by LP Lovell
"Well, hell," Marney groans as he sets the tanks down and flips off the caps. "Guess we're setting this shit on fire, huh?"
"Yep." I grab a can and head to the front steps, trailing gas behind me. This shit never ends.
13
Tor
The tires screech as I pull onto the private runway, slamming on the brakes next to a small plane. Crazy Billy pops his head around the back of the plane and walks over to me.
"I need off the island right now, Billy," I say, throwing the car door open.
I unbuckle Cayla from her car seat and grab the passports, clothes, and money from the front seat. Without question Billy helps us into the small plane and I take a seat, strapping Cayla in next to me. She fusses, trying to get free. "Baby, you have to sit quiet. We're going to go up in the sky," I say, stroking over her hair.
"You all good?" Billy asks, eyeing my bloody shoulder as he pulls the plane door closed.
"Yeah, just get us in the air." I'm nervous, just waiting for someone to come after us toting bullets.
He buckles himself up and flips switches, the engines roaring to life. Cayla wrinkles her brow and stares wide-eyed at me. I place my arm around her, leaning down and whispering, “It’ll be fun.” The plane turns on the runway and we bump along the tarmac, slowly picking up speed. My heart pounds in my chest. I just want off the ground. We barrel down the runway and my stomach catches when the wheels come off the ground. Cayla squeals as clouds whisk by. Billy banks and I watch the lights of the island grow smaller until I see nothing but black underneath us, and I finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Once we level off, I pull clean clothes from the bag and quickly change, using the tank top to rewrap my still bleeding shoulder. When I sit back down I find that Cayla has fallen asleep in the seat. Her head is slumped to the side and she’s breathing softly. The farther from the island we get, the more my adrenaline simmers down. I’m able to more clearly think about what I need to do. My first instinct is to go to the address and wait for Jude, because Jude fixes everything…right? He may think he has this under control, but he doesn't. The simple fact is: my daughter was nearly killed tonight because of Jude. Whatever is going on, he is the target and Cayla and I are nothing more than collateral damage, targets his enemies can use to get to him. And as a mother, I cannot allow my daughter to get pulled into this storm.
When I had Cayla, I could never have comprehended how entirely she would change everything. I love Jude with every fibre of my being, but Cayla is my heart living outside of my body. She's my child, my reason. I will do anything to protect her. Anything. Even if that means hiding us both from the man I love.
When we touch down in Miami, I thank Billy and step onto American soil for the first time in over two years with Cayla cradled in my arms. The sticky Miami heat radiates up from the pavement as I make my way across the tarmac toward the entrance of the airport. Swallowing, I step inside, quickly swallowed up by the bustling crowd of travelers. A sense of disorientation surrounds me and my pulse quickens at the thought of what I must do to protect my baby. Readjusting the bag on my good shoulder, I walk straight to one of the airline counters and wait in line behind a swarm of businessmen while Cayla plays with my hair. I steel myself, searching for my resolve when I step to the counter.
“May I help you,” the attendant asks.
Nodding, I swallow. “May I use your phone please?”
She motions me to the side before picking up a phone and handing me the receiver. My mouth goes dry as I dial the operator. "Operator. How can I help you?"
"I need the number for the FBI." I say, my pulse hammering in my ears.
"Hold please." There's a pause. "I'm connecting you now."
"Federal Bureau of Investigations." A woman answers.
"My name is Victoria Pearson." I say calmly. "I need to speak with someone about going into protective custody."
A few hours later, I’m sitting in the Miami FBI office. I glance down at the white sling my arm is now in, bouncing my knee anxiously as I wait. They had a doctor stitch my shoulder, but the pain still throbs with every heartbeat. The doctor offered me pain meds. I don't want them. I need to be alert.
The man behind the desk glances up and smiles as he speaks Spanish into a phone. I find myself holding Cayla a little tighter because, suddenly, everyone looks like an enemy, a potential threat. Cayla throws her body back, squirming and whining. She’s tired and cranky. I readjust her on my lap, but she’s still wiggling, trying to get down.
