Chapter 25
RILEY
I've wiped down the kitchen counter three times already, and I'm about to do it a fourth when I force myself to stop and toss the sponge back into the sink.
The safehouse is immaculate at this point, every surface scrubbed clean, every pillow on the couch fluffed and arranged just so.
I've been alone all day waiting for Rafe to finish overseeing the deliveries, and the waiting has turned me into someone who cleans compulsively just to keep from losing her mind.
The Christmas tree blinks in the corner of the living room, cycling on and off in a rhythm that's started to grate on my nerves hours ago.
I walk over to the mantel and adjust the garland for what must be the tenth time today, making sure it drapes evenly across the stone.
My fingers smooth out a wrinkle in the fabric, and I step back to examine my work.
Perfect. Everything is perfect. And I still feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin.
Rafe said the shipments would wrap up by late afternoon, and it's well past that now.
The sun's already set, and the windows show nothing but darkness and the faint glow of distant holiday lights reflecting off fresh snow.
He's probably just being thorough, making sure every detail's accounted for before he comes back, but God help me, I'm going mad with worry. I know how much was at stake in this.
And the waiting is killing me.
I move back into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, staring at its contents without really seeing them.
There's leftover pasta from last night, a carton of eggs, some vegetables that probably need to be used soon.
I close the door without taking anything out and lean against the counter, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface.
It's Christmas Eve. By now, everything should be wrapped up.
The toy drive is over. The weapons have to have been delivered.
And all of my work has to have held up. I did everything I could possibly do to cut ties between Rafe's illegal activities and Next Gen.
But I have no clue what time the banker's dead man's switch is set to go, and if I missed anything at all, it could blow up in my face.
Chewing a nail, I stare at the chipped linoleum flooring and I can't stop second-guessing myself.
What if I did miss something—a thread I didn't catch or a connection I didn't sever?
What if all my work just made things worse instead of better?
It's eating away at me, causing me way more anxiety than it should be.
I push off the counter and walk back into the living room, my eyes drifting to the landline phone sitting on the side table.
It's an old-fashioned thing, beige plastic with a coiled cord that tethers it to the wall.
I've been circling past it all day, eyeing it every time I walk by, telling myself over and over not to touch it.
Rafe made it clear the day he brought me here that it was too risky to use that phone to call out, and I haven't touched it. But it's Christmas, and I miss my family. And I haven't heard my sister's voice in weeks.
Besides, Rafe and I already have a plan for how we'll handle my return to Buffalo, and he promised me I'd be able to be in my sister's wedding—if she's still planning it.
With my disappearance, I wouldn't be surprised if she canceled the whole thing and sent out regrets to every guest. And I hate that for her.
I hate the idea that she'd have to postpone her wedding, and I'll never forgive myself if that's the case.
So I sit down on the couch and stare at the phone, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I'm going home tomorrow. Rafe promised me that. He's going to figure out a way to get me back to Buffalo safely, and I'll see my family again. I just have to wait one more day.
Except I don't think I can wait one more day.
I reach for the phone before I can talk myself out of it. My hand hovers over the receiver for a moment, and then I pick it up and bring it to my ear. The dial tone hums, and my heart starts to pound so hard I can feel it in my throat.
This is a bad idea—a terrible idea. But my fingers are already moving, pressing the numbers I've had memorized since I was a kid.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.
Then I hear Lila's voice, and it's like a fist squeezing my chest.
"Hello?"
She sounds exhausted. Her voice is hoarse, like she's been crying, and I can hear the strain in that single word.
"Lila," I say, and my voice cracks a little as tears instantly flood my eyes.
There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then a sound that's half gasp, half sob.
"Riley? Oh, my God, Riley, is that you?"
"Yeah. It's me."
"Oh, my God! Where are you? Are you okay?
We've been looking everywhere. The police have been here.
The FBI came to the house and asked us all these questions.
Mom hasn't stopped crying in days. Dad barely sleeps.
We thought you were dead. We thought someone took you and killed you and we'd never see you again. "
Every word feels like a punch in the gut but I knew this was coming. I knew this is how they'd feel. Still, I have to take a few steadying breaths so she doesn’t hear that I'm crying. My being sad isn't part of our plan to cover things up.
"I'm so sorry, Lila. I'm okay," I say. "I'm safe. I promise."
"Safe? Riley, your car was found abandoned on the side of the highway and burned out. Your phone's been off for weeks. Nobody's heard from you. What the hell happened?"
I force myself to keep my voice steady and calm and reassuring even though my pulse is racing and my hands are trembling.
"I met someone," I say. "A man. He's so amazing, Lila.
And he's so handsome. He found me on the side of the highway and the car just wasn't going to start, so he brought me to his cabin in the mountains.
