The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  A rush of something electric and almost painful arced through Lucia. She’d not expected this, not any of it. She’d been prepared to sacrifice. To die, if that’s where it all ended. But Sam had appeared, and everything had changed.

  I’m right here.

  And he was. He was.

  “Preposterous,” she repeated, and her throat swelled painfully. Outside the window, the sky was so blue it hurt to look at, washed so clean by the violent storms of the last few days that it glittered like finely polished glass. The sunlight was almost blinding. The rays that had flirted with Flynn’s dark hair fell across her bed and her arm where it lay atop the sheet, and they were so warm she shivered and shifted her arm so that the rays kissed its entire length.

  Sunshine and blue skies and hope

  She didn’t want to feel it; she wouldn’t admit that she did, not even to herself. But as she lay there, forced to rest, to heal, she understood that faith was a choice.

  To believe in spite of all evidence to the contrary was a conscious decision. She just had to be brave enough to make it.

  Agent Kent stood outlined by the late afternoon sun.

  He stared out the window in Nate Thomas’ office, his eyes on the jagged, snow-laced mountains that enclosed the small valley, and when Isabel halted behind him, he said, “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” she replied calmly.

  Is this our fault? Are we responsible for this?

  She couldn’t get the question out of her head. She felt responsible.

  “Yes.” He turned and looked at her, his features sober, his eyes dark blue slate. “I know what I did, and I can live with it. But I just got here. I’m not ready to go yet.”

  “It may not come to that,” she told him seriously. “Deputy Marshal Steele’s statement supports yours, as does the statement of the Sheriff. Tony and I added to that corroboration. There is no question that Donavon Cruz appeared to be threatening the life of his son, Agent Kent. None. You did what any of us should have done in response.”

  Kent shook his head, his mouth hard. “He was Donavon Cruz.”

  Anger flickered. “He was a sadistic pig, a pedophile, and a rapist.”

  “Will that matter?”

  Isabel didn’t know, so she said nothing. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, “You made a choice today.”

  “Yes.” Again, those dark eyes touched hers. “You didn’t try to stop me.”

  “I didn’t think you would fire,” she told him honestly.

  “Tony knew.”

  She remembered Tony’s hand wrapping her arm, pulling her to him. “Should he have tried?”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered.” Kent shook his head again. “He knew that, too.”

  Cruz set these events in motion, baby. He reaped what he’s sown.

  But that did not negate the responsibility Isabel bore. For Alexander, for exposing him in her hunt, something she very much understood the repercussions of, something that weighed heavily in her heart, like sharp, tiny stones. And for Austin Kent, who had been unknowingly triggered by that exposure.

  Victims. There were so many. Sometimes even she forgot.

  “One of the other children in Cruz’s videos has been identified as a girl who went missing last year in Portland, Oregon,” Isabel heard herself say.

  Kent only stared at her.

  “Another was taken from Dublin two years ago,” she continued, “and one of the boys was from a middle class family in Sydney.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  The email from Aequitas had arrived that morning, and Isabel had only then understood that Donavon Cruz was just the beginning.

  “I’m going to climb the ladder,” she replied. “And see what I find.”

  “The Bureau would take you back in a heartbeat,” Kent said. “You’re an expert in your field. You have the influence to walk right back in.”

  “No.” Isabel shook her head. “I’m done with the Bureau.”

  “You’re going to go chasing sex traffickers by yourself?”

  Not by herself. A first. “I’ll be fine, Agent Kent. I’m not without…resources.”

  “I know.” He looked at her for a long, silent moment. “Tony’s a lucky guy.”

  Color rushed into her cheeks, mortifying and unexpected, and she didn’t know what to say. Another first.

  The memory of the night before flooded over her, and her face flamed, but she felt no shame. No, Tony had delivered on his promise, and she’d learned that she knew nothing about sex or intimacy or…love. What he’d shown her scared the hell out of her…and she wanted more.

  Home, he’d said, and she’d shied. I don’t have people. A warning, an apology.

  Poor baby.

  He’d won her surrender, and this morning when she awoken to his hands stroking over her, bold and possessive and greedy, she’d climbed on top of him and ground herself against him until they both came.

  She had decided somewhere between last night and this morning; at some point, she’d simply begun to trust him. To believe in his words and the way he looked at her; to revel in the worship of his hands and his mouth and his body. To jump.

  He would catch her; she was certain. And if he didn’t…she was strong.

  She would survive.

  Life was too short and too painful to hesitate. She was going to take what she wanted.

  Tony. And the infinite possibilities he brought. Opportunities. The realization was stunning. Intoxicating. So much so Isabel almost felt guilty that something so hopeful had been born of something so malignant.

  But that was life; it only moved forward.

  “Good luck, Agent Kent,” she said finally. “If I can ever be of service, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Freedom.

  He was free.

  It was not a word Alexander would have ever associated with himself. Not since his father had taught him what it was to be a Cruz, and he’d understood the depravity and sickness that was his family legacy. Because nothing could free him from that.

  But the only thing tying him to that legacy lay in a hospital bed, connected to machines that kept him alive. There were no other living Cruz family members, something which should have made Alexander sad, but for which he could only be infinitely grateful.

