by RC Boldt
I pinch my eyes closed, resisting the urge to give in to fear and worry that my escape plan will be foiled once again.
James carries me out the back of the house, his footsteps rapid yet confident. My heart thunders in my chest while I clutch him tight and stare into the darkness, the light rainfall skating along our clothing and dampening my collar.
He veers into the heavily wooded park that borders the house and sets me on my feet. “Gotta hustle to grab the car.”
I keep up with his strides, grateful for my long legs and the boots on my feet. All those miles I clocked on the treadmill under their watchful eyes and all the core work I did in my room were for this moment. I prepared my body as best I could.
We make it to the far edge of the woods just as the rain morphs. As if it senses what I’m doing and wishes to punish me, it changes to a harsh, angry rain, coming down at an angle. Each drop pummels us as we approach the busy road lined with storefronts.
We move through a shadowy alleyway that has me breathing through my mouth instead of my nostrils from its pungent odor. He slows at the end that faces the road as vehicles quickly whiz by.
His strong forearm shoots out to block me from moving farther. “Wait.”
Once he inspects our surroundings and deems it safe, he leads me to a car with darkly tinted windows parked along the curb, the passenger side facing us.
James pulls open the door with a hiss. “Get in.”
I practically launch myself inside, and he slams the door closed behind me. Holding my breath, I track his movements through the rain-blurred windows while he walks around to the driver’s side.
Chapter 6
James drives, his head practically on a swivel, his hands gripping the steering wheel with vigilance. As if registering the weight of my attention, he suddenly reaches beneath his seat and withdraws something, thrusting it at me.
I accept it robotically, staring down at what appears to be one of those smaller fireproof zippered bags.
As if he’s privy to my curiosity, James murmurs without taking his eyes off the road or our surroundings, “That’s for you.”
I peer at him silently, a million questions ready to tumble from my lips.
“Probably telling you what you already know, but this shit you’re in runs deep.” He shakes his head, mouth pinched in disgust. “They’re so goddamn rooted and have too many powerful people on their side.”
“I know,” I whisper in the subdued confines of the vehicle.
“You need to get away from here and start fresh. That envelope has some extra cash for what you’ll need.”
My lips part to mention the money I’ve stolen, but he beats me to it. “Trust me, young lady, where you’re going, extra can only help.”
“Thank you.” Emotion wells up in my throat because perhaps right now, I’m in the presence of an angel. Maybe not the biblical kind that people share stories of, but an earthly real-world kind. I hurriedly stuff the envelope in my backpack and secure the straps on my shoulders once again.
He shakes his head. “I just wish I could do more.” His lips flatten into a punishing line. “Wish I could’ve gotten you out earlier. It took forever to get a feel for everything.”
We both know why it took forever. Because these people he’s up against are vigilant, and they don’t like or trust easily.
Not unless you’re morally and emotionally bankrupt and devoid of all integrity, of course.
“All that matters is you’re helping me now.” Sincerity bleeds into my voice, and I hope he realizes how much I mean those words.
“You’re tough, but the toughest part is yet to come.” When we hit the interchange and pass a sign alerting us of our approach to the well-known boat launch, I tense.
James turns into a small public parking lot surrounded by tall evergreen trees and backs into a spot in the far end, away from the light posts. My side is blanketed by trees and shrubs, protecting me from the view of anyone passing by.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. Handing them to me, he meets my gaze with full intensity.
With a lift of his chin, he gestures to the small sidewalk path leading out from the public parking. “There’s a boat named The Lolita anchored on slip three. They won’t be on the lookout for you right away, and the waterways will be the last place they’d consider.”
It was rare that I was permitted to join everyone boating. But the first time, mere months ago when I complained of seasickness, the yacht captain had offered to have me assist him as he navigated.
The captain had regarded me with kindness and had never given me the impression I was a delicacy on the menu, unlike the others. “Sometimes, it helps to concentrate on something like navigating your way to ease the seasickness.”
From that point on, I’d used seasickness as an excuse to steer clear of the others. While James had been a silent sentry, serving as security detail at that time, I’d taken advantage of the captain’s gracious nature and absorbed as much information as I could.
I didn’t for one second imagine I’d make my escape on a yacht, but it would be stupid of me not to take advantage of the opportunity to learn.
Of course, it wasn’t long before my excuse wore thin and I was made to stay topside from then on.
This, however, proves that I made the right choice in paying close attention.
“Use the GPS to take it to Fort Pierce, Florida. It should take you two days. A buddy of mine down there—Rudy—will help you get situated for your next leg of the trip. Watch your speed.”
His eyes survey me analytically. “You keep your head down. There are instructions and a small burner phone in that bag I gave you.” Features darkening, his gaze bores into me. “Only call if it’s life or death.”
I nod.
He holds out a hand, and I slide mine into it, returning his firm handshake. One edge of his mouth tips up in the faintest hint of a smile. “Hope I never see you again, young lady.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
With a curt dip of his chin, I’m dismissed. I exit the vehicle, venturing hastily along the sidewalk while I’m battered by the rain.
