DeeAnn had moved in front of Jason, and now she turned back, surely wondering why he’d stopped walking. Her eyes widened when he looked at her, and he wondered what his expression suggested. He squeezed her hand, wanting her to continue facing him; he didn’t want the men to see her.
Slowly, staring at the men until the last possible second, Jason sat. He yanked DeeAnn onto his lap.
“What’s wrong?” she mouthed. “What?”
“I see someone I know from… home.” Or he was imagining it, conjuring ghosts because he’d been thinking about his former life. Or because he knew he didn’t deserve peace, let alone happiness. “At least, I think I do.”
“Who? Where?”
“At the bar. We gotta go.”
DeeAnn nodded. “We’ll just stick to this side of the club.”
That would work, assuming the two men were alone. Was it a coincidence? Without moving DeeAnn off his lap, Jason raised up for another look.
Hook nose, weak chin, broad forehead. Yeah, that was Gary Parauda. No one else had a profile like that. Jason had never liked the guy. Didn’t trust him. Gary had come up fast, played with big amounts of cash and took unnecessary risks. Jason had told AJ as much, and AJ had ordered him to let it go.
The man with Parauda looked like a cop. So did Parauda, though he’d said he was ex-military. Jason hadn’t looked into him. He’d never dealt with the man directly, and Parauda had been AJ’s business.
Anita and her dessert were bent over something. A tiny plastic baggy, Jason assumed. He nudged her arm hard.
“We have a problem,” he said. “Your husband is here.”
The investment banker’s head flew up.
“He’s a jealous cop,” Jason explained. “You might wanna split before it’s too late.”
The man was on his feet, then gone.
“What the hell, Jason?” Flames practically shot from Anita’s eyes. “How about tonight I barge into your—”
“I see someone from back home.”
Jason had spoken quietly, but Anita must have caught the gist. She scoffed.
“He’s right,” DeeAnn said. Jason didn’t know how she could be so certain, or maybe she just had that much trust in him.
Anita’s expression morphed into one of quiet horror. “Who?”
Jason described the men and where they were standing. Anita stood. Shaking her head, she walked toward the crowd. Within thirty seconds, she was back.
“Jimmy Parauda,” she said.
“Gary. You know him?” Jason was surprised.
“Jimmy.” Her wide eyes went even wider. “He used to show up every few months with some work for Shot. I always made myself scarce because whatever deal Shot has with the guy doesn’t extend to me. I last saw him a week or so before you two showed up at my door.”
“Shit.” Jason furrowed his brow, thinking. “Goddamn it.”
“Who is he?” DeeAnn asked.
“Drug dealer and fixer,” Jason said. “Ruthless.”
Anita had spoken at the same time, and it took Jason a second to catch it. He stared at her. “He’s what?”
“He’s FBI,” Anita said.
“Undercover or crooked?” DeeAnn asked.
“Crooked,” Jason said, reeling. “Has to be. But he could be here on legitimate business. Not that it changes anything for us.”
Anita nodded her agreement with his assessments.
“No. Oh, no, no, no,” DeeAnn spluttered. “We have to go.” Jason knew she didn’t just mean leaving the club. And she was right.
“I’m going to talk to him,” Anita said. “Figure out why he’s here. Maybe they’re driving through and it’s a coincidence.”
“No,” DeeAnn said. “Come with us.”
“He knows me but thinks I’m useless. Shot always took the credit. I can charm Jimmy, don’t worry.” She stood, went up on her toes. Then shook her head and climbed onto the low chair Jason had brought. While she was studying the crowd, one of their rich booth-mates was trying to look up her dress. Jason shook his head at the creep. Anita turned, followed Jason’s gaze.
Instead of getting upset, she flipped her dress up, flashing the guy, then squatted down and crooked her finger in a come-hither motion, a terrifying smile on her mouth.
The man wisely faced the other way.
Jason dug the SUV’s key fob out of his pocket. Anita carefully climbed down. She took the fob and stowed it in her bra, and Jason told her where he’d parked.
