by Wylder Stone
It didn’t take conversation for her to learn who Owen Force was – his painful silence devoid of emotions spoke volumes. He was determined and confident while guarded and steadfast. His focus was like none other. Though gritty and rigid socially, there had to be something deeper that was more emotional. She’d seen it. The way he was with her son in the brief moment she caught. The way he smiled and responded to the men who had traveled the first leg of their trip. The way he referred to one of the men’s daughters as cute.
Owen cared for some reason, or he wouldn’t be there, protecting Trista and her family the way he did with no obligation to do so. That made him selfless and fearless. Not to mention big, bold, and brawny – he wasn’t hard to look at either. Then there were his eyes – those deep emerald greens that you could swim in for hours searching for the answers to what defined him. Trista shook herself from her wandering thoughts and scolded herself for trailing down such an inappropriate path. She splashed cold water on her face and got the hell out of her own head.
Small town, slow service – this place was anything but fast food. Trista was leaning against the car when he finally made his way out of the restaurant. She greeted Owen with an eye roll when she noticed not one but two milkshakes and that the bags were already soaked in grease.
“Milkshakes and burgers. I wasn’t sure if you wanted fries or onion rings, so I got both. I’ll eat whatever you don’t, or we can share. Your call.” Owen extended the drink carrier within her reach so Trista could grab her shake but was met with an offended look of disgust.
“Are you serious?” she shot back, catching him off guard.
Not sure what he had done wrong, Owen looked down at the bags and shakes to make sure there wasn’t a fly in her food or something of the like. “Chocolate. Thought everyone liked chocolate.”
“Owen, I can’t eat any of…” Trista scoffed, waving her arms around, indicating the source of her fit was that which rested in his full hands, “that. Milkshakes? I bet there’s cheese on those burgers and plenty of saucy stuff, too? Not to mention the burger is beef.”
A baffled look followed by concern led to more questions. Owen hadn’t a clue what he did wrong. “Well…yeah! It’s a cheeseburger. Are you lactose intolerant or something? How did I not know that?”
“Lactose intolerant? NO! It’s…animals! I don’t eat animals. I’m vegan!” Her spoiled fit had escalated to a full-blown tantrum, complete with tears threatening to spill over. “I may as well start drinking hard alcohol and…and…smoking whatever drugs people smoke and…and…get on with this early death you’re offering me!”
“Early death? It’s a burger. Can’t you just peel off the cheese or something?” Still baffled, Owen decided he better school himself on veganism because his lack of understanding was driving Trista to a beet-red face with white-knuckled fists. After two years, you’d think he would have known she was vegan or what it was, but he didn’t, and this was the apparent price for not paying attention – although he was sure he’d witnessed her eating fancy aged cheeses and even meat.
“Peel off the…” Trista tossed her hands in the air, completely defeated. Grabbing her bag of food from his hand, she marched off, but not before stopping short, turning around, and grabbing her milkshake.
She left him where he stood and took a seat on top of a nearby picnic table overlooking a small park. Trista picked at her food, feeding most of it to the birds surrounding her while she dug back into that ugly place in her head. Only a day or so before, Trista had been living her normal life, shopping, doing yoga, eating non-animal anything all prepared by her live-in chef.
Now her life had been reduced to this – a bag of greasy dead animal that tasted like cardboard in the middle of nowhere with a guy Trista thought she knew, but didn’t, whose muscles had muscles and who had only one expression…smug. She missed her son terribly. That was what this was really about. Being uprooted, on the run, and away from Mason was killing Trista inside. It was the real source of her tears. Not the milkshake. In fact, she’d never admit it, but that milkshake was delicious, and she wanted another one. She wondered why she gave those up to begin with.
Owen joined her at the picnic table after hanging up his phone, milkshake in hand. He was silent for a spell, obviously testing the waters before he spoke. He didn’t like the tears. They made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to them. Spoiled or not, he knew her outburst had nothing to do with cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Trista wasn’t shallow, rude, or ungrateful. He didn’t even think she was really vegan. Though it seemed to be a spoiled rant, it was much more than that, nothing but a façade to mask her broken heart. He knew the real Trista, and this wasn’t her. The spoiled vegan brat routine was nothing more than that – a routine to protect herself from all the truths surrounding her. Truths she didn’t want to face. Couldn’t face.
“Lizzy and Mason are safe,” Owen began, keeping his eyes fixed anywhere but on her, worried the tears would follow. “They’re on their own now. They should arrive at their new home tomorrow.”
Trista nodded slowly. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, they said Lizzy is handling things really well and taking it all very seriously. She asked a lot of questions and even took notes. Mason has her pretty busy. They’re going to be fine.”
Trista wasn’t sure if she should be proud of her sister or jealous because she was anything but handling things well herself. “Liz was always the strong one, and tough, too. She’ll figure it out. She’s too stubborn not to.”
“So are you. Don’t sell yourself short,” Owen encouraged.
Running her hands through her hair, Trista took a moment and tried to absorb his words. As much as she wanted to believe Owen, he was wrong. Trista was selling herself short because she fell short…she couldn’t do this. She wasn’t that strong.
