11. Nick
NICK
It’s been two hours, and she hasn’t said a word.
I’ve been watching her in the passenger seat. Stealing glances between stretches of highway that all look the same in the dark. She’s sitting with her feet on the dash and her arms folded across her chest, staring through the windshield at nothing.
I don’t have it in me to point out how dangerous it is, sitting that way. If we have an accident, she’ll end up with her kneecaps wedged in her skull. Something tells me she wouldn’t take well to the reminder.
The mood she’s in, she might welcome the idea.
Her face is blank in a way that’s different from her usual composure. Something has collapsed. I see it in the set of her mouth, the way her jaw hasn’t unclenched since we left the cabin.
She isn’t angry—that would probably be easier. No, she’s crushed. Questioning everything about her past with the Russo family. Vincenzo didn’t try to rescue her. He tried to erase her.
This is a woman who built her entire identity on being useful to them.
Being their weapon. Now she knows how disposable she always was.
There’s always another weapon out there, the next in line, waiting for their turn.
He decided it would be easier and better for everyone involved to erase her completely.
She’s been thrown completely off balance twice in four days. I’m not sure how she’s still operating.
I want to say something. To reach across the center console and put my hand on her knee, and tell her everything will be all right. But it wouldn’t be true, really. The last thing she needs now are empty words, easy to see through. She doesn’t need another man telling her things that aren’t true.
So I drive, AirPods in my ears, my phone in the cup holder.
Liam is still beside himself an hour after I called him, once the distance I’d put between us and the cabin felt enough that I could loosen up a little, stop being quite so watchful, and give him the news that his childhood vacation home is now full of bullet holes.
Neither of us can piece together how eight armed mercenaries found us at a cabin that’s supposed to be off the grid.
“Are you sure you were as careful as you could be, bringing her in?”
I grind my molars at the question, which he’s already asked at least twice. He only used different words. The message is the same, of course. How did you fuck this up? I trusted you with my sister, and you haven’t been on US soil for twenty-four hours but are already on the run.
“I’m positive,” I grunt. “Your guess is as good as mine. Unless someone who installed the security system talked to the wrong people.”
“You know how well-vetted the team is.”
I can’t help but remember a certain member of our small team who decided to switch sides and team up with the enemy.
As far as I know, none of us has heard from her since she handed Liam over to Donovan.
I never would have imagined she was capable of that.
Who’s to say what a person is capable of when the right pressure point is nudged?
“One of them isn’t as vetted as you think,” I reply. “Or someone accessed the specs. Either way, they knew exactly what they were doing.”
I can hear him breathing while his fingers tap something hard. Probably his desk. No doubt he’s in his office, speaking quietly so he doesn’t wake Aurora. “I’ll find out who talked.”
“Quietly,” I warn. “If someone is feeding information to Vincenzo, we can’t afford to tip them off.”
“I know what I’m doing,” he snaps.
I force a slow breath and remind myself we’re on the same side before I have no choice but to snap back. “I know you do. I’m just saying, this changes things. If they found the cabin, they can find whatever comes next. We have to be careful about who knows where we are.”
“And where are you? Where are you headed?”
“South. I’ve got a place in mind,” I tell him. “It’s nothing connected to you or to me. A cash transaction. No paper trail.”
“How far?”
“Another couple of hours. I’ll check in with you once we’re settled.”
He pauses again, and it’s heavy. “How is she?”
She’s still staring through the windshield. If she’s aware I’m talking about her, she doesn’t show it. “Processing.”
“What does that mean?”
It means she found out the people she gave twelve years of her life to ordered her execution, and she’s dealing with it the only way she knows how.
“This is a lot,” I settle for replying. It doesn’t feel right, talking about her like she’s not here.
As far away as she seems, I have no doubt her training makes it possible for her to split her attention.
“Take care of her,” he urges.
“I will.”
It’s almost a relief to end the call. I can think more clearly without a voice in my ear. The highway stretches out ahead, empty and dark at one in the morning. We pass a sign for a town I’ve never heard of, then another. The miles add up, but still, she doesn’t move.
