“Are we going to that other cabin? Your brother’s?”
“Let me check with Jack first,” Ethan said.
We went to the garage. Inside the truck, Ethan pulled out the black hand-held radio I saw yesterday in his glove compartment. He pushed some buttons and in a moment spoke to his receiver, “Jack, the feds are possibly in the area. Stingray.”
Jack came on the line immediately. He probably had his radio on, waiting. How could they be so well prepared? “Got it. What’s the plan?”
“We’re leaving right now. I’ll be in touch. Over.” Immediately after the end of the transmission, Ethan opened the garage door, and we drove out. The tires of his truck crunched over the pine cones and rocks covering the narrow path from the cabin through the woods. At the junction with a bigger road, he stopped, looked to both sides, and accelerated to the left.
“Where are we going?”
“For now—just around. I wanna make sure Ryley’s place is clear, before we head out that way. There is also a good possibility we have a tail.” He was so calm.
I tried to bite my nails again, but there was nothing left. So I swore under my breath the worst I was capable of and clenched my teeth. I was going to be strong. There will be no panic attacks, no anxiety, no hysteria. I could do that. I had to help Ethan, at least by staying in control of my emotions.
We drove for a few minutes. Ethan glanced in the rear-view mirror a few times. In a spot where the road lights weren’t working and the area was pitch black, he killed the headlights and maneuvered the truck into the woods. He turned it around so the vehicle faced the road and stopped. The engine was idling softly. For such a big truck, the motor was surprisingly quiet.
With my eyes wide open, I looked at Ethan. He glanced at me and smiled. “Doing okay?” he asked.
I smiled back and whispered. “Yeah. As good as I can.”
The road was empty. Nobody followed us. We waited for over ten minutes before the hand-held radio came to life with Jack’s voice inquiring, “Ethan?”
“Yeah.” Ethan picked up the radio and held it close to his mouth. “What’s going on?”
“I checked the perimeter. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Good. You want company?”
“Could use a friendly soul or two.” Jack chuckled.
“Will be right there.”
“Be careful, bro.”
We drove back onto the road.
“Ethan,” I said urgently. “What if not only the feds are here?”
Fleetingly, he glanced at me. The light from the roadside lanterns bounced off his dark eyes. They were focused and serious. I knew he was already thinking the same.
Ethan looked back at the road. The light outlined his perfect profile. I fought the urge to reach out and touch his cheek. Why couldn’t we meet under better circumstances?
“I’m convinced there is a mole in the Bureau. That’s how the gang knew where I was hiding,” I said.
Ethan didn’t answer for a minute. Finally, he commented, “They found you way too fast. It was what? A couple of weeks since the FBI relocated you from Florida to that safe house in Portland? I agree—it makes sense there was a snitch, passing the information to the gang. Or, to whomever the gang is associated with.” He went silent, frowning in thought.
“Exactly. That’s why I wouldn’t stay in the protection program. I knew... somehow I felt there was a mole.” I shook my head as in disbelief at my own accusing words, but I strongly believed they were true. Too many horrible things had happened to feel any different.
“If that’s what happened, we have a big problem on our hands,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes, pressing my head against the headrest. What Ethan meant was this—the gang knew where I was. Again.
Ethan radioed Jack, “I’m about to turn into the driveway.”
Jack responded immediately, “All clear. Drive up.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
“Sure thing. Over.”
We turned into a long driveway, similar to Ethan’s. A huge log cabin stood at the end of it. It was probably more than four thousand square feet, two-story architectural beauty. Jack waited by the front door. Ethan stopped the truck to the right and turned the ignition off.
I lifted my backpack off the floor, opened the passenger door, and got out. Ethan did the same. He brought the two-way radio with him.
Jack walked up to meet us by the truck. “Nice night for a ride, eh?” He grinned. “Gloria, pleasure to see you again, as always.”
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to lighten the mood for my benefit. I appreciated the effort and smiled at him. “Pleasure is always mine, Jack.” But on the inside I was a mess.
He gave me a one-arm hug and then clapped Ethan on the back. “Come on in, you two. We have a few suites to choose from.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Do they come with a masseuse?”
“No, but if you want the job, be my guest.”
“Smartass.” Ethan grinned at him.
Ethan as a masseuse was a nice thought. Maybe one day, when this was over... if I lived that long.
We walked inside, and for a moment, I forgot that I was on the run and why. I whistled in appreciation at what I just saw. The place was very spacious, tastefully decorated, and meticulously designed in wood and stone. Heavy wooden beams accentuated vaulted ceilings. The far wall was all floor-to-ceiling windows with the view of Devil’s Lake. This place could easily serve as a showcase for the Architectural Digest.
“Is this your brother’s cabin?” I asked, astonished. “What does he do for a living?”
“He owns a consulting firm,” Ethan said. He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t about to ask any more questions right now.
“Ryley and Brooklyn, the twins, started it together while in college. It’s a goldmine, as you can see,” Jack added. Then he turned to Ethan. “Are we staying here? Or do you have a better plan?”
“For now, we stay here. At least until the morning. I don’t want Li... Gloria outside at night.”