Making quick work of the mooring, I climb aboard, nearly slipping on the slick fiberglass surface. Hurriedly, I stick the key in the ignition. The rumbling of the engines is music to my ears, but I’m not free just yet.
I’m thankful for the canopy covering the helm of the boat where the wheel is. Digging out the instructions from the zippered pouch, I power on the GPS, put the boat in gear, and drive.
I don’t dare look back because if they’re coming for me, I want my last vision to be of the open water.
For the wind whipping along my skin to be the last thing I feel.
For the last inhalation of breath to be pungent with the scent of freedom.
Body riddled with tension, I white-knuckle the steering wheel until I make a brief stop in a vacant stretch of the Atlantic. Here, I follow James’ written instructions and refuel with the portable gasoline containers covered with a thick tarp to shade them from the sun.
After discovering a stash of energy drinks, bottled water, and both protein and granola bars in one of the compartments, I guzzle one of the drinks and devour one of the bars before continuing on my way.
I need to put more distance between them and me.
Staring down at the GPS, I don’t dare groan at the fourteen hours left of this trip. Not when I have so much on the line. I’ll rest when I can. Right now, I need to get to Fort Pierce.
Rudy will be waiting for you at slip seven at the Moondog Marina.
Chapter 7
Rudy turns out to be one of the biggest surprises on this journey.
The man—who I discover is a former recon-Marine—looks like he could singlehandedly dead-lift a semi-truck yet treats me with the gentle kindness one might have when interacting with a small, wounded animal.
He leads me to a beat-up GMC truck and opens the passenger side door for me.
/> “Don’t worry.” This is the first thing he says when he gets in and buckles up. He cranks the ignition. “I’ve got people coming to scrub the boat clean so it can’t be traced to you.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he begins chatting about everything under the sun while we leave the marina behind.
And when I say everything, I mean everything. The man is like a golden retriever puppy with endless energy and happiness.
Music. “Man, I used to love me some Red Hot Chili Peppers back in the day.”
Pets. “I’ve never had a pet, but I think of myself as a dog person. Not that I have anything against cats, but maybe it’s because I spent so many years running around and chasing after stuff. Bad people mostly. But you get what I mean.”
Food. “The other night, my buddy made some of the best seafood jambalaya I ever had in my life. Told him if he wasn’t so hairy, I might just marry him for that alone.”
I don’t actually participate in the conversation, but I get the sense he’s monopolizing it to set me at ease. Oddly enough, I have to say it’s working.
He takes me to his house that overlooks the intercoastal. Once we’re inside, he tosses his keys on the counter. “Upstairs and at the end of the hall is your room. You get your own bathroom, too.
“Everything you need should be there, but if not, just let me know. Feel free to get cleaned up while I get dinner started.”
His smile isn’t smarmy but friendly with a hint of brotherly teasing. “Can’t promise it’ll be Michelin five-star quality, but if you’re good with barbecue wings and sweet potato oven fries, then we’ll get along just fine.”
“That sounds great. Thank you, Rudy.” This makes three men now who I’m indebted to. Javoris, James, and now him.
Suddenly remembering the stash of money, I rush to unzip my backpack. “Let me pay you—”
“No.”
The unforgivingly steely quality of his tone has me going still. When I raise my eyes to his, I witness a glimpse of what he must have been like when he served in the military. Steadfast and bold, he holds my gaze for a beat before his expression softens once again.
“No, ma’am,” he corrects gently. “It’s not necessary.” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer. Sticking the top beneath the bottle opener mounted to the side of the counter, he pops the cap off and he tosses it in the trash.
Turning to me, he salutes me with the bottle. “Friends help each other out. Not to get paid for it, but because it’s the right thing to do. I’m used to dishing out a can of whoop-ass on bullies of all kinds.”
My spine goes ramrod straight because I realize with a start that he must know what’s been done to me—what I’ve been forced to do—and shame jettisons through my veins as I avert my gaze.
“Hey.”
Timidly, I lift my eyes to his.
“There’s no judgment here. Got it?”
I inspect his features, scouring them for any trace of dishonesty, but come up empty. Finally, I nod. “Got it.”
He winks at me, and all seems to be forgotten. Reaching a hand inside a cabinet to the right of the refrigerator, he pulls out a small handgun.
“You know how to use one of these?”
“No.”
He tips his head, gesturing for me to step closer. “Slide the safety off.” He thumbs the lever to reveal a small red dot, his eyes locking with mine. “Then you aim and fire. And if you’re aiming this thing at somebody, you better be ready to kill. Which means we don’t aim for a leg or an arm or even their stomach.
“You aim for the center of their chest and their head and empty a round in ’em. Because if it comes down to you or them, always choose you.”
He flips the safety back on and hands me the gun with the muzzle pointing down, and I accept it carefully.
“Get used to handling it with the safety on.” A smirk graces his lips. “This way, if you don’t like my dinner, at least you can’t say I didn’t give you a great gift.”
