Chapter 25
Twenty-five
Jameson
My boots slap against the thin, stained carpet as I pace my motel room, slightly out of tune with the frantic clicks of Miles’ keyboard. “How the fuck did he find out?” I snap, my voice sharp and ragged.
“Jameson!” Miles yells, grabbing my attention. I stop pacing and turn to look at him, shoulders slumping with defeat.
I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair.
It’s taken him all damn day to get here from New York, and I’ve been going out of my fucking mind, pacing the small room like a caged animal.
More than once, I’ve almost grabbed my keys, ready to drive straight to the bar, just to see that Lane’s okay with my own eyes.
“I need you to calm the fuck down and tell me exactly what he said,” he says, voice even.
I drop into the chair across from him at the small table in the corner of the room. “All the message says is ‘You’ve been lying to me.’” I pull my phone from my pocket, handing it over.
He takes it without a word and plugs it into his laptop. His fingers fly across the keys, the rapid clicks echoing in the small room. He rubs a hand across his jaw, and narrows his eyes, brows drawn tight as he studies the screen.
His eyes meet mine over the top. “Do you have any pictures of Lane on here?”
I narrow my eyes. “Of course I do, but you said my phone was secure.”
“It is.” He mutters something under his breath and taps a few keys, before disconnecting my phone and handing it back to me. “We know Lane doesn’t have social media, but that doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t taken a picture of her recently without her knowing.”
Why would the client hire us if he could do that kind of search himself?
It doesn’t take me long to put it together; the realization makes my stomach clench. “You think he already hired someone else to find her?”
He turns the laptop around. “Yes, I do.”
Right there in front of me is a picture of myself and Lane with her favorite author. A picture I never in a billion years thought would be posted by the author herself. Out of all of the pictures taken, how the fuck did our picture end up being one of the few she posted?
My heart beats faster, a steady pounding in my ears. This is my fucking fault.
The client hired someone else. It doesn’t matter when or why. All that matters is that he knows I found her.
“Jameson!” Miles yells my name, snapping me out of my panicked thoughts.
My eyes snap to him. “You need to stay calm and think this through. That picture was taken weeks ago, over an hour from here, and her name isn’t even listed.
There’s a chance he doesn’t know exactly where she is yet.
If he did, he would have made a move on her. ”
His words do little to ease the anxiety humming through my body. The only thing that matters is keeping Lane safe. We need to find out who this asshole is before he finds her.
“Call him,” Miles says, voice hard.
Fuck.
I lean back, arms crossed over my chest. “No fucking way. I’m not bringing him into this.”
He mirrors my posture, the flickering red glow from the hotel sign cutting across his face. “Yes, fucking way. Call him, Jameson. He said to call if we ever got caught in a shitstorm. Look around, you think this isn’t a shitstorm? Call him.”
Fuck he’s right. We are running out of time and need his help.
“Damn it,” I groan, pulling up his contact info. My finger hovers over the screen, stomach tying itself in knots. Finally, I press call and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey, kid,” I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s happy to hear from me, and here I am, about to ruin his damn day.
“I need your help, Vic. Code red.”
His voice dims, losing some of its warmth, but remains steady. “I’ll call you in five minutes.” He hangs up, leaving the line quiet, and me with a knot of tension I can’t shake.
He’s a retired FBI agent with over thirty years of experience in the field. He’s my fucking hero and has taught me the skills that enable me to do my job as a PI.
He has also racked up favors through the years. Favors I could never dream of having, but desperately need.
My phone rings. I put it to my ear, staying silent, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
His voice is all business. He’s not my loving step-dad right now, he’s a specially trained agent. “Tell me everything.”
I do, starting with the client’s first call, not leaving out a single detail.
“Have Miles send me everything he has. I’ll have a plane waiting for you.” The line goes dead.
I start to relay what Vic said, but Miles is already typing away, having clearly overheard. I’m just about to shove my phone back into my pocket when it buzzes, an incoming message lighting up the screen.
Wildflower
Thanks for the flowers.
I stop breathing, the buzz of the air conditioner suddenly too loud. I didn’t send her flowers.