Oh my God, you're going to love him." I can let my genuine happiness shine through because all of it's true. Rafe is amazing and I do love him.
The silence on the other end of the line lasts so long that I think the call might've dropped. Then Lila speaks again, and she's sniffling. She sounds angry.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Lila, it's the truth."
"No. That's not you. You don't just disappear. You don't abandon your car and run off with some guy you just met. You're the responsible kid. You keep track of everything and make sure everyone else is okay. So don't stand there and lie to me."
I swallow hard, and I can feel the guilt rising up in my chest, threatening to choke me.
"I'm not lying to you."
"Then prove it. Come home. Right now. If you're really okay, if you're really safe, then come home and look me in the eye and tell me this ridiculous story."
"I will. Tomorrow. I'll be there for Christmas."
"Tomorrow," she repeats, and I hear the disbelief in her voice. "You're really coming home tomorrow?"
"Yes. I promise."
"And this guy you're with—is he coming too?"
"Yes."
She makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and I can picture her standing in our parents' kitchen with her hand pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
"This is insane," she says. "All of this is completely insane."
"I know. I'm so sorry for scaring you. I'm so sorry for everything." The mountain of guilt I've been trying to ignore feels like an avalanche over my heart right now.
"Sorry doesn't even come close to covering it, Riley. But I don't care. I just want you home. I need to see you. Mom and Dad need to see you. We all need to know you're really okay."
"I'm okay. I promise."
"Okay." Her voice breaks, and I hear her take a shaky breath. "Okay. I love you."
"I love you too."
I hang up the phone before she can say anything else, and my hands are shaking so badly, I almost drop the receiver. I set it back in the cradle and stand there staring at it, my pulse roaring in my ears.
My heart is so heavy knowing how badly my family has been suffering and I want to speak to my parents too, but I don’t think a phone call is what they need. Besides, I can't stomach the questions right now. I want Rafe with me when I have to face that again.
And the authorities are probably tracing that call as we speak. Rafe will be furious about it, but I just had to hear her voice. I had to. My heart can't take it anymore.
I press my hands to my face and try to force myself to breathe normally. The panic is rising in my chest, making it hard to think, and I can feel tears burning trails down my cheeks. It's a strange mixture of comfort and pain, fear and relief.
The front door opens, and I spin around to see Rafe walking into the living room, brushing snow off his coat, and when he looks up and sees my face, he stops in his tracks.
"What happened?" he asks.
I can't lie to him. I've never been good at lying, and I'm especially bad at lying to him.
"I called my sister." I rush the words out as I walk toward him, hoping for a hug.
His expression goes completely blank. "You did what?"
"I used the phone. I called Lila. I couldn't wait anymore, Rafe. I had to tell her I was okay."
He doesn't say anything for a long moment.
He just stands there looking at me, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he processes what I just told him.
A range of emotions flashes across his face, anger, fear, and resolve.
Then he sets his keys on the table and walks past me into the office where the laptop is still sitting on the desk.
"What are you doing?" I follow him into the room with stutter steps and a racing pulse.
He picks up the pot of coffee from the warming plate, which I left in case he'd like a cup when he got home, and he pours the cold coffee over the keyboard.
The liquid seeps into the keys, drips onto the desk, pools around the base of the screen as it sparks and pops, and the screen goes dark.
He sets the empty pot down and wipes his hands on his jeans.
"Oh my god! Are you insane?" I ask, stepping back as the dark liquid runs down the front of the too-clean counter and pools on the floor.
"I'm making sure there's no record of your accessing anything from this location," he says. "If they trace the call back here, they'll find a fried laptop but no way to track anything off its hard drive now. It's shorted out."
A million thoughts right through my head as he walks past me and moves into the bedroom, for God only knows what. And I follow him.
"Rafe, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I just—"
"I'll handle it," he says, cutting me off. His voice is calm, and it makes my panic worse.
"This is my fault. I shouldn't have—"
"It's done, Riley." He grips me by both arms and looks me straight in the eye. "We can't undo it. So we deal with it and move forward."
"What if they trace the call? What if they're on their way here right now?"
I'm frantic now, petrified I won't be able to act normal and casually in love with him if they just show up here.
"It will be fine," he says, then he turns to the closet and starts pulling out wads of cash from the pockets of his clothing. I had no idea any of that was in there, and when I start seeing weapons emerge, I know something's off.
"Oh, my God," I mutter.
"It's alright. I have a plan, okay? You just help me carry this." Rafe starts handing me wads of cash, and I tremble. We're going to hide his stash somewhere because he's afraid the Feds are coming. And now I'm afraid the Feds are coming too.
What the fuck did I do?