In a near whisper, Trista confessed to what was really driving her anger and fears – Cesar. “He’ll come for me, you know. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now. I think I always knew there was something…off. All the security. Always got what he wanted. Overly protective of me even if he didn’t want to spend time with me. I was just another possession, and he’ll want me back.”
Owen dropped his head and played with the straw in his milkshake cup, searching for the words he could give her to put her at ease. They eluded him because Owen knew if there was a way to bring Trista peace, he’d deliver, but the truth itself - the reason he knew Cesar wasn’t coming – would be enough to take her to her knees. That the truth was just as painful as being away from her son, sister, and everything she knew life to be. But Trista deserved to be free of the fear she confessed, even if it meant she would never be Trista Perez again.
“Cesar isn’t going to come for you. He won’t have a reason to,” Owen began, trying to be as gentle as possible. “By Friday, he will think you’re dead. The plan is already in motion.”
“Dead? That’s day after tomorrow. Why…why would Cesar think I’m dead?” Trista’s body went rigid, and her voice began to quake. “What…what are you going to do to me?”
It pained Owen that Trista once again feared him. That she assumed this ruse to throw Cesar off her trail meant something more sinister than what she had already been through would take place and by his hands. He didn’t blame her for being afraid. It was a real and justified emotion, but believing that didn’t make the sting any less. Owen was here to protect her and would lay his own life on the line to do so, and he wanted nothing more than for her to know and believe that as his truth.
“Trista, I could never hurt you. That isn’t at all what I meant.” Relief coursed through him when he saw her relax, even if it would be brief because what he said next was sure to shock her. “His men are already in Atlanta. They think they have eyes on you and Lizzy – it’s my team who they saw. Tomorrow night, there will be an accident, and his men will get there just in time to see the tail end of it. They’ll see the body bags, the car, and then they’ll s
ee the news report. Cesar won’t question it after a confirmation like that.”
It was odd to sit and hear exactly how your death would play out and that it would make the news for all to hear. Not many people get to be witness to such a thing or be involved in planning it. The only thing Trista was grateful for at that time was that she wasn’t superstitious – that kind of information and detail had to be the type that screwed with karma and came to fruition.
“What about you? What happens to you, Owen?”
“I’m the driver. I go where you go as your security. I’m dying with you guys, Tris.”
“So, we all get our freedom?” she questioned. “This is a good thing?”
“I wouldn’t call it freedom. We still need to stay off the grid and let the world think we are gone. This just buys us time. If we stick to the plan and lay low, it should be pretty smooth sailing until the trial.”
They sat in silence for a moment or two. Trista needed to process what all of this meant. Learning your life was essentially over and that you get to stand by and watch the world go on without you was tough to digest.
“Owen?” Her voice lacked confidence and was heavy in pain that he could feel. “All of us die, right – even Liz and Mason?”
There wasn’t much to say, and she wasn’t asking him to make it hurt any less, so he just nodded.
“How long do we do this?” Trista asked.
“As long as it takes. Until the trial. He’ll know a star witness is testifying against him once he’s arrested, but Cesar won’t expect it to be his dead wife. Or me, for that matter. We have that on our side. He’ll be looking for old enemies and deals gone wrong, not us. As it is, they aren’t arresting him just yet, and that means no arraignment or trial in the immediate future. They want an iron-clad case with no wiggle room for a mistrial. And the longer they take to arrest him, the less likely he is to suspect you are not…dead.”
“Who is they?” Trista asked.
Owen shrugged off her question. Offering no answer meant he didn’t have to inflict any more pain and upset. If Trista knew who they were, and just how big this thing was, it would crush her. She was living in the middle of something most people only see in movies. It was ugly, and Trista had no idea just how much so. Owen wanted to spare her.
“C’mon, are we talking States Attorney? Big dogs in DC?” Her questions stalled when he gave her a raised brow and a side-eye glance. “Oh, my God, that high up? What has Cesar done, Owen?”
“It would be easier to list what he hasn’t done. It would be a short list, too.” Owen wanted to tell her why he stayed undercover for so long, and that it was to make sure Cesar’s bad deeds didn’t get to her, but he didn’t. “Your husband is a very bad man, Tris. One of the worst, and we need to put him away.”
“Ex-husband. He’s a widower now.”
It was all just too much, and she let the emotion finally have its way with her heart. Trista needed comfort and support, but she settled for Owen’s shoulder and silence instead. The weight of her world crashing down around her at that moment was just too much to bear. So Trista wept, and in a weak instance, he put an arm around her and let her. Owen felt Trista’s pain in her cries and gave in to the embrace, giving her what she needed at that time because he was the only one who could.
8
“We’re here,” Owen said, startling Trista from her near slumber.
The large green sign on the side of the highway said, Welcome to Bull Trail, Texas, population…only a handful. Or that was what she thought it should have said as they drove through the small town.
“How did we get to Texas so fast? And weren’t we headed south?” Trista asked, completely baffled and turned around.
