by Paige Hill
As I make my way across the countertop, I stop at a stack of mail. Setting the rag down, I begin to straighten the stack before I realize how intrusive it is. Placing the mail back on the counter, I start to turn away, but something catches my eye. Forced to do a double take, I refuse to believe what I see. Whether I believe it or not is irrelevant at this point because right there on the counter is what seems like a database printout with my face on it. Panic starts to take hold as I inspect the paper, covered in notes about my fake identity. Shit. Shit. Shit. With shaky hands, I grab the paper and quickly read it over. The ringing in my ears is back and I begin to perspire. A feeling akin to slight relief settles in my gut when I notice this is all information on my fake identity. None of it hints at who I really am.
Dropping the incriminating sheet of paper, I realize how badly I need to get out of here. Grabbing my things, I glance toward the back door and see that Declan has his back to me, still loading the Jeep.
I close the front door as quietly as I can, and bolt. I run faster than I ever thought I could. My heart races and my feet pound the pavement as warms tears flow freely from my face. I did it again. I trusted someone, and they turned out to be full of shit. How can I be this careless? This stupid? Does he work for Mark? What does he want with me? Unanswered questions flood my mind and my lungs burn, but I force myself on. I need out of this town. Money or not, I can no longer stay here. It was foolish to have stayed here this long.
Satisfied I have everything I need, I turn back to the house in search of Taryn. I can’t contain my smile. My mood seems brighter today than it has been in a long time.
“Sunshine? Are you ready to go?” I call out as I enter the house, but I am met with silence. With no sign of Taryn, I turn back to the kitchen, a crumple sounding under my shoe catches my attention. Bending to pick the discarded paper from the floor, my stomach churns. A sudden urge to heave the contents of my stomach consumes me.
My skin breaks out into a cold sweat when the realization hits me. She read it. She knows I’m investigating her.
“Fuck!” I scream, throwing my bare fist into the nearest wall. Drywall flies everywhere as a sharp pain radiates up my arm. I don’t give a shit. I fucked up. I have to make this right.
I race to my Jeep, praying I can find her. With my phone in hand, Briggs picks up before I even pull out of the driveway.
“Briggs, I fucked up, I fucked up bad.” Those are the only words I can form over the lump in my throat.
“Slow down. Did you blow your cover? Are you in immediate danger?” he asks, his tone all business, making me feel like a jackass. I should be focused on this case, but I’ve allowed myself to become so wrapped up in this woman, I can’t think rationally. Sighing heavily, I reply.
“Shit. No, I’m sorry man. I just panicked and didn’t know what to do. She saw the report you sent me as a follow up and bolted. I have no idea where she is.” I’m trying to contain the panic in my voice, but I fail miserably.
“Seriously? You’re this worked up about her? You don’t even know who she really is, man. Don’t repeat my mistakes.” He says in a softer tone than I expected.
“I know, I know. But something is wrong. I need to find her and set this straight. She doesn’t know I’m DEA and she definitely doesn’t trust cops. She probably thinks I’m a goddamn stalker.”
“Look, I get it. But I’m not letting you go alone. Her fucking car is registered to Emmanuel Garcia.”
“Wait, what? As in former Miami-Dade Police Lieutenant Emmanuel Garcia, the dirty cop who was killed by the cartel?” I ask while my thoughts are all over the place.
“The one and only.”
What. The. Fuck.
“She left on foot not long ago. Her car is still at the bar. If I had to guess, that’s where she’s headed,” I state, my eyes scanning the streets as I drive. Every muscle in my body clenches with unbridled panic.
“Okay, I’ll be there shortly,” he utters in a clipped tone before he ends the call.
I break at least ten traffic violations before reaching the parking lot of Blind Luck. Slowing down to scan the area, I notice her car is still here, but she is nowhere to be found. Hoping I can spot her before she sees me, I pull around the side of the building into a shaded space facing the front of her car. I kill the engine at the same time I see it. I don’t know how I missed it before.
Deeply carved in bold letters onto the hood of her car is a threat impossible to misunderstand.
I’m coming for you.
A single red rose rests against the windshield.
I don’t have time to process what I’m seeing before Taryn comes into view. She’s running and so frantic she doesn’t even see me. I watch as she rounds the hood of her car, her body coming to a sudden stop when she notices the threat. I expect her to scream but instead I watch carefully as her breathing quickens, her shoulders rapidly rising and falling with each breath. Her chest visually contracts and expands as she scans the parking lot looking for signs of something.
That emotion on her face—I’ve seen it before, far too many times. It’s the same look victims get when their biggest nightmare comes to fruition. If I don’t get her attention, she is going to retreat into her own nightmare and I will have to take a bench seat. Not happening on my watch.
I step into the light, hands up, to show I mean no harm.
“Stay away from me!” she screams. Her eyes darting from me to the car.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I came to explain what you saw.” I take a tentative step toward her and try not to flinch as she backs further away from me.
“Bullshit!” She spits. “Did he send you here to kill me?”
I’m more confused now than ever.
