Chapter 28 Cybil #2
For the first time, Athena sounds . . . uncertain? Worried? I look at the agent knocked out in my car. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“Get rid of him.”
I gasp. “I’m not killing him!”
“What? No!” Athena groans. “Why is that your first thought?”
“I don’t know! You said it so casually!”
“Cybil, I meant move him. You need to get him out of your car.”
My breathing shallows. I look around the neighborhood. I haven’t seen a car, which is good but also bad. “I think it’s illegal
to dump a body on the side of the road, even if they aren’t dead. Not to mention I threw up my DNA all over the place.”
Athena sighs, and I can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have an idea, but I need you to stop hyperventilating.”
“I’m not hyperventilating.” But I am. I take a long, deep breath and exhale slowly. “Okay, I’m good. Please tell me your idea
doesn’t involve me committing any more felonies tonight.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back in my car, back in downtown Dallas, and pulling into the half-circle drive of the Merius Hotel.
A valet makes eye contact and hustles over.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’ll work so long as you sell it,” Athena assures me. “Call me when it’s done.”
“Sounds just like a mob boss ordering a hit.”
Athena laughs and I end the call as the valet reaches for my door.
I open it before he can. “Hi, hey, um, I’m just pulling up to help my husband.” I thumb toward the back seat. The valet peeks
inside, then looks back at me, eyes subtly scanning over my dress. Is that puke on my hem? I fight the urge to recoil and instead force a sheepish smile. “He had a little too much to drink.”
The valet, young—maybe in his mid-twenties—nods knowingly, like this is just another Saturday night. Do unconscious federal agents frequent five-star hotels?
“I’m just going to get him to our room and then move my car to public parking, if that’s okay. Won’t take long.”
“Sure. Just pull up over there.”
“Thanks.”
I park, get out, and immediately realize I have no idea how to move an unconscious man into the hotel without drawing attention. As understanding as the valet seems, there are definitely
people inside who might be more . . . curious.
“Hey, honey,” I jostle the agent’s leg, not sure if I want him awake or not. Awake would make it easier to move him but assure
he could identify me. Arrest me. “We’re at the hotel now.”
He moans, and I startle. His glassy green eyes flutter open, unfocused. “Ssssssick.”
“Me too,” I mutter. I reach for his hand and pull him upright. His head lolls to the side, then back to me. I shift, angling
so he can’t get a clear view of my face. “Let’s get inside.”
The second he slides out of the car, his legs buckle, and his full weight crashes onto me. My knees nearly give out.
“Ma’am, do you need some help?” The valet—bless his Southern soul—is back at my side. “My dad and Jack Daniels are close friends,”
he says with a grin. “I’ve got a little experience with this.”
The last thing I want to do is involve someone else in . . . whatever crime this technically is—no matter what Athena says. But there’s
no way I can move the agent alone.
“Yes,” I say, feigning exasperation. “If we can get him to the lobby, I’ll order us some coffee, get him sobered up enough
to make it to our room.”
With the valet’s help, we half walk, half drag the agent through the lobby. To my shock, no one seems remotely concerned—which
is, honestly, concerning. The second he hits the plush club chair, his eyes slide shut with a loud, unceremonious snore.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” The valet turns to leave, then hesitates, glancing between me and the agent. My heart stalls. I’m caught.
Then he sighs, shakes his head. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying . . . you can do better.”
Relief and unexpected sympathy twist in my chest. “Thanks,” I say, and he turns to leave, but I stop him. “You wouldn’t happen
to have a piece of paper and pen on you?”
“No, but there’s hotel stationery and pens near the lobby phone.”
I thank him again, hurry over, and scribble a quick note. After a glance around, I slip it into the agent’s hand. Back at
my car, I dig out a twenty, hand it to the helpful valet, and begin to drive away, only to catch sight of a security camera
mounted on the corner of the hotel.
My stomach plummets. Cameras! I duck my chin like the dozens of cameras I can assume are all over the Merius Hotel didn’t just capture me drag-walking
a federal agent into a luxury hotel from ten different angles.
I hit the gas like I can outrun the poor life choices that got me here. But the truth is, not all of them were mine. Some
were made for me, some were forced on me, and some—like this one—felt less like a choice and more like survival. I’ve spent
years trying to do the right thing in a world that doesn’t play fair, trying to tip the scales just enough to protect people
like my mom—people who don’t stand a chance against the ones with the money and power to make the rules.
I yank out my phone and dial Athena, and the second she picks up I hiss, “There are cameras! All over the hotel.”
“Relax,” she says, unfazed. “We’ll take care of that.”
I don’t ask what that means because I’m not sure I want to know. Instead, I let out a shaky breath and turn onto the highway.
“What do I do now?”
“Will you feel safe at your apartment until I can figure out if you’ve been compromised?”
Safe. The word feels foreign and dangerous. Hours ago, my heart believed Ben could make me feel that way, but that was a mistake.
The only place I’ve ever felt truly safe is—
“Cypress Creek. I can go to my uncle Buddy and aunt Renee’s place. It’s his birthday this weekend, so it won’t be unexpected, but if you think I’m in real danger—if my cover is blown—I don’t want to bring that to my family.”
Athena doesn’t respond right away, and I imagine she’s running through every possible scenario in that calculating brain of
hers, weighing risks and outcomes in real time.
“What did you tell Edmond when you left the restaurant?” she asks.
“That I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Good. Go to your family’s ranch. Stay put until I can figure out if your cover is blown. And don’t do anything reckless like pick up federal agents.”
She’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the word reckless lands like a gut punch. Is she wrong though? I let old feelings for Ben distract me, and now I’m in a tangled mess of my
own making. My voice is quiet when I ask, “Do you really think Ben sold me out?”
Athena exhales. “I don’t know,” she admits, but there’s concern in her voice—real concern. “Stay with your family until I
find out.”
I should feel relief at having a plan. Instead, uncertainty grips me cold and tight. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror,
half expecting to see Ramirez’s headlights closing in. If my cover is blown, my recklessness might be following me straight
to my family.