“Hope.”
His voice came through the door when she didn’t respond to his knock. She didn’t answer. She tried to focus on her task. She would wear her old clothes, for the road. The new ones—the ones that weren’t bloodstained anyway, although True had, with his usual efficiency, dumped them in the washing machine as soon as she was out of the shower—she would pack, keeping them clean in case she needed to look more presentable. . .wherever she ended up. Crazy, she had begun this in bloody clothes, from the cut on her leg that was nearly healed over now, and now it would end the same way.
“Hope, we need to talk.”
She couldn’t. If she talked to him she’d weaken, start looking for a way for this not to happen. For a way not to leave this place.
For a way to stay with him.
She told herself it was simply because this was the first taste she’d had of a normal life since the night she’d run. It wasn’t him, not specifically, it was what he represented.
Yeah, right.
The nights she spent thinking about him put the lie to that. And the dreams, oh, yes, the dreams proved in every possible way that she was kidding herself when she claimed he had nothing to do with her reluctance to leave.
She swiped at her eyes. She was not crying. She would not cry. Crying only made things worse. Made you weak. Or showed you were weak. It was like blood in the water to the kind of shark that was after her. And she was so weak to begin with, too weak to fight off that kind of predator.
“Not going away,” he announced through the door.
No, he wouldn’t. If True Mahan set his mind to something, it got done. But that was in a normal world. What she brought with her was something else again. She—
“I know about L.A., Hope.”
She froze. She couldn’t have heard that right. She was still in shock, after the accident, after being terrified that clever child with the adorable grin was going to die before her eyes. She was projecting, mixing up her roiling thoughts with his voice. Easy enough to do, given how much she thought about that voice, that deep, lovely voice that could be soft or stern, gentle or booming by turns. That voice that softened her days and tormented her nights.
“You can come out, or I’m coming in. Your choice.”
Her choice. She nearly laughed. If she had, she knew it would have come out crazy, like some maniacal madwoman in a horror flick. She hadn’t had a choice. Not since the night—
She cut that thought off with the speed of long, long practice. And then she heard the sound of the doorknob being turned, as if he were making sure she’d locked it.
She had, she’d made sure of that. But if she’d really thought she’d have realized the idea of him letting a little thing like that stop him if he was determined was absurd. And he clearly was; this was not like the time she’d locked herself in the bathroom, this was the crisis that bent the rules for him.
She had no doubt that jack of all trades tag included lock picking, if necessary; she was sure not every abandoned building he took on had every door left conveniently open for him. He could probably get past much more complicated locks than the simple one on this door in his own house.
And she was obsessing about locks to avoid facing the fact that he really had said he knew about L.A.
He couldn’t. Could he?
Of course he could. Hadn’t she seen that every person in Whiskey River would do whatever he wanted, tell him anything he wanted to know? Why shouldn’t that extend beyond his home town? He was just the kind of guy people trusted. With anything.
Never was a man more aptly named.
If he could get the famous recluse to let him in, he could charm anybody.
He’d certainly come close to charming her.
Another sound from the doorknob warned her. And suddenly it seemed crucially important that she be the one to open the door. As if that somehow gave her some tiny bit of control. She shoved the photo back into its pocket and went quickly across the room.
She pulled the door open. He was standing there, but not with lock picks as she’d half expected. No, the ever-practical True was there with a simple screwdriver in his hand. He hadn’t been going to pick the lock, he was going for the much quicker path of simply taking apart the doorknob. If she hadn’t been so churned up she might have laughed. She should have known.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding it at all as he shoved the screwdriver into his back pocket. “I needed to be sure you were all right.”
She held up her arms, turned around, to indicate she was intact. “It’s Adam you should be worried about.”
He stepped into the room. She backed up instinctively as he closed on her. He was so damned tall. And no boundaries just now, it seemed. Then again, it was his house.
She saw his gaze sweep over the end of the bed, where her pack was. It was obvious what she’d been doing, but he said nothing, stuck to the subject.
“I called the hospital. He’s going to be fine. His roaming will be curtailed for a while. Until he’s thirty if his mother gets her way.”
His voice held that gentle tone that seemed to turn her to jelly. She tried to smile. Couldn’t make it. Sat on the edge of the bed. “He was scared. Maybe it will take.”
“It didn’t with you. You just roamed further.”
Her gaze shot to his face. She studied every bit of it, his forehead creased with concern, those incredible eyes troubled, his jaw set, and his mouth. . .God, that mouth. . .
“Tell me what happened,” he said.
She lowered her eyes, she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. “I thought you said you knew.”
She couldn’t help the bitter tinge to her voice. It just felt like she’d been running for so long, like some prey creature trying to dodge the inevitable, like the impala who still fought even as the cheetah struck. But right now, sitting here, she didn’t feel like she could take another step. She’d planned to, been getting ready to, but now that he was here, standing before her, she couldn’t summon the strength to even stand, let alone run.