It’s roughly another hour before I pull off at a rest stop for gas and food.
She gets out without saying a word, stretches, then walks to the convenience store attached to the gas station.
I follow, keeping my distance, letting her go through the motions of choosing something to eat.
She walks through the aisles like an aimless zombie, picking up a bag of chips, a protein bar, and a bottle of water like she’s going through the motions.
I doubt she even sees what she’s choosing.
I pick up more protein bars, energy drinks, and a wrap sandwich that looks fairly fresh.
It isn’t until she goes up to the register and realizes she’s not carrying money that she turns to me so I can pay in cash, just to be on the safe side.
After I’ve pumped gas, and we’re back in the car, she sets her water in the cup holder and opens her chips, then shoves one into her mouth and chews like she’s personally offended by it.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
She looks at me, and for a second, I think she’s going to say something. Her lips part, and there’s a sound in her throat, almost like the words are about to flow free before she cuts them off. It passes, and she looks away.
“For what?” she murmurs, talking to the window on her right.
“You fought with me tonight, at the cabin. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did. Remember? They were trying to kill me, too.”
“You could’ve run,” I reason. “It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to escape in all the chaos. But you stayed.”
She’s quiet for a moment before replying, “Don’t read into it.” She goes back to her angry chewing while I return to the highway, satisfied for now. I spoke my piece.
We drive for another two hours, in which time the landscape changes from thick forest to open fields.
Eventually, we reach the outskirts of a small city I selected weeks ago as a fallback option.
It’s far enough from Liam’s network to be untraceable, large enough to have options.
It’s also small enough that any strangers with ill intentions will be easy to pick out.
The hotel I’m heading for is on the edge of town, a mid-range chain with a parking lot wrapping around the back, out of sight from the road.
I checked it out online when I was in the process of finding Laura, working my way through all the options, wanting to prepare for every possible situation.
It has what I need: anonymity, and a back entrance that will keep the car out of sight from the road.
The woman behind the front desk is half-asleep at nearly four in the morning.
There have been plenty of times when my work has left me feeling alone.
Plenty of nights spent in the middle of nowhere, in a silent hotel room, living a solitary life.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as bored and listless as the woman who checks me in, then goes back to trying to stay awake.
It’s a plain, standard room. Two beds and a bathroom. A window overlooking a pretty grim parking lot where raccoons raid the dumpster. I notice them in passing, sweeping the room out of habit. Checking the closet, the bathroom, behind the curtains.
Meanwhile, Ivy—I need to start thinking of her using that name, or else I’ll wake up with a knife in my chest—waits in the doorway. If she didn’t look so damn exhausted, she might look amused. A little.
“All clear,” I announce, after checking under the beds. “No assassins.”
“We know one thing for sure. Laura didn’t fall in love with you because of your sense of humor.
” The fact that she’s referring to herself in third person is a little unnerving, but it’s something I do my best to overlook while she enters the room and sits at the foot of the bed closest to the door.
That’s all she does for a while. She sits with her hands on her knees and stares at the worn carpet.
I understand what she’s going through—at least, the physical side of it.
Now that the adrenaline rush has passed, and she’s had time to reflect, the weight of everything that happened tonight is settling on her.
It’s been heavy, weighing her down. Yes, I know the feeling well.
There’s not a damn thing I can do to help her with it.
Her head tips slightly, shoulders sagging. Shoulders I want so much to reach out and take hold of before I draw her close. My hands flex, ready to reach for her. That would be a big mistake.
“Are you tired?” It’s a stupid question. I already know the answer. She could be half-dead. That doesn’t mean sleep would show up anytime soon.
Still, I should encourage her to try. We’re both running on fumes, and we’ll need to hit the road as soon as possible in the morning. We’re going to both need clear heads as we figure out what the hell we’re doing next.
“Exhausted,” she admits, but she doesn’t make a move. She stays where she is, staring at the same spot on the carpet like she’s trying to burn a hole through it.