“Leave now,” Anita said. “I’m going to say hello.”
“No,” DeeAnn said. “We should all leave.”
“We need info, and I’m the only one who can get it.” Anita gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you back at the house.”
Jason heard the truth in her too-cheerful tone. He wondered if DeeAnn knew. If not, she’d figure it out soon.
Chapter 42
I reach for Anita’s arm, but she’s already too far away.
“Please be careful,” I whisper even though she can’t hear me.
Perhaps sensing my concern, she looks over her shoulder and gives me one of her smiles, radiating confidence. As if she were ever anything else.
Jason is standing, but he’s slightly hunched. Not enough to look suspicious except to me, because I know him. The sooner we can get through the dance floor, the better.
Pushing through the dancers is difficult. Everyone seems more frantic than when we arrived, as if the entire world has gone mad. Arms fly and legs kick. Hips are bouncing, hair flinging. There’s a sickly sweet aroma, some kind of booze, that mixes with the perfume and deodorant and beard balm and aftershave, and I taste the repugnant, bitter mix on my tongue. I look behind us, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anita.
“Don’t,” Jason says. “Act like everything is normal.”
Of course he’s right, and if I were thinking straight, I never would have looked back.
Jason pulls me toward him, wraps his arms around me. I begin to move my hips, but unlike earlier, I can’t find the rhythm. My movements feel jerky, and I expect the crowd to pull away from me like flesh away from an infected wound. When a nearby girl hoots, I think for a moment she’s pointing me out. Imposter. Imposter. Imposter.
Jason is cool as ever. He’s used to pressure, and he keeps me grounded. I stare into his dark blue eyes. He’s so solid, and I almost believe it will be all right. We dance and retreat, retreat and dance. When the blue and red lights above the bar are no longer flashing in my peripheral vision, I prepare to run. Only Jason’s embrace holds me back.
“We don’t know who else is here,” he murmurs. “We have to fit in.”
My heart stops. He must think it’s not a coincidence that the FBI is here. All these months, we’ve been afraid of the Jack Rebels. But this is worse. Jason will be arrested for murder. Maybe I will be, too.
We might never see each other again.
I’m convinced that everyone we pass is an undercover agent. Or a crooked one, wanting to finish what started in Rhodell Heights seven months ago. Every pair of eyes that slides over my face leaves a burning trail, and the only antidote is to turn and stare, to make sure they’re not really watching me. But I won’t make that mistake again, so by the time we emerge into the fresh air outside, my skin throbs and itches.
Even then, Jason doesn’t break character. He tucks me up under his arm as if we’re drunk and horny, and we clumsily weave down the sidewalk, crossing the street to avoid the lines of people waiting to get inside Destiny Eight. Jason steers me into an alley, into darkness.
Someone coughs. A shoe scuffs the concrete. Jason glances back, then pulls out his phone. PrideRide, the hookup ride-share app, appears in the lighted rectangle of his screen. Because of the option for anonymous sex, the app has ironclad privacy features.
I don’t have my phone tonight. When we go out, I carry nothing beside my fake driver’s license, which Jason has in a pocket. It’s a blessing right now because I don’t think I could stop myself from messaging An
ita, and that could be dangerous.
The ride arrives quickly, an enormous SUV with tinted windows. There are magazines and bottled water in the back seat as well as a little gift bag. The driver is wearing a black suit with a tie. It’s a PrideRideLux, the prohibitively expensive luxury service.
I shoot a questioning look at Jason. Motioning for me to quickly get in, he says, “It was the closest.”
Once home, we practically run to the front door. The light inside is shockingly bright, and I feel exposed, like I’m trapped under a glass, an enormous interrogation bulb shining on me.
Wabash greets us with her usual flurry of wagging tail and excited little grunts. I want to drop to my knees and bury my nose in her fur, but instead I follow Jason. He and I haven’t discussed anything, but we share the same thought: pack. Wabash follows in confusion, wondering why no one is stopping to fawn over her.
Three months in California and the paychecks I earned have quadrupled the size of my wardrobe. I stare at the dresser, unsure where to start.
