Chapter 5
Five
Acab pulls up to the curb, and he places our bags in the back before opening the door for me.
I slide into the back dejected. “I liked you better when I thought you were just an arrogant prick.”
“I’m aware.” He leans over. “Or do you bend over for everyone you work with?”
I inhale sharply and glare at him. “You’re never going to touch me again.”
“I’ll take that bet,” he murmurs and tells the driver to head to the airport.
If he calls me a slut or anything like it, I’ll break my cover and fucking shoot him.
I turn my attention out the window and watch the road whip by.
Finding myself trapped in the back of a cab with a man hired to kill me is not how I imagined this job going.
A little voice in the back of my head tells me that even though he says he was never planning to kill me, it would be dumb to think he won’t at some point.
Eventually, I’ll either wear out my usefulness or no longer be worth the headache of hiding.
I don’t even want to know what it is he thinks he needs me for. The possibilities are extensive, depending on what he knows, and some of them are horrifying.
From the corner of my eye, I inspect his hands. They’re scarred and rough, calloused. Hands that could squeeze the fucking life out of me if they have to. For all the skills I could pull out and surprise him with, if it comes down to it, I’m going to need a gun to put him down.
“What are we doing?” I inquire, wondering if he plans to give me any information at all.
“We have less than eight hours before they figure out I didn’t come through this time.” His eyes flick to the cab driver and then to me. “We need to disappear.”
“I told you already, without the right support … it’s never going to happen.”
It’s early morning now, almost dawn, and I have yet to sleep since arriving in Chicago, and I’m unsure when I’ll get the chance. My weighty lids fall closed, and I force my mind to switch gears and focus on what I have to do to stay alive.
The airport is the wrong move, but he isn’t going to listen to me.
A flight is the fastest way out of here, and I imagine he’s aiming to go home, so I suppose he has to try.
As crazy as it is to think about, I’m safer with him than out on my own right now.
Once they realize I’m alive, someone else will be sent after me and the others.
If York can get me out of the country, then I need to let him.
I can make a run for it after that. He has his own designs on me, but I’m going to use him right back.
My eyes open when the cab lurches to a halt.
I didn’t sleep, but it was nice to rest my eyes.
I’m getting a headache. The driver exits the front and unloads the trunk as I climb out onto the sidewalk in front of the airport.
I look at York as he grabs our bags. “This is a bad idea.”
“No one will be looking for you yet. It’s a necessary risk.”
York hands the driver a few bills and then tells me to start walking as he sets a quick pace.
“They’ll be able to track us once they do start looking,” I argue.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“The wolf does not explain itself to sheep,” he says coolly.
Sheep. My blood boils as I cross the road to the terminal. This fucking sheep is getting tired of his shit very quickly. I walk through the big revolving door with him on my heels.
“We can’t get on a plane with guns,” I murmur as I look up at the departure board.
“Good thing I trashed them all at the hotel, then.” He turns to me. “Don’t move from this spot. Do you understand?”
I nod and watch as he strides toward the ticket counter. As soon as he begins speaking to the ticketing agent, I march over to a nearby row of seats. Fuck him.
Groaning, I rub my forehead and close my eyes as the headache kicks up another notch.
I unzip my case and take out my leather jacket.
After slipping it on, I bend over to zip the case shut, and someone sits down next to me.
It’s a man, and I look past him, noting all the empty seats he didn’t choose.
“Hi there,” he says, smiling at me. “I saw you sitting here alone and thought you might like some company.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Well . . .” He glances around dramatically. “You are right now.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes.
“Why don’t I do you a favor”—he pulls out a business card—“and give you the number of a real man . . . one that won’t leave you to fend for yourself.” Smiling, he leans closer. “It’s okay, you can take it.”
“Jesus Christ,” I say in disbelief.
A hand snaps the card up in a flash from behind, and York rounds us, scrutinizing it. “Darren, now I know where you work. How hard do you think it will be to find where you live?”
The man blanches as York looks down at him.
His eyes shift to me. “Did he put his hands on you?”
I shake my head, and York slides the business card into his pocket as the man slips out of the seat and excuses himself, hurrying to the security check.