“What? No. Who’s ‘he’?” I ask. “I’m not here to hurt you, I swear. Look, Taryn, whatever your name is, I’m trying to explain myself. If you tell me what’s going on, I can help you.” Her eyes carefully scan my features as if she were trying to understand my intent. “If I were sent to kill or kidnap you, don’t you think I would have done that already?”
She pauses a few moments, allowing my logic to sink in.
“Then what do you want from me?” Her voice cracks and it breaks me. All I want to do is comfort her.
“I only wanted to know what you were hiding. I knew right off the bat you were lying to me. I needed to know what I was dealing with,” I state honestly. She stares at the pavement with a faraway look in her eyes, and I take the opportunity to advance on her. She startles but doesn’t jerk away from me as I expect her to.
“Sunshine? Baby, please look at me,” I plead, taking her face in my hands. Her chest is heaving, and I know she is going to hyperventilate if she doesn’t get her breathing in check. Pulling her to my chest, I pick her up and walk around to the side of my Jeep. Her lithe body trembles in my arms and it’s all I can do to keep myself from kissing her. Anything to take away the pain she is experiencing. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I cradle her in my lap. Gently rocking her back and forth, I try to calm her, almost like one would a terrified child. “Stay with me. He can’t get to you. I won’t let him.” I whisper into her ear as I pull her head to rest on my chest. I’m making promises about a situation I don’t understand and it’s dangerous. But I mean every word.
“Look, there is something we need to talk about,” I confess. I need to come clean about who I am before this goes any further. I will essentially be blowing my cover, but she deserves to know.
“I was able to get your information because I’m an agent with the DEA. I’ve been undercover at Blind Luck trying to take down a cartel smuggling drugs in and out of Miami.”
There. It’s finally out there. I know she doesn’t trust cops, but I am hoping she’ll trust me.
“A cop? You’re a fucking cop?” She screams bolting from my arms. What the hell? She flies out through the passenger door, running frantically toward an alley. I still don’t know what kind of trouble she is in but based on the condition o
f her car, she isn’t safe alone. Bailing from my Jeep, I sprint to catch her.
“Taryn! What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, gaining on her. Rounding a corner, her foot catches the curb.
“Ahh-whooomph!” She trips, but I catch her around the waist just before she hits the ground. Struggling to free herself from my grasp, she fights with all she’s got. Arms and legs flailing wildly. I have no choice, so I tighten my arms around her. We are still alone out here, and I am grateful for that. Confusion and concern take over my thoughts. At this point, my biggest fear is that she won’t allow me to help her.
“Why are you running? I can help you. I told you, you’re safe now.” She stops fighting for a moment and I loosen my grip. Turning in my arms, she lifts her tear stained face and looks me straight in the eye.
“Declan, I am so sorry for everything. You will never understand but I need to leave. Now,” She pleads, seconds before she draws her knee back and rams it into my groin. Instinctively releasing my hold on her, I fall to my knees as a wave of nausea works itself through my stomach. Pain radiates from my center preventing me from standing. Through squinted eyes I watch as she steps backward, choking out “I’m sorry” repeatedly before she runs back toward her car.
I pull myself together faster than I thought humanly possible. She must have twisted her ankle when she tripped because she is limping now and running much slower than before. Jogging as quickly as I can, still fighting off nausea, I follow her out of the alley.
“Goddamn it! Will you stop and just fucking talk to me?!” I demand as I once again gain on her. She doesn’t answer as she frantically works to unlock the car door. I’m not even confident she heard me. Fear that I’ve lost her to her demons ignites the fire in my chest.
The smell of raw gasoline fills the air and the puddle beneath the car tells me the gas line has been cut. That car isn’t going anywhere, so I take a detour to my Jeep. Apparently, she wants to do this the hard way.
Making it back to her car just as her shaky hands get the door open, I slap one side of the cuffs on her left wrist and the other to my right. Startled, she looks up at me in complete disbelief. Seizing the opportunity, I use my body to press her up against the side of her car.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my tone much softer than I expect it to be. The fear in her eyes causes my chest to constrict, making it harder to breathe. I can physically see the moment something inside of her breaks. Her limbs go limp with defeat as she looks away and utters words I wasn’t prepared for.
“Because I’m a wanted fugitive.” Her body slides down the side of the car roughly, taking me with her.
What the fuck just happened?
Fugitive? I eye her carefully, trying to determine what I think she could be capable of and I’m coming up short. She isn’t a criminal. She can’t be. Can she? Just then, Briggs pulls in, the throaty sound of his ’69 Camaro drawing my attention. Taryn never looks up. Just continues to stare at the pavement in a trance.
He unfolds his large frame from the car and makes his way over, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest.
“Do I want to know what happened here?” he asks, his eyes on the hand cuffs.
It’s over. If I don’t go to jail, I’ll be dead in a week. A small part of me is relieved. If Mark kills me, I will never have to live in fear again. That kind of freedom is far too tempting.
“Well…” I hear Declan answer the large stranger’s question. He must be another agent. “Some new information on the incident has come to light and I don’t think right here is the safest place for this conversation. I can’t risk being seen, and based on the condition of her car, she isn’t safe here. Can you sweep for evidence and meet me at my house? The car will need to be towed to my house, too. The gas line has been cut.”