"Stay here with Mummy," I say, bouncing her up and down. “Mummy just wants to hold you.”
“Dada…” she whines. That’s like a punch in the chest. I kiss her forehead and hum quietly to her. When I look up, the man that was talking into his phone is watching me. I flash a small smile before my gaze darts away. Cayla grabs at my necklace, her eyes fixing on the little hummingbird charm.
I glance up at the clock. I've been here for hours now. This isn't hiding, this is plain sight. Just when I'm ready to get up and walk out, a man with greying hair dressed in a smart black suit comes through the doors. His gaze scans the waiting room before landing on me, and when he approaches, there’s a small frown on his face. He pulls his suit jacket back just enough that I can see the badge on his belt. "Victoria?" he says sternly. I nod. “Follow me, please.”
I slowly stand up, bumping Cayla higher on my hip as I follow him. He takes me to an office and closes the door. The sound of the lock clicking in place makes me nervous.
“Just a precaution,” he says and glances at me as he sits behind a small desk. He gestures to the seat across the desk from him. “Please have a seat.” I sit, letting Cayla down. "My name is Agent Tidwell. I worked Jude's case two years ago." I let out a shaky breath. "I know he's not dead, Victoria."
I ignore that statement. "I need help. Someone tried to kill me and my daughter." I shake my head.
"Do you know who?"
"They were speaking Spanish. That's all I know." But isn't it the Russians who should be coming after us? I glance down at Cayla crawling across the floor and snap my fingers at her. She sits up and smiles.
"Where is Jude now?" he asks, his dark eyes meeting mine.
I press my lips together. I need help but I'm not about to sell Jude out.
Sighing, Tidwell leans forward on the desk. "Listen to me very carefully, Victoria. I will help you and your daughter.” He glances down at Cayla. “I can protect you, but Jude Pearson cannot set foot on US soil. That will open up a can of worms that none of us will be able to fix." There’s a long moment of silence before he clears his throat. "Where. Is. He?"
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "The last time I saw him he was in the Caribbean, but for all I know he's dead." It’s a little too coincidental that his barman was decapitated, forcing him to leave the house barely an hour before we were attacked. I swallow heavily at that thought, my stomach churning. No, he can't be. It's Jude. I'm not sure he can be killed.
"And if he's not,” Tidwell says, “then he's undoubtedly coming for you and his daughter." He pushes back in his seat and the hinges creak. "Shit," he mutters under his breath.
"Please. I need...I need to run from him," I plead. Tidwell narrows his eyes at me. "Whoever tried to kill us, it was because of Jude." I glance at Cayla sprawled on her stomach on the floor. "She's just a child."
"I'll help you," he says.
"Thank you." I glance back at him, studying him. I have no idea whether I can trust this man, but I have no choice right now.
“You just hang tight here—where you are safe—” he pushes up from the desk, “and let me get a few things in order before we move you.”
Within a few hours Tidwell walks back into the holding room with two other agents trailing behind him. One of them is a pretty woman with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. She can only be in her late twenties and nothing about her slightly resembles a typical FBI agent. The other guy is older and he looks ex-military with his buzz cut and his
hard expression.
"This is Agent Hart," Tidwell says, pointing to the woman. "And Agent Nelson." The guy nods at me.
"Hi. Thanks for your help," I say. They turn and walk out of the room and I scoop Cayla up.
Tidwell places his hand gently on my arm. "This way." He leads me to an elevator where Hart and Nelson are waiting. The elevator doors close and then we're going down. The doors open to a parking garage, and the second we step out, all three of them have guns in hand. My stomach knots uncomfortably at the true gravity of my situation. I am in the protective custody of the FBI. I thought my life was over when Jude took me. I thought it was over again when he died. And now I'm running from him. This truly feels like its own kind of hell. They load me and Cayla into a black SUV and we’re whisked out onto the crowded Miami highway.
We ride in silence, my nerves on edge. Eventually we pull off the interstate, into a neighborhood of little pastel houses with palm trees and azaleas dotting the front lawns. We park in the drive of a normal looking house. Shutters. A pretty fern hanging from the front porch. The agents open the doors and climb out, walking to the back of the vehicle to stand guard. Agent Tidwell opens the passenger door and helps me out, taking my bag so I can get Cayla. Tidwell leads us up the sidewalk, onto the front porch, and straight inside the house.