“I told you to stand over there.” He points to the departure board. “The less you follow instructions, the more difficult this is going to become for you.” He hands me my passport with a ticket tucked into it. “Now get your ass to security.”
We make it through security without an issue, and I head toward our gate. As guessed, the tickets are for England, but unexpectedly, his fingers lace with mine, and my breath catches.
“You look like a captive, sweetheart.” He raises my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Try to relax.”
“I am a captive.”
“Well, let’s not advertise it.”
When we reach our gate, he pulls me down into his lap when he sits and checks his watch before stretching his arms across the chair backs. My eyes fall to my fingers. I can feel him looking at me, but it’s taking everything I have to remain calm and avoid picking an argument here.
So, I sit on his lap diligently, and eventually, I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder.
“Good girl,” he mutters.
When they call our flight, we line up with the crowd, but as soon as our tickets are scanned, he weasels out of the line of people headed into the corridor for the plane and redirects us back into the airport.
A few gates down, he stops and tells me to take off my coat. I do it, and he does the same, dropping them on a chair and pulling me back into his lap.
“What are we doing?”
“Shh.” He tucks my head into his neck. “Just watch, dove.”
Before the line of people has been entirely scanned onto the plane, Jeffries and two other agents I don’t recognize come rushing down the hall and stop at the gate. I stiffen against him, and his arms tighten around me, stopping me from bolting. The agents disappear down the gangway.
He taps my thigh gently. “Now.”
Standing, he takes my hand, and we grab our bags. He leads us through a maze back to the front of the airport and flags down a car. “Now we know they’ve been watching the whole time.”
“What does that mean?”
The trunk pops open as the car stops in front of us and he drops our cases into it and pulls the door open for me. “It means they can’t afford for you to slip away, so there are redundancies . . . which is interesting.”
“It could also mean they’re onto you,” I point out and climb into the car. “You listened to me though.” He cocks a brow as he sits next to me. “About flying being a bad idea. What made you change your mind?”
“I never intended to get on that plane.”
“This was always a test?” I stare at him. “I thought you were confident we had hours before they figured out I was alive?”
“I’m cocky, not stupid.” He sinks back into the seat and turns his head my way. “My hypothesis needed to be tested.”
I don’t say anything further and he watches me the entire drive. The desire to stare back is there, but I don’t. I keep my eyes mostly cast down, taking the occasional break to look out the window and discover where we are headed.
Less than an hour later, our cab stops near the harbor.
“We need to rest,” he says as the car pulls away.
“Yeah,” I agree, rubbing at my face.
With the harbor to our backs, we walk until we hit a main road and then walk some more.
Eventually, we come across a bed and breakfast that is happy to take cash and the fake names we give them without checking our identification.
Once in the room with the door locked, I let out a deep breath and lean against the wall.
He sets our bags to the side and pulls my blouse from the waist of my pants. I slap his hand away indignantly, but he slaps my hand back and pulls the top over my head. I rip my arms out of it in frustration, and he grabs my wrists when I try to push him away.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
Watching me, he releases my wrists and unbuttons his shirt.
The way he regards me is unnerving in its consistency.
This time, I hold his gaze, ignoring the skin he’s revealing.
Finally, he steps back and lays his shirt over a chair.
I pant as the tension wanes, and then he removes his slacks and turns down the covers.
There is nowhere else to sleep but the bed, unless I take the floor, but I can’t afford shitty sleep right now.
I’m caught between loathing him and feeling some gratitude that we didn’t get trapped on that plane with Jeffries.
Closing my eyes for a second, I drop my arms and then undo my jeans and slide them off.
I don’t look at him as I slide under the covers and sink into the feather pillow.
I’m so fucking tired; I don’t have the energy to worry about falling asleep beside him.
We both need rest to keep going, and there is no way they will find us here, not for a while at least. However, it’s only a matter of time before they comb through the surveillance footage of the airport and see us . . . track us to that cab.
“I’ll make you sleep on the floor if you don’t calm your brain down.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” I lie. “And if you keep threatening me, I’ll hold a pillow over your head as soon as you fall asleep.”
“No, you won’t,” he mumbles and rolls over.