I peer up at the big teddy bear of a man. “Thanks, Rudy.”
“Anytime.” He turns and starts rummaging through the cabinets. “Now, I’ve got to get dinner started, so go get yourself situated. Take a load off. You’re safe here.” He says this in such an offhanded way as though it’s a certainty, and I realize it is.
For the first time, I actually feel safe. Not only that, but my instincts tell me I’m safe in the presence of this man.
With the unfamiliar weight of the gun in my hand serving as a comfort, I turn and amble toward the set of stairs. As soon as my boots hit the second step, his voice carries over to me.
“One last thing.”
I pause on the stairs and turn my head to find him leaning against the wall, his features somber.
“I said you’re safe here, and by that, I mean from danger and judgment.”
After a brief pause, I offer a slight nod of thanks. Words can’t possibly suffice to express my gratitude, and thankfully, he appears to understand and accept it.
Eyes shining with mischief, Rudy grins boyishly. “We can gossip about Jimmy later. Got lots of stories to share.”
Chapter 8
Rudy lets me sleep for a solid thirteen hours after dinner. It’s no surprise I slept so long since I’d been exhausted and running on pure adrenaline and nerves since I made my escape.
Miraculously, I didn’t dream—at least not that I recall. I attribute it to Rudy’s delicious home-cooked meal and distracting me with funny stories from his years in the military.
I’d collapsed in the bed after locking my door. I used the lock not because I felt threatened by Rudy, but because it was the first time I’d had the opportunity—the choice—to protect myself in some way.
I slept with the gun he gave me right under the covers within my reach. It was the first night in roughly five years that no one interrupted my sleep.
No one came into my bedroom uninvited.
No one dragged me to the designated room to do awful things to me.
No one forced me to do anything with other people.
Last night was the first time I actually felt a strange sensation akin to peace drift over me.
But I know enough to understand that it’s only short-lived. I’m not out of the woods yet.
When I wake up and dress in the spare clothing I’d stuffed in my backpack and trod down the stairs, Rudy’s somber expression drives this fact home.
“We need to hit the road ASAP.”
“Okay. I’ll grab my stuff.”
Concern etches his features. “This’ll be tricky, so we need to be extra smart about things.” I don’t realize what he set on the counter until he slides them over to me. “This is your ID for now. You’ll have to get another one once you cross the border.”
I lean over, placing my index finger on the plastic to slide it closer. Laney Watson. Twenty years old.
He slides over a blue passport. “Had to fudge your birthday just in case we get pulled over. Looks better for a man my age to be with a legal adult.” When his gaze flicks to the flat-screen TV mounted on the far wall of the living room, it draws my attention.
The bottom of my stomach promptly drops out because a photo of me is plastered on the right side of the screen while a national news anchor speaks. Though the volume is muted, the closed captioning is on, with the words flashing on the bottom of the screen.
Authorities are actively searching for her and ask for public assistance in what escalated from a simple missing person case to be an alleged kidnapping with violent force.
Our source tells us that while there is an ongoing statewide search, it’s possible that the kidnapper may attempt to cross state lines.
If you have any tips regarding this investigation, please call the number below…
“Shit,” I breathe out in a whoosh of air.
“Nah, not to worry.” Rudy’s calm, conversational tone contrasts with the turmoil churning inside me. When I turn to face him, he lifts a shoulde
r in a partial shrug. “Just need to be on our toes more. But you’ve got me, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
I’m hit with the humbling realization that if we get caught together, Rudy will go to prison. I know my family and the people they run with. There’s no way he could get out of it.
“It might be better if I just go alone—”
His brows descend, mouth forming a severe scowl, and I fully witness Rudy in warrior mode. “With all due respect, young lady, fuck no.”
“But you don’t understand what you’re risking!” My pleading protest surges from me with desperation. “Please. These people are more dangerous than you think. They have nearly everyone in their pocket.”
Rudy stares at me for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw flexing intermittently. He leans in to rest his forearms on the kitchen counter, eyes riveted to me.
“Listen to me.” He waits for a millisecond before continuing. “I’ve gone up against a lot of shit in my day. Handing out water and food to kids and women just to have a bunch of them turn around and fire on us the next day. I’m used to dealing with untrustworthy assholes. This is no different except for one thing.”
Rudy’s brown eyes bore into mine with an intensity that warms me—an intensity that holds determination and affection even though he doesn’t really know me. “I did all that for my country and for my men. But for you, I have zero hesitation because you’ve been through more fucked-up shit than I want to know about.
“No.” He stops me when I try to look away. “Don’t give in to that shame, you hear me? You were preyed upon by those fuckers. You’re not at fault. Don’t ever think that way. Otherwise, they win another round by fucking with your mind.”
I drag a ragged breath into my burning lungs and commit his words to memory because deep down, I know he’s right.
It’s just getting my brain to believe it.
“You’re as just of a cause as what I did overseas for Uncle Sam. Maybe even more.” His gaze implores me to believe him, and the crazy thing about it is, I do.