There’s a couch and a sofa in the front room. One lamp on a single end table. The walls are beige and it has that unlived in feel to it. But this is a place to stay, and more importantly, it's safe. The other two agents file into the house and here we stand in the middle of the living room.
"Are you okay?" Agent Hart asks me, smiling down at Cayla.
"I'm fine, thank you."
She nods. "We’re sending someone to get supplies. Toiletries. Is there anything you need?"
“Uh, Pull-ups and maybe some Cheerios for her to snack on.”
“Sure thing.” She brushes her finger over Cayla’s arm. Cayla fusses for a second, rubbing at her eyes. “There’s a bedroom back there. Why don’t you go ahead and get comfortable?”
I wander down the hallway and push open a door to a bedroom with a twin bed in it. “You ready to sleep, baby?” I whisper to Cayla as I lay her down. "It's okay. We'll be okay." I kiss her head and brush the wisps of blonde hair away from her face. She yawns and I stay with her, stroking over her hair until she falls asleep. "We'll be okay," I whisper, blocking out the deep void that has taken up residence in my chest. I rub at the spot over my heart and close my eyes. I miss him. I'm here because I want Cayla to be safe, but the truth is, even in the middle of blood and war, Jude is the only person that has ever made me feel safe. I know it's all an illusion, but my heart pines for him regardless. I'm having to choose between the two people I love most in the world and it breaks my heart. But ultimately there is no choice. It's Cayla. It will always be Cayla.
14
Jude
The heat sticks to me like a film as I stand on the porch searching for the key. A thick strand of cobwebs cover the door and I swipe them away as I shove the key into the lock. The lock clicks and the hinges to the door groan as it swings open into the dark entrance way.
"Shit," I mumble under my breath as I step into the empty house. “Tor?” My voice echoes around the entranceway. “Doll, you here?” Silence.
Panic creeps through my veins as I go from room to empty-fucking-room. Nothing's been touched. They never made it here. My pulse goes haywire, my mind swirling with possibilities. With horrible what-if-scenarios. Shit, what if the cartel found them after Billy dropped them off? Swallowing that fear down, I pull my phone from my pocket and try Tor's number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Where the hell would she have gone, and how the fuck am I supposed to find her in Miami? I brace my forearm against the wall and lean my forehead against it as I take a deep breath. And that’s when the fear sets in. Sweat pricks its way over my forehead, my stomach kinks and knots with worry. I push away from the wall and pace, shaking my head as I go over the awful fucking scenarios of what may have happened to my family. I grit my teeth. My chest burns. Angry tears build in my eyes, eventually spilling down my cheeks. And then the rage sets in, slow at first but then, just like a freight train, it comes on full force, swift and hard. I pull my arm back and slam my fist into the wall. I punch hole after hole through the sheetrock, shouting and cursing until my arm aches and sweat drenches my shirt. Exhausted, I slide down the wall to the floor. Paint and plaster litter the open cuts on my knuckles. What the fuck do I have if they are gone?
My phone beeps and I frantically answer it. "Yeah?"
"She's not gonna be there," Gabriel says in a panic. "Diego said she's gone to the FBI in Miami."
"What? Who the fuck is Diego and how does he know?" I shout, pushing to my feet and heading toward the door.
"He's my ventana in the FBI. He contacted me just now saying he called in the order to have some Washington agent come down to handle this. It's bad for you, ese. Really fucking bad."
"But they’re safe?" I pause. "Where did they take them?"
"You can't go to them. Everyone knows you’re alive now—”
“How?”
“There are ears everywhere and Tor showing up, well... the word on the street is that Jude Pearson faked his death and escaped prison with the help of the fucking Russian." Gabriel takes a deep breath. "And he has a lot of fucking enemies, my friend."
"Ah, fuck," I shout, pacing the room. "I don't know what's fucking worse, them thinking I worked with the Russian devil to get out of prison, or the truth that I sold out Domingo."