“My name isn’t Gloria,” she said, looking at Jack. “It’s Lisbeth.” She smiled at him and stretched her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”
She had a sense of humor. I liked that. A lot.
Chapter Twenty Five
LISBETH
Jack shook my hand, inclining his head. “It surely is nice to properly meet you, Lisbeth. Beautiful name by the way.” There was no surprise in his expression though, only a good-humored indulgence. “I was wondering if I would ever be privy to learn that little secret.”
Huh? How would he suspect?
“Ah, you’re pondering why I’m not shocked, right?” He grinned, leaning on the back of an oversized, expensive-looking recliner. “If someone’s in the feds’ witness protection program, they better receive a brand new identity or what’s the point? I doubted you would introduce yourself with your real name to complete strangers, even ones as trustworthy as us firefighters.” Jack chuckled.
I curled up in the second recliner, smiling at him. “Good point. Do you stay here often? It’s a gorgeous place; a showcase really.”
“Nah, my taste isn’t this sophisticated. I’m satisfied with a more mundane style. This,” he gestured around, smirking, “might be a necessity for someone like Ryley, but I’m happy with simple comforts based on practicality. Gotta have good electronics though. Maybe later you can see the theater room upstairs.” He went to the window and closed the blinds then pulled down on a few of them with his fingers and peered outside.
“A theater room? Wow.” I was impressed, although I couldn’t quite concentrate on admiring the amazing interior of the cabin.
I was worried sick, even though I attempted to remain positive. That little “introduction” was part of my desperate stab at lessening the tension. Jack was helping as if he knew what I was trying to accomplish, but Ethan remained quiet throughout our conversation. He rummaged through one of the drawers for something th
en turned all the lights off, leaving on only a small table lamp in the corner.
The more I watched him, the more agitated I became, although he wasn’t the reason for my distress—all the safeguarding was. Clearly, Ethan and Jack expected trouble. Finally, I stood up and started pacing around the room. Ethan went up the stairs.
Jack hollered after him, “I already made sure all the windows are secured.”
“Just double-checking,” Ethan called from somewhere on the second floor.
I rubbed my arms up and down.
“Are you cold?” Ethan asked, walking downstairs.
I turned to look at him. His face was pinched with concern, most likely not for such an ordinary thing as me being cold but because the threat of the gang guys finding me was real. Too real to ignore. If they did, what would we do? Ethan had a pistol and knew how to use it. He was a former-Marine. I asked Jack, “Do you own a gun too?”
“Yes ma’am,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I actually brought two. Do you know how to shoot one?”
“I can manage.” I nodded, feeling all the blood drain from my face at the distant memory.
In truth, I could do much better than just manage, although I didn’t want to touch a firearm ever again. Maybe some things were better left unspoken.
But then Jack said, “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’m not gonna make you do it.”
Ethan watched me, a deep frown settled between his brows.
My eyes flicked to his face. Something in his eyes made me want to open up a little. If he knew more about my past, maybe he wouldn’t see me as such an emotional mess.
“It’s not that. Well, kinda, but not because the guns intimidate me or something.” I hung my head and squeezed my hands together.
Ethan came closer to me. “That bad?”
I glanced into his eyes again. The frown disappeared, replaced by something like remorse. For a split second he looked vulnerable. But then the look disappeared, replaced by concern. Suddenly I wanted him to hold me close to his chiseled chest so I could feel his heartbeat under my cheek and his warmth seep onto me.
I quickly dismissed that notion and sat down on the elevated hearth of the large fireplace. Above me was a massive wooden mantel with many framed pictures, just like in Ethan’s cabin.
I picked a stray piece of thread off my shirt and began to tell my story, “When I was twelve, I ran from the foster home I lived in then. This was the second time in less than four months, and they kept an eye on me but apparently not close enough. I was helping in the kitchen that day and took off while bringing the trash out. I had everything planned, including a bag of provisions stolen from the kitchen and my clothes, all secretly stashed away behind the dumpster.
That night I traded three cans of sardines and a box of graham crackers with an older girl in exchange for a roof over my head. She belonged to a group of kids living in an old, condemned building downtown. Three days later she took me to meet up with some of her other friends. They were really cool. Eventually, I joined their group and moved into their hangout—an unfinished warehouse a few blocks over. Two of the older boys were dealing drugs, and I ended up working as one of the couriers for their boss—a rich college dude. They got me a small gun, probably stolen or otherwise illegal, and taught me how to use it. I was told to carry it whenever I went on a delivery.
As scrawny as I was at twelve, I was a tough little shit and clever beyond my years. I knew not to enter any suspicious buildings while delivering, and only met with the clients in busy public places. But one time I almost got in hot water. I was at a restaurant, waiting for some guy in a suit and tie, when the police busted in.” With that statement, I chanced a glance up at Ethan, wanting to know what his reaction was.
He leaned forward in the recliner that I occupied before, resting his elbows on his knees, feet wide apart. His dark-brown eyes were alert and focused on me. There was no condemnation on his handsome face, and I exhaled with relief.
