.doesnt stay in Vegas #2
A door bangs open. We both jump at the sound, whipping our heads around to see the bartender running our way.
Is that a cat carrier in her arms?
“Get in the car,” Clay barks, shoving me toward the passenger’s side.
“It’s just Briar.” A man bursts out of the door behind her.
I don’t know if he’s chasing her or me or running from the gunman—or if he is the gunman.
I’m not sticking around to find out. The engine starts up, and I slip into the backseat, reaching out to grab the carrier from Briar.
She slams the seat back into place and barely gets her door closed before Clay steps on the gas.
“Get down,” he snaps. Another shot rings out. I dive, shoving the carrier onto the ground hard enough to earn a hiss from its occupant.
“Sorry, kitty.” I pat the carrier. I expect shattering glass to rain down on me any minute, but it doesn’t, and we slip into traffic.
Flashing lights rush toward us, then pass us. Clay keeps glancing at the mirror, a steady stream of mumbled curses coming out of his mouth.
I’m still shaking as I sit back up and put my seatbelt on. Briar hears the click and does the same. Clay also stops checking the mirror for ten seconds to put his seatbelt on.
“You hurt?” Clay asks, turning to Briar.
She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head.
“That guy was after you?”
She doesn’t answer right away. When she does, she sounds tired. “I need to get out of Vegas for a while.”
Clay’s expression is grim. “Yeah. Me too.”
The man chasing Briar wasn’t one of the two guys I saw before. He was shorter and leaner. Dressed in dark clothes. I shudder because that dude looked scary.
Trashing my apartment when I wasn’t there to find an expensive ring makes sense—shooting at people instead of talking to me in the club doesn’t.
I don’t think the shooter was after me, but that doesn’t mean Vegas is safe.
They could come back. I don’t think they’ll be happy to find out I don’t have the ring.
“I know where we can go,” I say. Briar and Clay jump like they forgot I was in the backseat.
“You can go home,” Clay says. “No one is after you.”
“Turns out the engagement ring I gave Gina might have belonged to some mob boss, and he wants it back.” I don’t know for a fact that he is a mob boss, but who else sends people to trash someone’s apartment over a missing ring? That’s mob shit.
Clay shoots me an incredulous look, and Briar chuckles.
The cat must feel left out because it lets out a pissed-off yowl.
“Is that a fucking cat?” Clay asks Briar in wide-eyed bewilderment.
“He’s Trouble,” Briar grumbles.
I pick the carrier up from the backseat floor and set it next to me.
“Hi, Trouble,” I say, peering in. Lights shine off his eyes, and he meows again.
I run the seatbelt through the handle and click it in place.
I don’t know that it’ll do anything in the event of an accident, but it seems like a good idea.
“You brought your cat to work?” Clay asks Briar.
“What’s in those bags you hauled in?” she asks sharply, reaching into the backseat and sticking her fingers through the air holes. The cat pushes his face against her finger and starts purring. Briar smiles before withdrawing her arm and turning back.
“Did you rob a bank?” I ask Clay, remembering the weight of those bags as I stick my fingers through the carrier's door—a nose bumps against my fingers. I get a few licks, and the cat rubs its face on me. We’re friends now.
Clay runs a hand through his blond hair. “No.”
“A casino?”
“No.”
He’s gripping the steering wheel hard and looking a few seconds shy of violence.
“You didn’t murder someone, chop them up, and stick them in the bags to dispose of after work, did you?” I'm pretty sure it’s not body parts, but pretty sure isn’t one hundred percent sure.
“For fuck’s sake,” Clay mutters under his breath.
Okay, probably not body parts. Those would leak. And if Clay and Briar aren’t going to talk about their problems, that’s fair.
The cat has had enough with me and turns around in the carrier. I pull my fingers out because I can respect that.
“No one would think to look for us in Havenwood, Minnesota,” I say casually.
Clay sighs like he does whenever I talk about Gina, Happy Lake Lodge, or Havenwood. “You think some woman who got drunk and married you is going to welcome you into her life?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Briar shoots a glare at Clay. “And it’s as good a place as any to hide.”
He grumbles something under his breath but pushes some buttons on the car’s navigation system.
I relax into the backseat and close my eyes. I imagine shady forest trails, deep blue lakes, and campfires against an inky black night—and Gina.
“You should visit,” Gina had said, looping her arm through mine as we’d left the cantina. “I could show you all my favorite places at Happy Lake.”
Maybe it’s foolish, but I want to get to know the woman I married on a whim. I want to see where she calls home and if it’s a place I can call home, too. Maybe the magic I felt that night is still there, and we can make our marriage work. If not, we can sign some papers to end it.
The guys who trashed Alejandro’s place don’t know about Gina, and as long as no one follows us out of Vegas, we should be safe at Happy Lake. If I get the ring back from Gina, I can figure out who to send it to, and they’ll stop looking for me.
It’s the perfect plan.