The video, though, gave her an insurance policy that would convict him alone.
This was what she'd become? An extortionist. Just like her boss. Her mother would be so proud. All of her family, really.
But like every other time, she simply wouldn't tell them. She'd keep this shame all to herself.
Time to go.
She shoved her wool pageboy cap on and opened the bedroom door. Nothing. All quiet. Halfway down the steps, she heard the swish of water from the kitchen and froze. Her mother was up already. No shock there.
It didn’t have to ruin her plan. The front door was just ahead. She’d sneak out, head to the barn, and borrow Jonah’s mountain bike to get her into town. There, she’d lock the bike up and send him a text before she ditched her burner phone.
Problem solved.
At the bottom step, she glanced back at the kitchen where the faucet noise came to a sudden stop. She should say good-bye.
Or…go in there and confess everything. Finally be free of it.
But how to admit it? To her mother. A woman built on honesty and hard work, someone who taught her children, absolutely, the difference between right and wrong. Knowing her child did the things Micki had done would devastate her.
The door. Right there. If she walked out she wouldn’t have to face it. The shame. Wouldn’t have to see the heartbreak she’d caused.
Again.
Worse. If she went in there, she’d probably chicken out and decide to stay anyway. She knew it.
And Phil wouldn’t allow it. He’d ruin them.
Her leaving would make things better for everyone. Especially Jonah and now Evie, who'd given Tomas her phone number. A detail Micki had already dealt with the night before by e-mailing him a virus. As soon as he refreshed his e-mail, bye-bye phone and bye-bye Evie’s number.
The joke of it was, he’d just get the number again. That’s how things went with Phil and Tomas; try, try again.
The front door seemed to grow wider. A big, giant opening that she should march right through. In the kitchen, her mother hummed to herself and Micki paused to close her eyes and file the lyrical sound away. Compartmentalized emotion kicked and clawed free, paralyzing her throat. All that nonsense was just stuck, buried inside where she couldn’t rid herself of it.
I love you, Mama.
As always, she refocused her thoughts on the task ahead and moved quickly, silently unlocking the door and slipping out. As she walked, she gripped the backpack straps, squeezing until her knuckles popped.
She made her way to the barn, pushed the door open, and hopped on Jonah’s bike. A dirt path led to the main driveway and she pedaled hard, wind slapping at her cheeks as she sucked cold air. It stung her throat and her eyes, but she kept her gaze on the end of the driveway.
Almost there. The underutilized muscles in her thighs groaned and she still had miles to go. Wherever she landed, she needed to start exercising. Get in shape and get healthy. Mind and body.
The end of the driveway grew closer and she pedaled harder, focusing on it, pushing herself to get there before she changed her mind and looked back.
Just go.
A black SUV pulled into the driveway. Dammit. Who the hell could this be, so early on a Saturday morning?
Not one of her brothers. None of them drove black SUVs. Especially not Grif with that tricked-out minivan. Lord, what had he been thinking?
The vehicle slowed as it approached, but she kept peddling, intending to cruise right on by and be gone before the person could alert anyone in the house.
The SUV drew closer.
Mr. All-American. Purr-fect. Could she not get a break this morning?
Clearly realizing she intended to blow him off, he stuck his hand out the window and swung the SUV across the driveway, giving her enough room to stop. Of course he did. That’s what heroes did. They timed everything.
She should just swoop right around him. That’d teach him.
Good thought, but he’d parked and now stood, hands on his lean hips, his jacket open and revealing a white T-shirt that fit loosely, but tightly enough for her to know there was probably something mostly spectacular underneath.
Just…crap.
She skidded to a stop, fully intending to employ the adage about the best offense being a good defense. “Are you nuts? You could have killed me!”
His response? To smile. The man was too darned good.
“Relax,” he said. “You know you’re not mad and you know I gave you enough room to stop. Besides, where the hell are you going in such a rush? Uh, and on Jonah’s ten-thousand-dollar bike?”
Ten thousand? She gawked. First at Gage, then the bike. She’d borrowed a bike worth more than her car. Her old car, anyway.
Forget that. She straightened up. “I’m going for a ride. It’s a nice morning.”
“A little cold, I’d say.”
“This from the Iowa farm boy?”
He grinned. “Guess I’ve gone soft.”
Any other time, she’d appreciate his use of her line from the night before when complaining about the temperature. She angled the bike and adjusted her backpack. “I’m off for my ride. See you…later.”
Not having any of her bullshit, he grabbed the handlebars. “Where are you going?”
She smacked at his hands. “Hey, hands off. I told you—”
“I know what you told me. Unfortunately for you, our government has trained me to recognize deception. And you, babe, are a liar.”
She poked a finger at him, ready to argue, but she needed to not waste time and get out of there.
“First of all, I’m not your babe. Second of all, if we’re stealing lines from each other, as you said to me yesterday, you don’t know me at all. So screw you, Captain America. Suds. And what a stupid nickname that is.” She swung her leg off the bike, started walking it around the SUV. “Why the hell would anyone call you Suds? Never mind. I don’t have time for that. Later, Suds.”
Micki Steele was a handful.