What? I angle my head to look under the car. Sure enough, there is a puddle and the distinct smell of gasoline hits my nostrils. How did I not notice that before?
“Why not call a black and white and have it taken to impound?” the agent asks. Taking in the damage to my car, he adds, “looks like someone needs to file a report on this anyway.”
“Not until we get all of the information,” Declan comments, his stare heavy on me. “Get it towed to my house and meet me there. And hurry. I need fucking answers.” He spits, pulling me up, his anger palpable. The agent nods his head and gets to work, taking photos on his phone and rummaging through my things.
Declan leads me to his truck and gives me no choice but to get in through the driver’s side, him still attached to me.
“Why didn’t you just arrest me?” I ask, the realization hitting me that Declan may not be the man I thought he was. Ugh. Hello pot, meet kettle… Once again, we find ourselves alone in silence. The hum of the tires serves as the rhythmic soundtrack to our chaos. He is silent the entire ride to his house. Never once acknowledging my questions. His free hand clenches the wheel so tight his knuckles are white. I can’t read the emotion on his face and it worries me.
When we arrive, he lifts me from the truck, still refusing to talk or look at me. Was this a set up? Was all of this so he can get to me? It just doesn’t make any sense. If I am who he was after, wouldn’t I be going to jail right now?
My mind is racing, unable to process a clear thought. He fucking hand cuffed me. To be fair, I did kick him in the balls. If I weren’t so terrified right now, I would have the strength to feel bad about it.
Dragging me into the house behind him, he leads me toward the kitchen table.
“Sit,” he demands pointing to the chair.
“I’m not a damn dog,” I snap. I can see his jaws clenching and I’m oddly pleased that I am under his skin. He stares up at the ceiling, one hand on a hip, I assume trying to regain his patience.
“Please sit in the fucking chair.”
At least he said please. Internally I huff like a teenager and flop down as he asked. Maybe he will be the ‘good cop’ after all. Before I can rest my elbows on the table, he’s uncuffed himself and slaps the open end on the wall radiator to my left. Annnnd we’re back to ‘bad cop’.
He takes a seat at the opposite side of the table, his face unreadable.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
“I think that’s a question I should be asking you,” he snaps back. For a long time, we just sit and stare each other down. We are playing some psychologically twisted version of Chicken and I have a feeling I’m going to lose. The silence stretches between us, so many secrets I don’t think I could count them if I tried. The entire clusterfuck that is my life streams through my mind and I can’t help but wonder how I got to this point. Everything in life, good and bad, is a result of a decision made. I’ve made mistakes and blinded myself when I had the opportunity to see. Right now, I see things pretty fucking clearly and his stare is unnerving. The stoic look on his face flares my anger. I’ve had enough of the silence. I open my mouth to demand answers, only to be drowned out by a loud engine pulling into the driveway. Declan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even move, just continues to stare at me. I would give anything to know what he is thinking right now.
Knock, knock.
“It’s open,” he raises his voice, eyes remain on me. The big guy from before struts into the room and takes the seat at the table, directly between Declan and me.
“Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” he asks, confusion written all over his handsome features. Really handsome. Okay, the big guy is hot.
“That’s why we’re here. I’m hoping she can tell me what the hell is going on,” Declan remarks, his eyes falling back to mine.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice louder than I intend, but I am done with this. Declan and the big guy exchange a look before he turns to look at me again.
“The big ugly to your left is Aiden Briggs.” I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “He is my partner. Like I told you before, I’ve been undercover and feeding him information. What I want is to know who you really are.”
Both sets of piercing eyes are on me now.
“Why didn’t you take me in?” I ask, defeated, exhaustion of the day taking over.
“That’s a great question.” Briggs quips and cuts his honey colored eyes at Declan.
“Because I deserve some goddamn answers!” He shouts angrily, his hand thrust in my direction.
“How do you know Emmanuel Garcia?” Briggs cuts in, all business.
Why is he asking me about Manny?
“He’s the closest thing to a father I have,” I answer honestly. How do they know Manny? The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. Nothing about this situation feels right. Briggs curses under his breath and cuts his eyes to Declan. His reaction makes me instantly defensive.
“What the hell have you gotten us into, man?” he asks. Declan ignores him and turns toward me.
“Are you telling me that Garcia is alive?”
“Why are you asking me this? I don’t understand what Manny has to do with any of this!” My frustration is evident. I need just as many answers as they do, and I refuse to share any more details until they give me something.
Aiden focuses his attention on me, his eyes slightly squinty, like he’s looking for signs of deception. “Considering he’s been dead for ten years, that information is pretty relevant.”
Dead?
“No, I think you are talking about someone else entirely. My Manny is very much alive. He’s the reason I’m still alive. I owe him everything.” My voice starts to trail as unshed tears prick my eyes.
Both men stare at me blankly until Aiden pulls out his phone, tapping rapidly on the screen. Apparently having found what he needed, he thrusts the screen in my face.
“This the man you are talking about?” he questions.
“Y-Yes. How did you get that?” Bewilderment wars with disbelief as I stare at the screen. Before me is a photograph of a middle-aged Manny… In a police uniform.