Chapter 32 Dare
Chapter Thirty-Two
DARE
Cillian and I find my car parked neatly at the bus station, and while he goes inside, I stare at the keys, which are sitting in the driver’s side.
I don’t have an extra set, but I’ve got plenty of rage in me.
I throw my closed fist against the window, once, twice, three times before the first crack appears. I continue punching, again and again, the pain a welcome relief from everything that is overwhelming me.
As the tempered glass finally gives in, I jerk open the door.
It smells like her in the car, like the lavender body wash I bought her from Italy.
I usually find it intoxicating, but now it burns my nostrils, makes my chest tighten, my throat clog.
My knuckles can’t take much more abuse, blood running from I don’t know how many cuts and tears, the window will need to be replaced, but none of that matters now.
I’m looking for clues.
I search the car up and down, but there’s nothing except for an empty, discarded water bottle.
I let out a string of Gaelic curses I’ve picked up from Liam and stand up straight, sighing heavily.
I’ll have to wait her out.
She’ll run out of cash soon, and she’ll have to contact someone or use one of my credit cards.
I pull out Betsy again, and sit down in the back seat, my legs outside the car, door open. I open the screen and start to work.
I hack into the bus station database, looking for tickets, but there’s nothing under the name Isla Quinn. Of course, there wouldn’t be. And she doesn’t use her alias Isla Waters, either. Or any other Islas whatsoever.
Nothing.
She’s in the wind.
Cillian returns, his head down, and I know he hasn't found anything.
I can barely think.
We had such a good morning, and then she…
I can’t even think about it without wanting to throw up.
She left me. Left all of us.
I need to get to my PC.
Betsy is awesome, and I love her, but my PC has more “horsepower,” and that’s what I need now because I’m going to find her, come hell or high water.
“Nothing,” Cillian says, and I stand up to swipe glass pebbles off the seat.
“I've got to get home, figure this out.”
Cillian opens his mouth to protest, but I start the car, revving the engine and pulling out like the hounds of hell are coming.
A week later, a pounding on my door wakes me up.
I’ve fallen asleep at my desk and not even realized it.
Wiping my face, I groan and stand up, my head pounding. I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, getting most of my calories from beer, and God knows the last time I’ve showered.
All I’ve been focused on is finding Isla.
I jerk open the door, only to see Cillian standing there, glaring at me.
“You haven’t been answering your phone. And you look like shit.”
“Thanks. Right back atcha.”
Cillian grunts.
It’s true. He does look like shit, stubble littering his jaw, his eyes haunted and hollow, face pale.
He pushes past me into the house, knocking over glass beer bottles.
“Jesus, Dare. Are you eating at all or just drinking your calories?”
“Whatever, Ma.” I head to the kitchen and drink water straight out of the tap like a dog.
Cillian looks at me with disdain, but I know he’s not doing much better. And I haven’t even heard from Liam except for a few texts asking if I’ve found anything.
“Seriously, you’re never going to find her if you don’t—”
“Shut up. I've already found her. Was going to call this morning, I just...fell asleep.”
Cillian’s eyes widen before he frowns. “Fell asleep or passed out?”
I scoff. “Does it matter?”
He stares at me for a long moment and then shakes his head. “Booze won’t make you forget her. I’ve tried.”
“Leave me alone.” I splash water from the faucet on my face to try and wake up. “I’ve done my part.”
I take my phone out of my back pocket and send both him and Liam a location. This is the last place she used my credit card. She’ll be close.”
“How do you know she hasn’t skipped town already?”
I huff out a breath. “I don’t. It’s the only place that’s pinged since she left; it’s the best I can do.”
I watch him carefully in my peripheral vision. I need Liam and Cillian to do this.
“Aye,” he says finally, and all the breath goes out of my lungs in a rush. “But, Dare, you should come with us. You should—”
“No. I don’t want to see her.”
“Liar.”
I ignore Cillian, my heart aching, and open the fridge to see I have two beers left out of a case. I twist the cap off and discard it on the floor before taking a slug.
Cillian watches me, his face more sad than disdainful at this point, and then he sighs. “We’ll call you with updates.”
I nod tightly, and Cillian leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I put down the beer and rush to my PC, pulling up the bus station cameras. I have no idea why I didn’t think to hack the before yesterday. My only excuse is the lack of sleep and excess of booze impairing my thought process.
I double-check the location of the bus, the city emblazoned on the side of the large vehicle.
