CHAPTER 36
I should have known that my luck wouldn’t hold. Should have expected something like this to happen. But I’d been so desperate for everything to be quick and easy. To put this nightmare behind me so Jake and I could get on with our lives—happily and together.
Now, it feels like a clawed fist just seized my heart in a stranglehold and clenched, the tips of the daggered nails puncturing the vital organ. Because even though I’d been so careful, tried so hard, it feels like my plan is crumbling to pieces.
But it’s too late to turn back now.
While I was driving around before dawn, learning my way around, I timed the drive between the house listed in Garrett’s name on the tax roll and the warehouse. It should have taken him a full fifteen minutes to get here.
Though it only took me six minutes to make the drive from the parking lot behind the bank, it was clear the instant that my destination came into sight that something unexpected had happened.
Because the same car that had been parked outside Garrett’s house, a very recognizable classic Mercedes convertible, silver with a black soft top, is already here now.
Which means I have no chance to prepare. No opportunity to lay a trap. No time to take measures to ensure that I have the upper hand.
Instead, I just have a sick feeling of dread filling my insides to capacity and the sinking sensation that this is only the first thing that will go wrong.
I wish I could turn around, drive back to the campground and pretend this never happened, but I can’t do that.
I have to at least try to seize back control of my life, my safety, my future.
I glance around quickly, surveying my surroundings as I come to a stop in front of the building. There’s not much more than I was able to see in the dark this morning. Several other similar structures are arranged around a property that otherwise appears abandoned.
Weeds break through cracks in the asphalt and crowd around the sides of the warehouses, which are simple and nondescript, exact replicas of each other.
There are no windows. An oversized single door has been cut into one of the two-story corrugated metal walls of each building.
There are no trash cans, no benches, not even lights affixed to the exteriors by the entries.
I decide to leave the keys inside the ignition in case I need to make a quick getaway, but that leaves the problem of where to put my gun.
I’m the one who said no weapons. I can’t exactly go waltzing in there with a firearm, not if I want any credibility that I’m here to make nice.
And I don’t want to leave it in the car if it’s going to be unlocked.
My legs tremble as I exit the vehicle, knowing that I’m out of time.
I fill my pockets with the one surprise I have going for me and hurry toward the door.
There are only two options for where to stash the pistol.
Beneath the chunk of concrete beside the door, probably used to prop it open when deliveries are being made, or the weeds. I choose the weeds.
Turning to check behind me, making sure I’m not being observed, I tuck the gun beneath the leaves of a thick dandelion. Then, taking a deep breath, I brace myself, wrap my hand around the knob, and open the door.
The interior is dim. Though strings of bare bulbs zigzag across the ceiling, only the center row has been turned on, leaving the sides of the building in shadows.
It’s hot, despite several ventilation fans spinning slowly on the ceiling. Towering stacks of boxes and crates crowd the room, creating ample places to hide. The man I’m here to meet must be using one of them, because he’s nowhere in sight.
I force myself to take a step inside, then another. The door closes behind me with a bang, casting the room in further darkness. The familiar fingers of a panic attack trace icy fingers along my neck. I draw deep breaths, trying to keep them from wrapping around me with a choking squeeze.
“That’s far enough.”
The voice startles me, even though I was prepared for it. I turn toward the corner where it came from, peer into the darkness between two shipping crates. Garrett Glover emerges from between them. Even through the gloom I can see the smirk on his face. And the pistol in his hand.
“So you’re the woman I’ve heard so much about,” he says. “First things first. Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Pull up your shirt. Prove it.”
Lifting the hem of my shirt up to my ribs, I turn in a slow circle.
“Sorry, I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Pull it higher.”
I jerk the material up to my armpits and spin until I’m facing him again.
“Are we good?”
“Oh yeah. We’re good.”
I tug the shirt back down.
“I can see what Jake likes about you. I mean, other than,” he gestures at me, waving up and down, which I assume is a reference to my body. “But what do you see in him?”
“Well, for starters, he’s never aimed a gun at me.”
Garrett laughs. “You’re a spitfire.”
“You have no idea.”
“We could remedy that.”
I snort, unable to contain myself. His smile falters.
“Some might consider that a risk,” he says.
“If it is, it’s one worth taking.”
“You’re a lot like Janine, aren’t you?”
“I’m nothing like Janine.”
“I disagree. Say what you will about her, but she isn’t afraid to speak her mind, even with a gun aimed at her. And she does whatever it takes to get what she wants.”
“Like me dead?” I ask.
He tsks. “I can’t say I entirely agree with that. Seems like a waste to me.”
The man steps out into the light where I can see him. Though he’s still cloaked by shadows and half a dozen yards away, I’m shocked by the resemblance between him and Jake, much more obvious in person than it had been in the photograph.
“You know, with Janine gone, I could use a partner.”
“Is this a sale’s pitch?”
He shrugs.
“More like an offer. A very lucrative one. And considering that accepting it is the only way you’re going to walk out of here, it’s one that you might want to seriously consider. Assuming you’re interested in seeing tomorrow, that is.”
Obviously, the time for small talk is over. Which means the time to play the endgame has come.