“No.” Her frustration comes out as her voice wavers.
“I have no idea, but I need to get out of here and find him. And I need to go soon because I’m meant to meet them in half an hour, and when I don’t show, they’re going to come looking for me.
” She tries to close the car door, but I block it again.
“So thanks for the talk, but I really need to get out of here.”
She has no plan and no resources, and I can’t let her drive away like this.
“You’re doing this for your brother?” I ask quietly.
“All of it.”
I know what that’s like—what I gave up for Paige. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for your sibling, to put family first.
“I’ll help you.”
“You say that, but I can’t see how you can. I have to do this. I have to find my brother, and what happens to me doesn’t really matter.”
“I’ll help you run. I’ve got the resources; I can help you get away from here and buy you time to find your brother until we figure out how to deal with the gang.”
She stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads.
“You would do that? Why?”
Good fucking question. I can’t think too much about why I’m helping a criminal break the bonds of their parole and hide from a gang.
But when I look at Willow’s slender fingers with paint under the nails and her determined grip on the steering wheel, I know if I don’t help her, she’ll do it herself, and this woman is in no way equipped to take on a criminal gang.
But with my resources and the help of some of my ex-Navy SEAL buddies, I can.
But it’s more than that. Protectiveness surges through my veins. She’s a woman in trouble, and not just any woman. She’s a woman with a pretty smile and a sharp wit who has gotten under my skin. There is no other choice.
“Take only what you need and put in in my pickup. If they know where you are, they may be looking for your car. I’ll have someone come back to move it into storage.”
She looks at me dumbfounded, but if what she’s saying is true, then I don’t have time to explain.
I stand up and bang the top of her car. “Let’s move.”
Willow springs into action as if waking from a dream, while I stride to the passenger seat and pull out her small backpack.
“I’ve got more stuff in the trunk,” she says, running around to open it. She pulls out a larger bag, and I heave them both into the pickup. Then she opens the back seat of her car and reaches for the easel.
“Only the essentials.”
She huffs out a breath but doesn’t argue.
A few minutes later, I’m cruising through town, heading to Bedrock Security with a woman who’s skipping her parole and a promise to help her. I’m already breaking the law by not turning her in, and I’m about to do a whole lot worse.