He grabbed the chair from the small desk in the corner of the room. Reversed it and sat down, his arms resting atop the back. She stared at the rug on the floor beneath her feet, felt the strangest urge to trace the muted geometric pattern with her toe.
“I know their side, Hope. The official side. What’s yours?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
He gave a half shrug, as if it was of no import. “I have a friend who’s a Texas Ranger.”
Of course he did. Of course he would.
“You. . .called him? And he. . .what, called them? In L.A.?”
She heard her voice rising, wasn’t sure herself if it was in anger or panic. What had he done?
“He just—”
She leapt to her feet. It was worse than she’d feared. “I have to get out of here now. Right now.”
She grabbed at her pack, finished stuffing the clothes into it.
“Hope, stop.”
She spun around then. “Don’t you get it? You must, if you know what happened in L.A. You must know it’s not safe if I stay. For anyone.”
“Jack Ducane is the height of discretion when necessary. And he has a cousin who works at LAPD. They’re the ones who want you back, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” She tried to steady herself. “But not because I broke any law.”
“I know. You told me.”
For a moment she just continued to stare. “And you believe me? Just because I said so?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you do this?” It burst from her, she couldn’t stop the words or the panic that was again edging into her voice. “Why did you have to go poking around?”
“Because you wouldn’t tell me.”
“For your own good!” She sank down wearily on the edge of the bed again. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? In another week I would have been out of here, moved on, and you would have been fine. There would have been no reason
for them to come after you, you would have been safe.”
“Even if the police had come all the way here, I—”
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Then explain!” It seemed she’d finally reached the end of his considerable patience.
“It’s not the cops I’m worried about. They’d just want to take me back.”
He waited, silently. But she knew as well as she’d ever known anything that he was also immovable, planted there in that chair.
“True,” she said, hating how desperate she sounded.
“You think you owe me? So this is the price. The truth.”
She couldn’t fight him any longer. He would never give up. He was too strong and she. . .wasn’t. She thought of all the explanations she could give him, all the justifications and good intentions, but when it came down to it all she could manage was the truth he wanted, condensed to the bottom line.
“I saw a murder. And the killer knows it.”
Chapter Nineteen
A murder.
Damn.
True sucked in a breath. Jack had only confirmed she was not wanted for a crime, but as a witness to a felony, and that he’d sworn his cousin to silence until they got it straightened out on this end.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice made harsh by his thoughts.
“What more is there?”
He’d never anticipated what she would sound like if she ever did finally break. Now that she had, he knew that even if he had anticipated he could never have guessed how it would make him feel. She was staring down at that rug on the floor as if the random pattern held the answer to all the world’s mysteries.
“Start,” he suggested, “at the beginning.”
She laughed, but it was a harsh, bitter sound. “The beginning? That would make for a long, stupid story.”
“You’re not stupid, Hope.”
“I just make stupid decisions.” He didn’t think he was mistaking the self-loathing in her tone, but he didn’t want to derail this now that she was finally talking by trying to convince her otherwise.
“What decision started this?”
“I thought I could save someone.”
“Who?”
“Kim. My best friend.” She grimaced. “Or at least, she had been. Since elementary school.”
“She changed?”
“After we graduated high school, she started hanging out with people I didn’t like or trust. And after a while I did, too, because I was afraid if I didn’t I’d lose her.”
“But you were right about her new friends?” He wanted her to keep going, although he was fairly sure of the answer.
She nodded. “It took me a while to realize they were. . .essentially a drug ring. And I didn’t know it, but I’d already lost her.”
“She was using.”
Hope nodded, and every slumped line of her body screamed her sorrow. It made him ache inside in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time.
“I tried to get her away from them, but she just got mad. And so did they.”
“They were her source. She didn’t dare alienate them.”
Her head came up then. “That’s what I finally figured out. But I was young, full of being a brand new adult. I thought I could still convince her, to get away, to get clean, so I stuck it out. For nearly a year.”
He noticed she was running a finger over the tattoo on her wrist. “Is that when you got that?” he asked, nodding at the circlet of markings.
She grimaced. “They made me, before they’d let me even talk to her. On my eighteenth birthday. Kim already had one. They all had them. Said I had to prove I belonged.”
“And it marked you as one of them, to everyone else.”
Her gaze flicked to his face, then away, as if she found it too hard to look at him and keep talking. “Yes. I didn’t realize that then. Like I said, stupid.”
“Naïve, maybe.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “To the point of—Never mind. All that matters is Kim wouldn’t listen. Then I thought about going to the police, telling them what I knew. By then I’d seen some stuff, knew some of the dealers, some of the stash locations.”
“Seems they’d be interested.”
