The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  Alexander grabbed the firewood and opened the stove. He remembered what Sam had done, using the smaller pieces to build the fire up, and did the same, blowing on those tiny embers until flame ignited. He carefully added the larger logs, closed the stove and went over to where the beat up old tin pan they’d found behind the woodshed sat on the table. He poured water into it and put it on the top of the woodstove.

  “Did you hear me?” Ben wanted to know. “Where’s Lu at?”

  Alexander glanced out the small, dirty windows but there was no sign of Lucia or Sam. He thought about Lucia—all that blood, all those cuts—and how she’d looked at him—horrified and ashamed and scared—and his stomach churned, and tears pressed hard against the backs of his eyes.

  She’s going to be okay. Sam will take care of her.

  Part of him recognized the stupidity of believing that—believing in anyone—but the panic slowly eating away at him left no room for doubt. He had to believe in Sam, because there simply was no alternative. Lucia—

  “Zander!” Ben yelled. “Are you listening to me?”

  “They’re coming,” Alexander snarled, his heart beating furiously. He went to Lucia’s pack and pulled out her large first aid kit. He took it to the table, aware of Ben watching.

  “What’s going on?” Ben asked, a small tremor in his voice. Because Ben might have been young, but he was no dummy. And Alexander knew there would be no way to hide what had happened from him, not in a tiny one-room cabin, not when there’d been so much blood.

  Not when Lucia was hurt.

  The pressure in his chest welled, and Alexander stilled in effort to combat it. He hadn’t believed. Not in Lucia, not in Sam. He’d expected his father to come. The police, who would arrest Lucia and take her away. Ivan, who would put them in the car and take them home. And then it would all begin again—

  … you mark my words, Alexander, he will pay for what the fuck he did to you. I’ll make certain.

  Goosebumps washed down Alexander’s arms. No matter how many times he told himself they were just words, part of him believed Sam would keep that promise. Even though he knew how foolish and futile it was to trust anyone. To believe. That’s why he hadn’t. Even while he’d gone along with every crazy thing Lucia had done, he hadn’t truly believed anything good would come of it.

  Nothing would change.

  But Sam had killed Enrique and Misha with his bare hands. And Ivan was dead.

  It was all happening. Really, truly, fucking happening.

  “Dander?” Ben whispered, his eyes dark and huge, and Alexander went to him and hugged him hard and tight, because he didn’t have any good words.

  “I’m scared,” Ben said, his face too hot against Alexander’s neck.

  “It’s okay,” Alexander told him and hoped it wasn’t a lie.

  The door swung open, and Sam carried in Lucia. She was still bloody, but not as bad as she’d been, and she was wearing Sam’s flannel shirt, which covered most of her wounds. Except for her face, which was bruised and bleeding and—

  “Lucia!” Ben cried and leapt from the bed. Alexander caught him, and his heart hurt when Ben fought his hold.

  “Lemme go, Zander!” the boy cried, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I want Lu!”

  “She’s hurt,” Alexander said. “Look at her, Ben.”

  His brother stopped fighting and focused on Lucia as Sam sat her down in one of the chairs beside the table. Her left eye was almost swollen shut, and her lip was bleeding, and the wound on her neck looked like…a bite. Alexander stared at her and felt his chest tighten painfully.

  This was his fault. If she’d never found him that night—

  “I am alright, monkey,” she said, but Alexander could tell by the look on Sam’s face that she wasn’t alright.

  Not at all.

  “She fought Ivan,” Alexander told his brother. “He’s dead now.”

  “Dead?” Ben echoed.

  “Ivan,” Lucia repeated and suddenly tried to stand. “He will have Misha and Enrique with him. We have to—”

  “I took care of it, sweetheart.” Sam gently forced her back into the chair. “Now you just sit there for me, so I can get you cleaned up.”

  She shook her head, and Alexander recognized the look that crept across her face, and it made the tension riding him lessen, because she was going to argue, and if she felt like arguing then maybe she’d be okay.