  They were the last of the line. Good.

  And now they would be free.

  The realization was stunning and overwhelming; it seemed like a dream. A rebirth. But then he would remember the video, and everything beginning to take root within him would die a sudden, vicious death.

  The video.

  Alexander didn’t know where it began or where it ended; mostly, he didn’t want to know. The memory of living through it was enough. But it was out there. And he knew that once something was on the web, it was there forever. You didn’t get a do-over. And you never, ever escaped its existence.

  Sam would see it. And Lucia. Ben—

  That thought made Alexander die a little, and inside him despair grew like thick, suffocating ivy, winding tight around his lungs, squeezing his heart, smothering every drop of hope in his soul. The only thing greater than his anguish was his rage.

  Free but not free. Marked forever.

  Tainted, no matter what Sam said. Soiled and stained and marked. Sometimes Alexander could feel it, a greasy, oily film that covered every inch of his skin and turned his heart black. In his mind he could see it, a living, breathing entity spreading like black, fuzzy mold, covering every facet of his life, bleeding into every moment. Inescapable. No matter if his father lived or died.

  The damage was done.

  How would you feel if I filed a petition for guardianship? It’d be temporary in the beginning, but we could make it permanent. If you want. I’d do that.

  Alexander didn’t understand why. Regardless of the last few days, Sam was a stranger. Why would he care what happened to them? Why would he
want them? And even if he did, once he saw the video…

  Lucia might not abandon them—and even that, Alexander didn’t know, not for sure—but Sam…Sam was tough and brave and strong. Once he saw how weak Alexander was, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him. And Alexander could handle that—no matter how painful—but Ben…Ben deserved someone like Sam. Ben needed Sam. Like he needed Lucia.

  So Alexander had agreed when Sam asked about guardianship. Even though part of him had wanted to refuse, to run, to reject Sam before Sam could reject him. He didn’t, because of Ben. Because Ben was what mattered now. And even if Sam decided he didn’t want Alexander, he might still want Ben and—

  “You gonna tell me why you’re out here all by yourself?” Sam asked from behind him, startling him. “Or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  Alexander stiffened. He sat on the cabin’s narrow front porch. The day had dawned quiet and still and cloudless, and the air smelled like sunshine and pine trees. Around him, the trees were still, and tiny, brilliant bluebirds flitted among the thick green boughs. In his lap was the notebook Lucia had found, and beside him, Daisy leaned her slight weight against his leg and shook her tiny tail at Sam.

  “Daisy had to go,” Alexander muttered.

  Sam moved to stand next to him, his shadow so long and broad across the weathered wooden boards that it swallowed all of Alexander. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

  A sudden, unexpected swell of fury filled Alexander’s throat. “Yeah, sure.”

  Sam sighed and dropped down to sit next to Alexander, close but not touching. He was a giant, wide and raw boned, and Alexander knew exactly how strong he was. How dangerous. And part of Alexander was terrified by that, because he knew what it was to be at the mercy of someone stronger, someone unbeatable, and even if he didn’t really think Sam would hurt him, that part of him—the part that was always ready, always waiting—refused to see Sam as different.

  Different than his father.

  Which wasn’t accurate or fair—Alexander knew better—but he didn’t have the heart to argue with himself. Because—

  “Did you see it?” he burst, unable to contain the question. His heart beat like a huge, hollow drum in his chest, and it hurt.

  Sam arched a brow. “See what?”

  Alexander’s cheeks burned even as ice slid through his veins. “The video.”

  Beside him, Sam went still. “You know about that?”

  “I saw it. Part of it.” The words were sharp and jagged. “Yesterday, on the news, before…”

  Sam’s huge, warm hand suddenly landed on Alexander’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

  Alexander tried to shrug him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.” Sam’s hold didn’t bend. “Tony told me about it this morning.”

  “Did you see it?” Alexander repeated, aware that Sam hadn’t answered his question.

  “Do you want me to?” Sam asked, his eyes brilliant in the bright sunlight.

  Alexander shrugged, his throat tight. Tears burned his eyes, but he blinked them back, his muscles rigid, his fists clenched around the notebook. “I don’t care.”

  That hard, warm, strong hand squeezed gently. “I haven’t seen it, and I don’t plan to—not unless you want me to.”

  Alexander looked up at him. “Why not?”

  Sam met his gaze. “There’s nothing there I want to see. Not unless you think it’s important.”

  Alexander blinked. A tear escaped to slide down his cheek, and he swiped it away angrily. “I don’t…I don’t want Ben to see it.”

  Sam’s arm slid around his shoulders and rested there. “He won’t.”

  “Yes, he will.” Alexander shook his head, stiff beneath Sam’s hold. “It’s inevitable.”

  “Maybe.” Sam shrugged. “We’ll deal with it if it happens.”

  “Everyone knows.” The thought was like a knife, cleaving him in two. “Everyone.”

  Sam’s arm tightened around him. “The people who matter won’t care.”

  Alexander wanted to believe that. But he knew better. “I’ll never be free.”