Jack sat next to him, reclined in the most relaxed pose, with one ankle over his knee and his arms raised and bent over the back of the chair. His eyes were half-closed, but just as alert as Ethan’s. These two were so much alike, and not only physically but in he way they acted—both focused on my story, but also ready to jump at any sign of trouble outside.
I looked down at my boots and continued, for some strange reason wanting to tell them the rest of the story, “To this day, I have no idea if they were looking for drugs, and if so, if it was the drugs that I had stashed in my purse for delivery, or if they were after something else entirely. Anyway, I wasn’t interested in finding out firsthand. I was paralyzed with fear, but I had to save myself, so I stood up and, pretending to be extremely uncomfortable and clueless, I told a young cop that my mom was in the bathroom, waiting for me to bring her something. He asked what exactly I had to help my mother with. I told him that she just messaged me from the restroom. I had the cell phone in my hand to prove it, but, in reality, I’d have been screwed if he actually wanted to see the text for himself. Obviously, there was no text. I then leaned close to his ear and said in a conspiratorial voice that she badly needed a tampon. The guy got hot-red in the face and let me slip past him.
I knew there would be cops in the bathroom, so I didn’t even try disposing of the drugs there. Instead, with my head hung low, I slunk outside, crying. More police waited with their drug detection dogs. I covered my face and cried. They asked what was going on and what I was doing there. I told them that someone forced me to hide a package for them and that I was very scared. The rest was a snap.”
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. He looked stunned. I probably messed everything up, and now he thought I wasn’t worth his concern. But that was ten years ago, and I did what I had to in order to survive on my own. At twelve, I had no family, no friends that lived with normal families, and a very slim chance to stay out of juvenile prison.
“So, that’s how my life had been for years, until I met Professor Tolinski. One day, about two years after that incident, I was making another delivery at the local library. I was fourteen and living with new foster parents. They were older and weird. I never knew if I’d have anything to eat, or end up going to bed hungry. I started dealing drugs again to make money for my own food and clothes. I hated social workers, and there was no way I would tell them what was really going on. If I did, I they’d just send me back to foster home. And that was worse than living with neglectful foster parents. At least they left me alone, and usually didn’t even care where I was or what I was doing.”
“Who was Professor Tolinski?” Ethan asked.
“A sweet Polish man. He taught chemistry at USF. He saw me dealing that day at the library. I didn’t know he had, so when he approached me on my way out, I freaked. But he quickly said he wasn’t trying to get me arrested, nor that he would ask any questions about what I was involved in. He simply offered to buy me a meal at Denny’s down the street. I was so hungry, I could barely walk. He didn’t have to tell me twice that he would pay for all the food I wanted to eat.
We went there, we sat down, and I ordered as much as I could stuff in my stomach. Then the ice cream and a warm apple pie with a huge dollop of whipped cream arrived, and I had to hold back the tears.
Nobody had ever done such a wonderful thing for me. Professor offered to pay for my taxi instead of driving me back to my foster home. He said he didn’t want me to think that he was up to something bad, proposing to drive me in his car. That made a lot of sense to me. I would’ve never gotten into a stranger’s car, no matter what.
When I asked him why he even cared, he said that back at the library he saw desperation and pain in my eyes. Professor knew immediately I needed someone to step in and help. He also said that I had an aura of pride and toughness, which told him a lot about my strong personality.
The next day, after school, Professor met me again at the library, and we sat down in the far corner, away from any prying ears. That’s how our little friendship st
arted. He was the only father I knew. He truly cared about me and he never wanted anything in return. A few months later, he asked if it would be okay with me if he adopted me so we could become a real family.” My voice cracked on the last words, and my vision blurred with tears. I quickly blinked them away.
“Hey,” Ethan moved close and kneeled on one knee in front of me. He put his hand on my arm and gently squeezed. “You had a tough life. I’m glad that man took you under his wing. What ever happened to him?”
I looked at Ethan’s face. There was concern in his eyes. How could he go from totally cold to semi-friendly to worried? He was a complete enigma to me. Or maybe I’ve only met really simple people in my life so far and I didn’t know any better.
I rubbed the tears from under my eyes with the tips of my fingers and sniffed. “Well, it turned out Professor was very sick. Never told me until one day when he couldn’t go on any longer. It was about two months after my adoption was complete, and I officially became his daughter. I never took his last name, though. It just felt weird, as if marrying my old man.” I tried to smile at my sweet memories of Jan Tolinski, but I knew that I only managed a sad grimace. “He was sixty-nine when he died. Cancer.
I didn’t eat or sleep for three whole days, mourning him. I spent hours, curled up by his grave, holding onto his tombstone, until the social workers came and took me away. Again. I was sixteen then, which meant I had two more years in foster care until I finally would be considered an adult.”
Jack stood up quietly and walked to the window. He peered between the blinds again, turning his head from side to side, scanning the area outside. The outdoor lights were left on. If someone tried to sneak up close to the cabin, the lights would make it more difficult. Jack turned back to us and exchanged a tiny nod with Ethan.
“Something wrong?” I asked. Maybe we were sitting ducks here, but it was still safer than driving and being chased.
“I’m gonna check outside. Nothing’s wrong, just a precaution.” Jack went to the front door. Ethan walked after him and locked the door.
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 196