  “I do not need—” she began, but Sam cut her off, snarling, “You’re a fucking mess. Don’t you dare argue with me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  And she sat back and grew quiet, and Sam did something Alexander didn’t expect: he leaned down and pressed a kiss against Lucia’s mouth. She shuddered, and a tear slid down her cheek, and she kissed him back, and Alexander stared at them, his heart beating hollowly.

  “You let me do this,” Sam told her in a low voice. “You let me take care of you.”

  Lucia nodded, and Alexander saw her hand reach up to clench in Sam’s coat.

  Alexander stared at them, dumbfounded. Sam had kissed her.

  When had that happened? What—

  “I need the towel in my pack,” Sam said and looked at Alexander. “And that hot water.”

  Alexander nodded. He sat Ben back down on the bed. “Stay here,” he said. “We need to help her.”

  Ben sank down next to Daisy without protest. He stared at Lucia, his face stricken.

  “It’s okay,” Alexander told him again. “She’s going to be fine.”

  He hoped.

  He went and grabbed the thick green towel from Sam’s pack and checked the water, which was warm but not boiling. He carried both over to the table and put them down beside Lucia’s first aid box. Sam unbuttoned the flannel she wore, revealing her bra—which was stained orange with blood and made Alexander blush—and pulled the first aid kit closer. He pulled out a bottle of something bright blue and a handful of cotton balls, and then he dampened the edge of the towel and pressed it against the wound on Lucia’s neck, the one that looked like a bite. A bite. Had Ivan…bitten her?

  Why would he bite her?

  “That son of a bitch died too fast.” Sam’s voice was harsh. “He deserved to feel it.”

  “He did,” Lucia murmured. “I severed his aorta.”

  “He bled out instantly.” Sam snarled. “Too fucking quick.”

  “No. I am not a monster; better it was quick.” She looked up at the ceiling as Sam bent over her and dabbed a cotton ball with that blue liquid all over it against the wound on her neck. Alexander saw her flinch. “When they killed my father, they went slow. Cut by cut. It was a horrible death.”

  Alexander froze. Next to him, Sam slowly straightened. His gaze met Alexander’s.

  “Dig out some butterfly bandages,” he said in a low voice. “We’re gonna need quite a few.”

  Glad to be tasked with something, Alexander nodded and went to the first aid kid. His heart beat painfully hard as he dug through the kit in search of the winged, narrow bandages Sam needed.

  “They used a machete,” Lucia continued softly. “Piece by piece, they just hacked him apart.”

  Sam swore under his breath. He swept another cotton ball across the cut that traced her collarbone, and she flinched again.

  “Then they cut Elian,” she said, and Alexander couldn’t help himself, he reached out and touched her, just a brief, fleeting touch against her shoulder and said, “Lucia—”

  But Sam shook his head. “Let her talk,” he murmured. “Let her get it out.”

  “He had terrible scars,” she went on, staring up at the cobwebs that littered the pine ceiling, her voice soft. “On his back, down his arms. There was so much blood. The floor was slippery, and I fell. My mother was screaming. My Abuela, she tried to hide me, but I got away. I had to help them. Elian was crying, and he never cried…”

  Alexander felt his eyes burn, and the contents of the first aid kit blurred. He knew who Elian was—Lucia had shared her brother with
him, and part of Alexander had hated her for that, because he knew why she’d told him—but now he understood there was more, much more than he’d ever known, and it was worse. When he couldn’t have imagined that ever being true.

  Worse.

  “But I could do nothing. Nothing. It was too late. It is always too late.” Lucia lowered her head to look at Sam, and the expression on her face made a tear slide down Alexander’s cheek. “Why is it always too late, Sam? Why?”

  “I don’t know, baby.” Sam’s hand shook faintly as he cleaned another one of her wounds, an ugly, thick slash across the top of her chest. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

  “It is not fair,” she said and her voice shook, and another tear slid down Alexander’s cheek. Stupid tears. Why was he crying? “So much pain. So much injustice. I am tired of it. I want it to stop.”