"They're about the same, ese. You're basically stuck between a turd and an asshole."
It doesn't matter what I do at this point. They will find me. And they will kill me. I just need to see Tor and Cayla. I just need to know they’re safe and kiss them one last time. "Give me the address," I say, but I'm greeted with nothing but silence. "Gabe! Give me the fucking address to where they're at."
"Jude..."
"No, I just wanna see them."
He exhales. "Let me talk to Diego. I'll call you back."
I hang up the phone as I make my way out of the house, down the stairs, and to my car. I rev the engine before pulling out of the drive and heading to pick Marney up from Billy's hanger. Then...then I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
***break***
I hate Miami. It's hot and crowded and people can't fucking drive. I lay on the horn as I swerve around some shitty-ass 1980s Mustang. The driver floors the accelerator and cuts back in front of me, blocking me from passing. I swear to fucking god. I veer into the other lane and gun it. The guy glares at me as he tries to keep up and he flips me off. I'm not in the mood for this shit today. He mouths "Fuck you" and I lose it, I pull my gun from my waist and aim through the window. The guy's eyes go wide at the sight of my gun and he jerks the wheel, ramming into the guard rail, metal flying everywhere.
"Take Exit 13 and keep right,” the GPS instructs.
I skid across all three lanes of traffic and swerve in the exit lane, tires squealing as I round the ramp. Ten minutes later and I've pulled over on the side of the road. The houses are all pastel colors, palms in the front yard. I cut the engine and climb out of the car, shoving my gun into the waist of my jeans and tugging my shirt down to conceal it. My phone rings, I pull it from my pocket and frown at the unknown number.
"Yeah?" I answer.
"Pearson." I remain silent. I know that fucking voice. "It's Agent Tidwell," the man says. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. "I'm calling to remind you about the deal you made. Specifically, the part where you agreed not set foot on US soil."
I stop next to a manatee mailbox. "And what the fuck are you going to do if I do?"
"Jesus," he sighs, pausing, "this isn't just about you."
"I know damn well who it's about." Who the hell does he think he is trying to be my moral fucking compass?
"Then stay dead! You are about to screw us all over," he says with a growl.
> I walk through somebody's backyard, and I can see the house from here. There are three black SUVs parked in the drive. Two men are standing guard on the porch. "So, is your fat ass on the porch or are you inside?" I ask.
"Damnit Pearson!" The phone cuts off and the front door swings opens, Tidwell's bulky silhouette appearing inside the door frame. The two agents in the drive pull their guns and point them at me. I roll my eyes and keep walking toward the house because they won't shoot me in broad fucking daylight—at least not until I get on that lawn. "You can't be here," Tidwell shouts.
"I need to see Tor." I stop at the curb and stare at him.
He sighs and pulls his gun from the holster, aiming at me. "Victoria Devaux and Cayla Pearson are under the protective custody of the FBI. If you threaten that protection I will shoot you." I narrow my eyes at him, my jaw clenching. God, I'd love to beat the shit out of him. I hated him when I was in prison and I hate him now. "I need to fucking see Tor," I repeat.
"Jude," I hear Tor's voice before Tidwell turns in the doorway. Tor steps up, shoving him to the side. God, she looks like shit. Dark circles linger below her eyes. Her face is worn with worry and her arm's in a sling. I just want to fucking hold her and tell her it's all going to be okay.
I go to step onto the lawn and Tidwell flares his nostrils. "Pearson..." The hammer clicks as he cocks the gun. “Remember the deal we made…”
The deal we made where I sold out other criminals to no longer exist. No social security. No credit. No existence.
“That agreement is the only reason you don’t have a bullet in your head right now,” Tidwell says.
Tor grabs Tidwell's arm and yanks him into the house. The pair of them turn their backs to me, and I slowly edge my way along the walkway as they talk quietly. I can hear Tor pleading with him to let me in for a minute. After a moment, Tidwell glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. I can see his jaw ticking, the agitation evident on his face. "Ten minutes," he says. “And then you leave.”