Olivia
Chapter Seven
Luke kisses me before he leaves for the Saloon.
Not a quick one, either. He's dressed already, keys in his hand. He takes my face in both hands like there's nowhere in the world he has to be, even though I know his MC will be waiting for him.
“Keep that ankle up. There’s more ice in the freezer.”
“Okay.”
“There's coffee and the stovetop pot’s over there. And if you want something fancy, like a latte, see if you can work that machine. I never could.”
“You can't work your own coffee machine?”
“Birthday gift from Savage. Probably stolen… it's got too many buttons.” He kisses my forehead. “And don’t.”
“Don't what?”
“Whatever you're about to say sorry for. My job, or the MC. I’m not sorry, sweetheart.”
Then he's gone, the engine of the truck roaring as he pulls out onto the strip road.
I lie in his bed in his shirt and watch as the sun spreads shards of golden light across the room. The order of Lucky’s room makes me feel peaceful for once; everything’s in its place. But it’s something more than peace; I'm happy.
It takes me a while to work out that's what this feeling is.
He's gone for hours. I watch something mindless on his television, keeping my ankle iced. It’s much better today and I experiment with putting some weight on it. If I’m gentle, it’s fine.
I manage to make myself a coffee from the machine on the third attempt. Then I open my laptop and send my contact an email.
It goes through a route that can’t be traced back.
Are you all right? Answer with the weather.
Nothing comes back.
I check every hour. To stop myself checking more often, I clean a kitchen that's already spotlessly clean. Even his cleaning supplies are color-coordinated. He has a great music collection with old vinyl, and I play some upbeat records to keep myself distracted.
The reply comes back at three.
Fine. Beautiful day. When can we meet?
Something's wrong. The source has never asked to meet me before. My heart thuds in my ears. She must be frightened. She’s been up there with no one who knows what she’s really doing.
Lucky returns late afternoon and leans against the door, running his hands through his hair.
His MC wants the archive; the recordings, the ledger and the list of the names I’ve collected. He says if Rotmere finds out we risk burning everything we’ve both worked on to the ground. They could move the women and start the whole operation again somewhere else.
He says Doc, the VP of the club, needs a few weeks. Nobody is allowed to move before then.
“Are they suspicious of me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He blinks, looking away from me. I can’t imagine that it was easy.
“What did Prez say?”
“He said I'd better hope you're who and what you say you are.” He pushes off the door. “That's the polite version.”
I get up off the stool. My ankle throbs a little but I can put my weight down on it.
“So what should I do?”
“You need to stay here.” He says it easily, like it's already arranged and I’ve agreed.
“We don’t know whether or not they know you’re involved.
One of the prospects will sit on these stairs from tonight, you’ll be safe.
No going into town alone and your phone stays off unless Bethany's got eyes on it. You need to move, you call me and I come and get you.”
“That's a lot, Lucky.”
“It's a lot of people who want you safe.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I've had four months where nobody on earth knew what the hell I was doing. I can take care of myself, okay?”
“How'd that work out on the mountain?”
I wince. “That's not fair.”
We stand facing each other and I don’t drop my eyes.
“Give me the name of your contact,” he says gently. “Not because Prez told me. Doc’s the smartest guy I ever met, he’ll work out a plan. We can get her safe before this gets any worse.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
“I can't.”
“Olivia.”
My hands are shaking. “You remember I told you I trusted my colleague with the name of my source when I started out? He had a good reason; he knew people and he was going to protect her better than I could. He was right about everything except the part where it wrecked her life.”
“I'm not him.”
I press my palms against my eyes. “I know. But I made her a promise.”
He crosses the kitchen and puts his arms around me, I put my face against his chest and breathe in his scent.
“You don't have to decide all this alone anymore,” he says into my hair.
I stay holding him tight, flooded with the awareness that I love him. Then I lie awake next to him all night and think about the phone call from the Lodge.
Lucky’s plane went up that mountain and inside a day they let him go, with a settlement and their sincere thanks. They’re onto him.
And every page of my investigation is a map straight to his door.
If I publish, they’ll move location and start up somewhere else. Even worse, my source will vanish.
I'm not going to publish an article. I decided that when he rescued me, and I've been certain since he told me what he was. I get up and text my editor, asking to meet her. To my surprise she asks to meet me, at a diner a couple of hours drive from here.
But I’ve been publishing for ten years with the same magazine and I owe Nancy, my editor, an explanation.
She has some of my preliminary findings, so I’ll need to ask her to destroy them.
And then there’s my source; she needs to be brought to safety before somebody up there works out what she's been doing.
And I need to fix it.
Lucky sleeps deeply, one arm around my waist. Near dawn I lift it off, an inch at a time. He doesn't stir.
I get dressed silently in the dark. I pack my laptop and the memory card from my camera, then grab the keys for Savage’s truck from the hook.
I get a pen from the counter and a piece of paper. I need to leave him a note.
Luke.
That's as far as I get; if I write one more word I won't be able to go down those stairs.
One of the prospects is asleep in his car at the bottom, mouth open, snoring a little.
I ease off the parking brake and roll the truck down hill out of the lot with the lights off. I start the engine once I’m on the road and I don't breathe properly until I'm past the last streetlight in High Vale.