No doubt.
Luckily, he'd always enjoyed a woman with gumption. Despite all of that, underneath the sassy attitude, this girl was racked with some kind of terror he’d yet to figure out. She wasn’t going anywhere until he did. He stepped in front of the bike, planted his feet and crossed his arms.
“Talk to me.”
“No.”
She made a move to go around him. These Steeles. So fucking stubborn. Again, he grabbed the handlebars of Jonah’s beloved bike only to receive another smack.
“Stop,” he said. “Please.”
“I’m going for a ride. Just let me go.”
“No.”
She pushed away from the bike, shook her fists at him and stomped down the driveway. “Damn you! Mind your own business!”
Now she wanted him to stay out of it? Way too late for that. Nine hours ago she was thanking him for his assistance. He swung to the side of the bike and gently set it on the ground. “When are you going to stop?”
“Stop what? Going for a bike ride?”
Smart-ass.
“No. With the secrets and lies? You’re not going for a bike ride this early. It’s forty frickin’ degrees and last night you were complaining about the cold. You’d freeze your ass off.”
She stopped walking. Damn near skidded to a stop right in Miss Joan’s driveway. At least he didn’t have to tackle her. Which, as much as he’d never put hands on a woman, he would have no problem doing. He wouldn't be the one to let her run off. Chances were, at barely eight in the morning and with her barreling down that driveway, she hadn’t told anyone she was leaving. And she was most definitely leaving.
He sensed it. The backpack, the nervous tension. The short temper.
He took a few steps toward her and she backed away. Wow, this girl. Issues. Big ones.
“I’ll stay right here,” he said. “But please, let me help you. Whatever it is you’re running from, I’ll help. Your family will help. You need to come clean, though.”
Come clean? Oh, he didn’t want her to come clean. If she did, that’d be it. The shame of it, the utter disgust, would send him running. He’d let her go then, wouldn’t he? Captain America needed to be careful what he asked for, because he just might get it.
“Micki,” he said, “whatever it is, let me help you.”
He wanted to help. Of course he did. He wanted to fix her. Not happening.
She spun back, reached for the bike again. “You can’t help me. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
Vulgarity. Perfect. Captain America would definitely be repulsed by that.
Except, he pursed his lips and…snorted. “No.”
Ohmigod. Was he kidding? Total hero complex, this one.
And stubborn.
And pushy.
And, and…She couldn’t deal with it. She started down the driveway again, stomping so hard she might shatter a knee because she needed to go, just leave and be done with him and the rest of the people in her life. Her chest locked up, but she kept moving. The only way. For ten years she’d been pushing ahead, waiting for her break. This was it. As piss-poor as it was, this. Was. It.
He grabbed hold of her arm, and all the rolling anger inside of her, the years of isolation and loneliness and being separated from her family, came gushing up. What was she doing? She didn’t know anymore. Just didn’t know. I’m going crazy. The pressure inside her skull exploded and she pressed her free hand to the side of her head.
Gage held on and she whipped her arm free. “Don’t touch me.” She’d had enough of men controlling her. “I don’t like men touching me. For God’s sake! What don’t you get about this? I’m leaving. I have to go!”
But dammit all to hell, why did her voice have to crack on that last part?
Still, he didn’t move, just stood there, rock-solid Gage Barber. He held one palm up. “Why? Tell me why you’re leaving.”
Unbelievable. She let out a huff of frustration. He wanted to know? Fine. If it would get her out of here, she’d do it. She shook her fists at him. “The shit I've done would horrify you, Captain America.”
The horror she expected, the shocked disapproval, never materialized. He just stood there, looking at her with kind, soft eyes that hacked away at her anger. How could she be mad at him when he looked at her like that?
He pointed at the house behind them. “Whatever you’re running from, whatever you did, you have a family that loves you.”
“Oh please!” She flapped her arms. “If they knew, they’d toss me out in a second.”
The events of the past few days hit her. Phil in jail, her going AWOL, Tomas and Evie. The virus.
The video.
What have I done?
She bent over, braced her hands against her thighs and breathed in. “Please, Gage. I know you’re Reid’s friend, but you can’t help me. I’ve made a mess.”
A hand touched her back. Stroking. From Gage. Up and down, up and down in a lovely, soothing motion that she hardly deserved.
“Micki,” he said, “don’t do this. Your family is here. Give them a chance to help.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe if you talk to me, I will.”
It sounded so easy. She straightened up, adjusted her backpack, and flattened her hands over her face for a second. Just one little second to get her act together. “Gage, you can’t help me.” She slid her hands down. “And I won’t drag you into this.”
“You’re not dragging me. I’m diving headfirst.” He stepped forward. “So shut up and tell me what you need.”
7
Now that the initial panic fest had subsided, to be replaced by the humiliation fest—just another day in the life of Mikayla Steele, screwup—Micki drew a long breath of dewy morning air.
Any chance of walking away from this episode with her dignity intact loomed just out of her reach.
Behind Gage stood her mother’s house and inside that house, Mom was probably getting breakfast ready. That’s what her mother did. She took care of her children. In spite of an absentee husband and four boys who fought like crazy and a daughter who’d run out on her, she’d never failed them.