“If you drive fast, you get places fast. And we were only going south for a while. We zigzagged our way west, just to be safe.”
Trista was a big city kind of girl but found the small town charming, even under the dimly lit night sky. It had rows of shops, likely mom-and-pop types, and an old traditional feel from the old brick buildings flanking both sides of what had to be Main Street. There wasn’t a single person out or car passing by. It was the type of town that rolls up the streets at dark, and nobody comes out until morning. This could get interesting – and boring.
At the far end of town, where the buildings became fewer and houses took over every block or so, they turned down a road that Trista hadn’t even seen. He’d been here before, or he wouldn’t have noticed the dark narrow road lined with overgrown trees either. The only light was from the headlights of their vehicle. They passed a single small house before finally coming to a clearing where one little cottage sat, porch light on, waiting.
As they got closer, more lights became obvious, and Trista could see the open, expansive landscape that it sat on. Upon their approach, still from the road, she could see that a large deck rested behind the house and was surrounded by decorative lighting. The full moon, and more stars than she had ever seen, shone bright in the clear night’s sky, right off what had to be some sort of body of water just beyond the deck. It all had a very enchanting feel, and they hadn’t even stepped outside of the car yet.
The long drive from the main road ended in a circular drive at the front of the house. Owen grabbed their two duffel bags from the rear of the SUV and made his way to the front door. Trista followed, taking in what she could in the dark as she walked the front walkway, ending on the large Southern-style wraparound porch. An inviting white porch swing sat in contrast against the stone façade and dark porch railing, begging her to have a seat. Trista thought it a great place for morning coffee and time with her sketch book, had she brought one. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?
A key pad, not an actual key and lock, let them in the front door where the delightful craftsman charm carried on throughout. It was small, a far cry from her expansive square footage on a sprawling estate, but it felt homey and cozy. She was tired so she wouldn’t complain. Not tonight, anyway.
“Is this your place?” Trista asked.
“Not really.” Short and to the point, Owen was a creature of habit.
“How long are we here? Long term? Short term? I’m new to this whole running from bad men who happen to be your husband thing.”
He sensed the irritation in her tone and knew it wasn’t directed toward him but decided to tread carefully anyway. “Just one day at a time.”
They’d had just enough tears in forty-eight or so hours to last them a while, but he needed to be clear with her on what to do and what not to do. “We need to blend in here and only go to town for what we need. It’s big enough that people won’t notice the new people but small enough that we’ll see our enemies coming. It’s a nice place to call home for now, but don’t get attached.”
Trista shrugged and tossed an eye roll. “Until we have to move again, right?”
Owen grabbed two beers from the already stocked fridge, something she found interesting, and motioned for her to follow him to the rear of the house. The kitchen sat near the entry at the front of the house and flowed into the living room – both overlooked the deck and pond through the wall of large picture windows.
He sat in a brown wicker chair and offered Trista the one next to him, then set an opened bottle of beer on the table between them. “That’s for you.”
“Beer? I usually just drink wine…sulfate-free, of course. Organic. Oh, and sometimes champagne.”
“Well, we have beer, and it’s not good beer. It’s actually pretty bad beer. Hits the spot, though. Drink up.” Owen raised his beer in salute before tossing it back and taking a long, refreshing pull.
With her pinky out, she tipped her bottle for a little sip, making a sour face and letting out a dissatisfied grumble before saying, “So how do we act anonymous? You know, blend in.”
Owen grinned when she took another sip, then a large gulp. Either it was growing on her or Trista was a lightweight. Whichever worked for him. “Avoid small talk, don’t get too comfortable with locals, and
stay here unless I’m with you.”
Trista raised her beer, saluting him this time, and took a big long pull herself, but not before she toasted, “Welcome to my new exciting life where I’ll spend my days watching the grass grow and nights listening to frogs mate. Awesome.”
Though she seemed compliant and willing to follow the rules, Owen couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. “You can do this, Tris.”
“I’m not sure about that. Not without a lot of these.” She raised her beer again, insinuating beer was to be her salvation through the ordeal, then let out a roaring belch that startled her. “How embarrassing! I’ve never so much as hiccupped out loud, much less burp like that! We’ll definitely need more of these.”
He chuckled, something Owen didn’t often do, and said, “Guess you were right about not being a beer drinker.”
“Who are we fooling? I’m just not cut out for...this.” Trista held up her beer, but her heavy heart and painful expression were not about the beer at all.
“I’ll let you in on something. No one is cut out for this. But you…you will figure it out. You’ll do it for Lizzy and Mason. I know you will. You aren’t a quitter. You’re a doer.”
“A doer? Haven’t heard that before. I suppose you’re right, though. I don’t really have any alternatives or even a choice in any of this. It was all decided for me the day I married a murderer.”
Trista’s beer was gone, but Owen couldn’t imagine her nonchalant statement being beer-induced already. It was how she really felt. Regret was setting in, and that had him worried because it usually came with its own rally of emotions that he simply wasn’t cut out to deal with.