  “You and me both, sweetheart.” Sam turned to Alexander, and his lashes flickered. “You ok?”

  Alexander swiped at his damp cheek. “Yeah.”

  “Good. I need you to hand me those bandages, one at a time.”

  Alexander nodded. He unwrapped one of the butterfly bandages and handed it to Sam.

  “Put them close together,” Lucia whispered. “Almost touching.”

  Sam said nothing. He pulled the tabs from the adhesive on the ends of the bandage and placed the strip across the wound on Lucia’s collarbone so that it pulled the laceration together. Again, she flinched. He added another, and another, and then another, slowly closing the wound. Then he moved on to the long, deeper cut across her chest.

  “There is antibiotic salve—”

  “We’ve got this, Lu,” Sam said calmly. “Just relax, sweetheart. Let your body rest now.”

  She shuddered, and her eyes closed. She still had a hand wrapped in Sam’s coat.

  They worked silently, steadily, until she was washed clean, covered in antiseptic, and all of the cuts that marred her were bandaged. Alexander checked on Ben and found him watching quietly, Daisy curled in his lap. The fire popped, and outside the dirty windows, the rain fell in sheets.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. Alexander looked at Sam.

  “We’re not safe here,” he said.

  “Not anymore,” Sam agreed. He slid his flannel shirt carefully back onto Lucia and buttoned her up, ignoring her efforts to do the buttons herself. “But she needs to rest. So for the moment, we stay.”

  “I am fine,” she said instantly. “If we need to go—”

  “We stay,” Sam repeated.

  “But—”

  “No more arguing with me,” he growled. “For one goddamn day, no more arguing.”

  She blinked. Opened her mouth—

  And Sam kissed her. Again.

  “No,” he told her and stood. He turned and looked down at Alexander. “I don’t suppose those fish are still in the bucket?”

  Alexander straightened. “I think so.”

  Sam nodded. “Good. I’m going to grab them and take out the trash. I’ll be back.”

  The door shut behind him with a thud. Ben crept from the bed and ran to Lucia.

  “Ah, monkey, I am okay. You see? Nothing to worry about.” She winced as she bent over, but she lifted Ben to her lap and hugged him tightly. Tears shimmered in her gaze, and Alexander felt his throat grow tight. She held out an arm to him.

  For a moment, he didn’t move.

  “Mijo,” she whispered.

  And then he was there, too, her arm sliding around him, Ben gripping his hand. And when the tears came this time, he let them.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tony pounded his fist against room 354’s nondescript brown door, a door which sat in an endless hallway of nondescript brown doors, and knew—if it was the wrong nondescript brown door—he was going to start breaking things.

  I’ll be back.

  But Isabel hadn’t been back. No, she hadn’t returned after this morning’s shitshow of a meeting with her boss, and she wasn’t answering her damned phone. In point of fact, Tony had been unable to reach her for the majority of the day—which he was really quite pissed off about—and he was done waiting. So he pounded again.

  I have something to take care of.

  Goddamn her. They were in this together. There was no going lone gunman, and Tony had a feeling that was exactly what she’d done. Well, she was going to learn a thing or two about her new partner, the first of which was that they were partners, that they did things together, and—

  “Isabel,” he snarled loudly. “Open this fucking door, or I’ll break it down.”

  He knew she could hear him. And he knew she was in her room, because the tiny blue economy car she’d been driving was parked in the lot. What he didn’t know was why she’d run. He understood her fury; she wasn’t alone in that. And he understood that she would act, with or without her boss’s permission, even if that meant flushing her career down the crapper. What he didn’t understand was why she seemed to think she had to do it alone.

  Had the woman not been paying attention?

  “Isabel,” he roared and pounded again.

  The door was wrenched open, and Tony blinked, because for a minute he was certain he had the wrong room. The woman at the door was barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a Goonies t-shirt. Her pale blond hair was braided, her face free of makeup. She wore a pair of wire-framed eyeglasses, and behind the clear lenses of those glasses, eyes like black coal glowered at him.