  Sam looked down at him. “Freedom is a choice.”

  Alexander snorted. “Sure it is.”

  For a long moment, Sam said nothing. Then, “I carried it for a long time. Everything my pop said, everything he did. Every hurt, every word. Carried it around in my pocket like it was some kind of fucking talisman. So I wouldn’t forget. So it wouldn’t happen again. And then one day I realized that even though he’d been dead for a decade, my old man still controlled me. Here I thought I was free, but I wasn’t. I was in his cage, behind his bars, still listening to his voice.” Sam shook his head. “Life’s short, bud, and time is a luxury. Don’t let him take more than he already has. What you do from here is up to you—no one else. And it can’t matter, what other people know or say or do. Only what you do. Being free from all the shit—that is a choice. But you’re the only one who can make it.”

  Alexander was silent, Sam’s words a vibrant song in his head. He wanted to deny them, but Sam’s arm was warm and heavy, and his eyes were serious, and Alexander knew they were enough alike that Sam’s words weren’t just words, they were experience. And maybe Sam hadn’t been through exactly the same thing as Alexander, but he understood, at least a little. More than anyone else. And no matter what Alexander had told Sam yesterday, he did want to live.

  He had dreams, too, even if he never spoke of them.

  And now…those dreams, they might come true. There were possibilities today that hadn’t existed yesterday. But the video—

  What you do from here is up to you—no one else. And it can’t matter, what other people know or say or do. Only what you do.

  Choices. Life was all about choices. And Alexander was terrified of making the wrong one.

  “It’s all gonna work out,” Sam said again, and squeezed Alexander’s shoulders. “You’ll see.”

  Part of him wanted to lash out in denial. But the other part…it wanted desperately to believe.

  Another choice.

  “What about Lucia?” he asked, his voice hushed. Terror for her lived ever-present in his chest, a hard, sharp wedge that made it hard to breathe. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “I’m working on that,” Sam told him.

  Alexander nodded. He knew Lucia was going to end up in jail; you couldn’t kidnap someone and not end up in prison. But he’d hoped—

  “The Judge granted me temporary guardianship,” Sam continued. “That’s what I came out here to tell you. So, that’s done. Once Lucia is out—”

  “Done?” Alexander repeated and reared back to stare at him.

  “Yep, you’re stuck with me know.”

  “You mean…” Alexander blinked. “We’re…we’re yours now?”

  “For now. Until I can drag Lucia to the altar. Then you’ll belong to both of us.”

  Alexander stared at Sam, dumbfounded.

  “True story,” Sam told him. “She’s going to take some convincing. I might need some help.”

  The tears swelled, filling his throat. “She can be stubborn.”

  “She could give lessons to a mule.” Sam snorted. “So, you in?”

  Alexander tried not to cry. So weak. But Sam wasn’t looking at him like he was stupid or weak. Sam was smiling.

  “Okay,” he squeezed out. “I’m in.”

  Sam hugged him, hard. “Good. That makes three of us.”

  A smile curled Alexander’s mouth. He could tell it surprised Sam.

  It surprised Alexander even more.

  “She won’t know what hit her,” he said.

  And then he hugged Sam back.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Tony stood outside of Lucia’s hospital room, the backpack Sam had given him clutched in one hand. He’d asked Sam to let him bring it—along with the news they were cutting her loose—because he owed Lucia an apology the size of Everest, and he was ho
ping both the clothes—and the news—would prevent her from punching him in the face.

  She’d done it before, and even as a kid she’d packed a wallop. Not that he didn’t deserve it—then or now—but he wasn’t the kind of man to shy from his responsibilities, so he nodded at the Deputy guarding her door and stepped inside.

  She sat on her bed, combing through her wet hair, and when her amber gaze met his, he said, “Hey.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and she stiffened. In the bright, early-afternoon light, the bruises that mottled her skin stood out like dark, angry clouds on a clear horizon. Her lip was split, and there was a mark on her neck that looked like a bite. A fucking bite. Sam had told him about Ivan—he’d taken responsibility for the kill—but Tony knew the truth, and looking at her made all of the guilt and anger he felt toward himself swell like a wave cresting.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her knuckles pressed white against her skin where she held the comb, and her eyes glittered, as sharp as any blade.

  For a long moment, Tony only stared at her. All of the things he wanted to say solidified in his throat, and it hurt to swallow past them. To speak.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and knew it wasn’t enough. “I should have listened.”

  Her brows rose. She said nothing.

  “I thought it was because of Elian,” he continued, forcing the words out. “And Donavon Cruz…that name scared the hell out of me.”

  “Coward,” she told him, her voice hard.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I should have acted. I failed you—again.”

  Her lashes flickered. “Again.”

  His gaze met hers and held. “I was a kid. A dumb, selfish, frightened kid who didn’t understand the enormity of what Elian had been through. I ran because what he told me scared the fuck out of me. It wasn’t right, and it isn’t defensible, but there it is. I failed him, and I failed you, and not one day goes by that I don’t blame myself.”

  She looked away, and he took a step forward. His heart beat heavily. Pain and remorse tightened around his chest like cold, steel wire.