As I watch, a small woman with a fantastic ass gets on the bus, and although I can’t make out her face, I’d know that ass anywhere.
Isla.
She headed to a smallish city called Culver, in the state south of us, and I’ve just sent Cillian and Liam to the capital city of the state north of us.
It’s a six-hour drive, so I’ve got to get on the road, but I wait thirty minutes before leaving, wanting Cillian to be long gone from my apartment.
It’s not that I don’t trust Cillian and Liam to find her. I do, but at the same time, I need to see her for myself. I need to know why she left, why she didn’t just tell me what was going on.
God help me, I still want her all to myself, even if it means betraying my best friends.
I hop in the shower, hoping it will sober me from all I drank last night.
It does help, and I dress quickly in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, throwing on a hoodie and sunglasses so Isla won’t instantly recognize me if I find her.
Who knows if she’s skipped town by now, but it’s the best I can do. I make a phone call and get into my car, which now has the driver’s side window replaced.
The phone trills in my ear, once, twice, three times.
I jiggle my leg impatiently, and finally the line clicks.
“Who is this?”
“Don’t talk. Just listen. I know you know Isla Quinn. I know you got her into the gala.”
The line goes quiet, and for a second, I’m afraid she’s hung up. But Colleen Connor finally speaks.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know how you know her. Is it her father? Did he work for Cormac?”
“Cormac who?”
“Don't play dumb, Colleen. I know you play the game.” I’m careful about what I say over the line, knowing the line could easily be bugged.
I’ve already done my research on Isla Quinn. Her father was Ryan Quinn, an Irish gangster with no loyalties to anyone but himself. He passed away a few years ago from prostate cancer, but his whole life he was involved in the scene.
I need to know if Isla is funneling information to Cormac. I need to know if she played us far more than any of us know, but I need to find out before Liam does.
I don’t trust Cillian not to tell him.
“If you know anything about Ryan Quinn, you know he worked for whoever paid him the most. As for Isla, she’s clean. Innocent.”
I scoff. “I doubt that.”
“What’s all this about? She hasn’t answered her phone in weeks—”
I hang up the phone.
Colleen could very well be lying, but my chest feels a little less tight.
Isla lied to us about who she was, especially those first few weeks, not that I can blame her, but I’m still furious.
It helps that Colleen told me she’s not in the life.
Maybe she’s not funneling information, maybe she is. I’m going to find her either way.
I have to. If I don’t, I’m going to completely lose my mind.
My stomach rumbles from not eating much other than half a slice of cold pizza now and then, but I ignore it, doing the six-hour drive without breaking once.
I arrive at the bus station and step out of my car, stretching and groaning.
I need to put myself in Isla’s shoes.
It’s helping the void in my stomach, the ache in my chest, when I think about her, to focus like this.
I’m angry more than anything else, or at least that’s what I tell myself.
I walk into the bus station and then right back out, looking around to see what Isla would have seen.
There’s a drugstore within walking distance, and a bed and breakfast about a mile down the road. It looks sketchy even on the billboard, and I bet they would have taken cash. And I bet that’s where she is.
I walk down the street, heading toward the bed and breakfast, but I pause at the drugstore, wondering if maybe she would have gone there to get supplies.
She has to be out of cash by now. Someone’s helping her.
Her mother? Someone else?
There’s a couple outside, and the guy has the girl pinned up against the wall.
I chuckle darkly, thinking of when Isla and I were out on the balcony at the gala.
But as I get closer, their argument becomes clear.
“Get away from me.”
Isla.
Her low, husky voice with just the hint of an Irish accent is obvious.
It takes me only a second to process it, and then I see red, blacking out.
When I come to, I’m punching the guy in the face over and over, blood spattering all over my hoodie, and the guy’s yelping hurts my ears.
“Stop it! Dare, stop it, you’re going to kill him!”
Isla’s touch makes me stop instantly as she grabs me by the shoulder.
I stand up, turning around to look down at her, chest heaving.
She looks smaller than before, paler, her hazel eyes seeming to eat up her face.
How could she leave us? Leave me? She never cared, did she? It was all a game to her, I can see it now.
I wrench away from her. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Her eyes well with tears. “Dare, we have to get out of here. The cops are coming, I heard someone saying they were going to call 911.”
I stalk back to the car, still trying to catch my breath, anger rushing over me all over again.
She’ll either follow, or she won’t.
I don’t care anymore.