  “Who are you and what have you done with Agent Bjorn?” he asked.

  “Har,” she said and stepped back to let him in.

  Tony went. He looked around her room, unsurprised to find it neat as a pin. Beds made, luggage—just one tall, narrow bag—tucked into a corner. Her tablet and phone on the small round table next to the window. The TV was on 24 hour news, muted.

  “I’ve tendered my resignation,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll be working the remainder of the case with Agent Kent.”

  Tony only snorted. “When pigs fly, baby.”

  She slid him a look over her shoulder. “I can assure you, I am no longer a safe bet.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  She sat at the small table. “No doubt your Lieutenant would not approve of your involvement with a former FBI agent who’s gone rogue.”

  “Rogue,” Tony repeated. “Sexy. I like it.”

  Isabel shook her head, her mouth tightening. “You should distance yourself from me now.”

  No way in hell. Tony sauntered over to stand beside her, just a little too close, exactly how he liked it. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

  “Don’t be glib,” she growled. “I’m serious. If you value your career—”

  “I value you,” he replied.

  She looked up at him, color flushing her cheeks. “You stupid man. You aren’t listening.”

  “What did you do?” he asked, because he knew she’d done something, it had been glittering in her eyes when she’d ditched him that morning, and was still there, a spark of rebellion within the darkness.

  Isabel looked back at her tablet. “Better you don’t know.”

  “Better for who?” he asked. “Not for me.”

  She said nothing, staring at her tablet, her mouth a stubborn line. Tony crouched next to her.

  “Tell me,” he said quietly.

  She turned to look at him; she looked heartbreakingly young, but the old soul that stared at him from her dark eyes belied her fresh-faced appearance. “You should leave.”

  He only shook his head. “You know better.”

  “They’ll make you pay for my crime,” she said. “I don’t want that.”

  Protecting him. Something within him went tight at the realization, because he would protect her, too. “Too late,” he said simply. “I’m all-in.”

  “No.” The hands in her lap fisted. “You’re not. You can still walk away with your badge intact. If you go now.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Godd
amn you,” she snarled softly, and Tony smiled.

  “There she is,” he replied. “The Amazon at heart.”

  She turned to look at him, her dark gaze searching his.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You see what no one else does,” she told him. “And I wish you didn’t.”

  “I know the feeling,” he replied.

  They stared at one another for a long, silent moment.

  “I don’t give a shit what they do to me,” he said, because he wanted to be very clear. “Win or lose, we’re in it together.”

  “You’re a fool,” she said, but her eyes gleamed, and color flushed her cheeks, and Tony saw pleasure.

  “Tell me what you did,” he said again.

  Somewhere outside, a siren began to wail. Rain spat against the window, and her tablet hummed quietly atop the table.

  “I sent the video to Aequitas and requested distribution to the news organizations,” she said finally. “I didn’t want to. Exploiting Alexander Cruz was never my goal. But…” Her gaze met his. “Sometimes there are no good choices.”

  “No,” Tony agreed softly.

  “Better exposed and free than hidden and chained.”

  Something dark and bitter wove through Isabel’s words, and beside her, Tony stilled. He studied the pure line of her profile, saw her lashes flicker, her mouth tighten.

  “That would be the voice of experience talking,” he murmured. “When are you going to tell me what happened to you, Isabel?”

  She shook her head and looked away. Tony watched her swallow, her pulse a delicate hammer in her throat.

  “Not today,” she said, her voice cold, but he only smiled again.

  “Well, there’s always tomorrow,” he said optimistically. Then he stood. “How long do we have before the shit hits the fan?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never asked for this kind of…favor before. Aequitas might not agree.” Isabel looked up at him. “What about the search warrants?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Hurry up and wait,” she muttered.

  “Such is life.” Tony took the small chair opposite her, sprawled his legs beneath the tiny table and trapped hers between them. “You need to tell me your plan. Not that I don’t respect your decision to tell the Bureau to go fuck itself, but it seems like a very impetuous decision for such a careful woman.”