Miles looks up, his eyes locking on the horror written all over my face. “What’s wrong?”
Panic like I’ve never felt before floods my body. “He found her.”
He types a few commands into his laptop and four scenes pop up, each showing a different angle. In the top right corner is my Wildflower.
Relief washes through me. She’s okay.
I stand and stomp across the floor, desperate to get to her, but Miles calls my name, halting me mid-stride.
I turn, glaring at him. “What?”
“If you barge in now; like this, in front of a bar full of people, you’ll make a scene,” he says, trying to reason with me. “We need to get her out quietly. There’s a plan. Stick to it.”
He turns his laptop around so it faces the spot I vacated, and pulls a second one from his bag.
I drop into the chair, my eyes locked on Lane as she works. It feels like I’m being split in two. My heart wants me to go to her. To drag her out of the bar right this second. My head knows we need to wait and do it quietly.
She’s wearing a bright smile, cheerfully chatting with Betsy. My heart clenches. She’s so happy and I’m about to upend her entire life. She’s going to hate me after this. Fuck, how do I get her to leave with me?
I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over the screen for just a moment before and make another call I don’t want to make. Involving another person I don’t want to involve.
Unable to wait any longer, I’m out of my truck and through the bar door the second the last customer of the night leaves. Music still flows from the jukebox, something low and haunting.
A smile spreads across Lane’s face when she sees me. “I thought we were meeting at my house?”
That smile. Something deep inside me cracks open and I clench my fists at my sides.
My gaze stays locked on hers, the words leaving my mouth in a rush. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
Her smile drops, brows knitting together in confusion. “Then who sent me flowers?”
This is it, band-aid off.
She can hate me if she wants, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep her safe. Even if that means carrying her out of here kicking and screaming.
“The person who sent me to find you.”
The song flowing from the jukebox ends, leaving us in silence that feels too heavy, too still.
I watch as her face goes from confusion to realization to disbelief.
“What did you just say?” she asks, as if willing me to say something different.
Footsteps thud behind me. “I thought we agreed on telling her calmly?” Kam demands, voice sharp.
I don’t have to turn around to know she’s shooting daggers at the back of my head. I can feel the intensity of her stare, and her disdain. Safe to say she’s no longer team Jameson.
I grit my teeth, eyes still locked on Lane. “I thought I told you to stay in the truck.”
Kam steps past me, placing herself between me and Lane; acting as a barrier. She turns to me, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. “One, you aren’t my boss and don’t get to tell me what to do. And two, do you really think she’s going to go anywhere with you, asshole?”
Lane’s eyes dart between us nervously, panic bleeding into her voice. “Kam, what the hell is going on right now? Is this some kind of prank? Because it’s not very funny.”
Kam turns to her, voice softening. “Do you trust me?”
Lane bites her lip, eyes still flicking nervously between us. “You’re really fucking scaring me right now, Kam. Did you know why he was here?”
Kam scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Seriously, Lane? Is that what you think of me? After five years? That I’d help someone hurt you? That I’d let someone take you from me?”
Kam shoots a death glare over her shoulder at me, before turning her attention back to Lane. “The only reason I haven’t gone Lorena Bobbitt on him is because he is the only person that can help keep you safe.”
“We have to go now,” I grit out, urgency taking over. I need to get Lane out of here now.
Lane crosses her arms, eyes blazing, her feet planted firmly on the ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she snaps, the words dripping with defiance.
Kam strides across the bar, her footsteps the only sound over the pounding of my own heart. “We don’t have a choice, Lane. I don’t know the first thing about keeping you hidden, and we don’t have time to get you another new identity.”
Lane’s head snaps to Kam. “You know what I did?”
Kam nods, keeping her stride steady, closing the distance between them. “I’m glad you killed him,” she says calmly, reaching her hand out.
Lane bites her lip, eyes darting between me and Kam again, her body stiff with uncertainty. Her hand trembles as she reaches out, then slowly, almost reluctantly, she slips it into Kam’s.
Putting all of her trust in her best friend and none of it in me.