Inside that house lived sanctuary Micki didn’t deserve.
Gage stepped closer. This time she let him. Fighting wouldn’t work. He was too calm, too thoughtful, too determined.
The weight of her backpack tugged at her shoulders and she slid it off, let it hang from her fingertips for a second before it fell to the ground.
“That’s a good start,” Gage said. “Jonah will be glad you didn’t steal his bike.”
“I wasn’t stealing it. I intended to lock it up in town and text him.”
“Before you tossed your phone?”
Busted. He'd sliced and diced her plan, hadn’t he? “Yes.”
“Ah, Micki. What’s tormenting you?”
Did he have ten years? It would take her that long to list everything. All of it though, could be encapsulated, boiled down to one word. “Phil.”
“Your boss.”
She nodded. “He was in a Mexican jail. He should have been released last night.”
“A Mexican jail. From what I’ve heard, not a stellar place to be.”
“With the things he’s—we’ve—done, he deserves to be there.”
No matter how she liked to distance herself, she’d done just about everything he’d told her to do.
“Why is he in jail?”
How did her once-promising future get to this? Screw it. If she intended to fix it, she’d have to admit what she'd done. Clear her conscience and just get rid of it. “He was smuggling fake passports to a client and got caught.”
“I see. Who was the guy last night? It looked like you knew him.”
“Tomas. He works for Phil. Until last night, I thought he was my friend. The day I left to come here, he went to Mexico to get Phil out. When he left, I bolted. And it was so stupid. I shouldn’t have come, but I had to…say good-bye.”
“Jesus, Micki. You were going off the grid and not telling your family?”
In her mind, it had been a great strategy. When he said it, when she heard it out loud, it sounded awful. “My plan was to stay a day and leave before Phil caught up with me.”
“Why?”
His eyes were too much. Too honest and pure and she'd left honest and pure behind long ago. She looked away. Down at the ground and his sturdy work boots.
“Hey,” he said, tipping her chin up. “It’s okay. Believe me, I’ve seen some brutal shit. You won’t scare me off.”
Then he did it, he wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face into his chest, inhaled his clean, untainted scent, and a chunk of her resolve disintegrated.
Prince Charming might actually exist.
“You’ll be okay,” he said.
No. She wouldn’t. “I can’t live this life anymore. I’m angry and disgusted and…vacant.”
The words, ones she’d never spoken before, tumbled out and she prepped herself for the next wave of humiliation, that immense weight she could never seem to rid herself of.
Nothing.
Whatever she’d expected never materialized. What she felt now was a massive offload of dead weight, so she breathed through it and let him hold her. Why not? She rested her cheek against him, absorbing his good, solid energy.
“Tell me about Tomas. Did he threaten you?”
His chest rumbled as he spoke and she backed away to look him in the eye. That was the least she could do.
“No. He hit on Evie. He knows messing with my family will get to me. I got mad and blew up his phone.”
Gage laughed. “You blew up his phone? How?”
“I e-mailed him a virus. As soon as he opens that sucker, bye-bye phone. Based on the way he was looking at some giant-boobed redhead, he probably didn't back his files up last night after getting Evie’s number. Then this morning, I sent Phil a video that could create problems for him. I’ve basically declared war. O
n Phil. Who can be a scary guy.”
“Well,” Gage said, “lucky for you, you’ve got the Steele Army behind you.”
Micki wasn’t buying it. The I-don’t-think-so shake of her head told him so. No matter. He’d stand out here for a week if that’s how long it took to convince her she wasn’t alone. After the past months with Reid’s family, he didn’t doubt they’d help her.
“With everything I’ve put them through,” she said, “I can’t stay here. If I go, if I cut off all communication, Phil can’t use them as pawns. There’d be no point. It’ll be a twisted game, but he’ll know what I’m doing.”
In that respect, her logic was sound. Sound enough for Gage to know that Micki understood Phil’s MO. Still, he cocked his head, thought it through some. “Honey, all due respect, is that the best plan? If this guy is off his stone, he’ll take your family out so he can make a statement.”
She slapped her hands on top of her head and squeezed her eyes closed while she chomped on her bottom lip, rolling it in, then dragging her perfect top teeth against it. If she kept that up, she’d tear the skin straight off.
“I didn’t think about that. How did I miss that?”
“It's all right. You’re all keyed up.”
“I only have one choice.”
Now she was getting on board. Running from this thing wouldn't help. She needed to attack it. Straight on. No prisoners. “Yeah. To stay here.”
Micki's face stretched long, her eyes bugging out. “No! Are you insane? I have to leave. Even if it’s just back to Vegas. I can throw myself on Phil’s mercy. Tell him I screwed up by sending him that video. I don't know. Something. What a mess. I promise you, I’m smarter than this. I was working on emotion. If I’d stopped to think it through…”
“Forget that. No looking back. You went on instinct and that'll save your life. Whatever your setup is with these guys, you have to stay away. No deals. No compromising. If you want a change, make a clean break and deal with the fallout.”
Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5) Page 6