“If they’d even believe me. Nobody turned on those guys.” She held up her wrist. “And I was marked as theirs, so why would they believe me? Besides, I was afraid Kim would get hurt, if she was with them and the police came charging in.”
She let out a deep breath.
“Rock and a hard place,” True said quietly.
“More like a silly rabbit in a lion’s den,” she said. “By then I knew they were connected to one of the biggest cartels out of Mexico, who killed people without a second thought. Which was why I was so desperate to get Kim out of there. So I decided—this is the crowning stupidity—to give it one last try with her, before I gave up. That’s when it happened.”
“What?”
“I called Kim. Asked her to meet me. She agreed, but it had to be at one of their hangouts. I tried to talk her into leaving again, but she wasn’t listening. Wasn’t making any sense. I finally realized she was high, along with most of the rest of them who were there. And then Cagan arrived. The leader. Kingpin. Whatever they call them.”
It was coming out jumbled, but she’d never told it before and she couldn’t help it.
“He came in with one of the kids who hung around, ran errands and made drops. Apparently he’d blabbed something about them.”
Her hands were knotted together in her lap now, and as she spoke her knuckles got whiter. True wanted to go to her, to offer support, but he wanted even more to make her let it all out before it poisoned her any further, and if he moved now it could derail everything.
“The kid was hysterical. Screaming about them hurting his mother. They beat her up, badly, to get her to tell them where he was. That was the way they worked, attack the family. And Cagan had a gun, so I grabbed Kim and hid.”
He’d guessed what was coming, but he resisted the urge to make it easier for her by saying it for her. She needed to get this out, like the venom from a snake bite. Her fingers tightened even more, and she slammed her intertwined fists on her knee a couple of times. And then, finally, the rest of it came out in a rush.
“He killed that kid. He was maybe fourteen. Shot him, practically in front of us.” He saw a shudder go through her. “Kim screamed and he spun around. Saw her. Grabbed her. I. . .froze, still hiding. I was terrified. Then he yelled out my name like he’d known I was there all along. He said this was on me, and he. . .shot Kim. In the head. Her brains. . .the blood. . .” She took a gulping breath. “He killed her, because of me. I freaked out, gave myself away.”
It took all the restraint he had to keep his voice even. “So he threatened you with the same?”
“No threat. He just started shooting at me. I ran. I’m still not sure how he didn’t hit me. But I kept running. I had to.” She took a shuddering breath. “He knew I worked in my grandfather’s office. And he knew where my grandparents live.”
I’d tolerate anything from my grandparents. . .
Her words from that first day echoed in his head.
“So you ran to protect them, too.”
She nodded. She fell silent, staring down at her hands, that fierce grip easing now. As if she’d said it all. As if there truly were no more words.
“Did it work?”
Her gaze shot up to his face. And for the first time he saw a hint of ease there in her eyes. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“After I was far enough away, I called. And I still do, when I can. I don’t talk, they can’t know where I am. But. . .they answer.”
She lowered her head again, and he saw her make a quick swipe at her eyes.
“They reported you missing,” he said.
Her head came up again. She wasn’t surprised at the news, he guessed, only that he knew. “I knew they would.”
“You didn’t tell them?
”
“I couldn’t. They had to be able to say believably they didn’t know where I was. So Cagan wouldn’t try to get it out of them. I hated that they’d think I’d turned out badly, after all they did for me. But better that than. . .”
“At least they’d be alive to think it?”
She nodded.
“And if you’re not there, and they don’t know where you are, there’s no use in threatening them.”
Again the nod. She lowered her head again, and he thought he saw her shiver. No wonder, after what she’d been through.
“So it’s been four years? When have you run far enough?”
“Never.” The bitterness in her voice ate at him. “The cartel has connections everywhere, not just L.A. I probably should have left the country, but I’m not that brave.”
“You abandon your entire life to protect your grandparents, and you think you’re not brave?”
“I never would have had to if I hadn’t been stupid in the first place.”
“So you think your stupid decision was to try and help a friend?”
“Who couldn’t be and didn’t want to be helped.”
“But that doesn’t mean you don’t try.”
This time she met his gaze and held it. “You would, wouldn’t you? The difference is, you’d get it done.”
“Hope, you were barely more than a kid yourself. And innocent about such things, I’m guessing. You were in way over your head.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“That it’s a testament to your ingenuity and resilience that you got away, and that you’ve survived on the run this long.”
She stared at him, as if she’d never considered that. Perhaps she’d never slowed down long enough to consider it.
“What’s the but?” she said.
“What?”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming after that. I can feel it.”
“Not really. Just wondering how long you think you can keep this up.”
“As long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes for what?”
“For my grandparents to not be in danger.”
Belatedly it occurred to him that there was an element of life she had never mentioned. Wondered if it was for a reason all too familiar to him. If it was, he knew too well it would cause her pain to ask. But she was already in pain, and he wanted to know.
Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2) Page 12