“Leave it all if you can’t decide,” Jason says, stepping back from the closet. He’s got our trusty duffel bags, which are empty because aside from the thirty grand we keep stashed in a heating vent that probably has never been used, our cash is spread around the city, divided equally between three safe-deposit boxes.
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes,” he says. “Paperwork. That’s the important thing.”
He means the backup ID and thumb drive. Anita prepared this for us, a whole new life, ready to go. I’m Melinda Green and Jason is Caden Green. I wanted more interesting surnames, but I was outvoted. She covered everything, even résumés, letters of recommendation, and banking statements.
The paperwork, the photo of my parents… I shove everything into the elegant backpack that I use for work. Used for work. Because that part of my life is over now, and I don’t know when or even if I’ll be able to work another office job.
Suddenly, I know what to take. One professional outfit, including a pair of heels. I choose it because it signifies hope that one day I’ll wear it to an interview. The rest of what I pack is practical. Comfortable clothes, casual wear for sitting long hours in a vehicle.
I raid the bathroom cabinet, and when I’m done packing, the entire contents of my life fit into a single suitcase.
Wabash nudges my calf with her nose, startling me. I look down into her molten chocolate eyes, at the humanlike crease of her brow, her square head and small, almost delicate ears.
She doesn’t fit into the suitcase.
Anita doesn’t fit, either.
The tears hit then, propelling me into another frenzied fit of motion, of pulling out the rest of my clothing, and Jason’s clothing, and shoving it into plastic bags.
“Two minutes,” Jason says as he speeds past. He left the bedroom ages ago and I’m not sure what he’s been doing.
I lug the bags into the living room. Jason’s suitcase waits next to the door. He’s beside the couch, his fingers floating over his phone screen, reminding me of a warlock performing sacred rites.
“We have to hide this,” I say.
Jason taps the screen a few times and looks up. My heart skip-stutters as our eyes connect. It’s the two of us against the dangerous unknown.
“We don’t have time. Our ride will be here—”
“We have to,” I say in a rush, dragging two of the bags toward the kitchen, which has a hidden attic space above it. “If seeing that Gary-Jerry guy is a coincidence, it doesn’t matter when we leave. But if he’s here for us, he’s gonna come snooping. Possibly when Anita is out. He can’t find our belongings. He can’t discover that we were ever here. And we can’t let Anita get into trouble.”
Jason curses and springs into action, and my heart breaks because I was hoping he’d tell me it doesn’t matter, that Anita is coming with us.
We leave ten minutes later than we wanted to. I don’t catch my breath until we’re on the highway.
My phone receives a friend request from an unknown number. The name is just initials, and the photo is a marijuana leaf.
I accept.
They weren’t surprised to see me. Keep going. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.
I show Jason the message. He squeezes my knee, then takes my phone, turns it off, pops out the SIM card. He does the same with his, then hands me a new phone. I can barely force my fingers to close around it.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I stare out the window at the traffic heading the other direction, heading home.
Not our home.
It will never be safe to come back.
The driver deposits us at a transportation center. Jason and I stroll casually through the depot, which is pretty quiet because of the late hour. The bag containing our old phones goes into a trashcan. We exit through the other side, and Jason flags down a taxi.
He hasn’t told me where we’re going, and I don’t see the point of asking.
We’re dropped off in an industrial area that would be the perfect backdrop for a post-apocalyptic movie. If the driver thinks it’s strange, she keeps that to herself. We stand on the side of the road, in front of an abandoned warehouse, and pretend to be consulting our new phones until the taxi disappears from sight.
I still don’t ask where we’re going.
Jason picks up my suitcase. I wiggle my arm through the backpack’s other strap, freeing up my hands.
But for what?
There’s nothing more to carry, no friend to link arms with, no dog leash to hold. A lump forms in my throat.
You knew this day would come eventually, I berate myself. The lump thickens and suddenly my sinuses are clogged, my vision blurry.
Yes, I thought it might come, but I didn’t know it was inevitable. I thought we had months, if not years. I thought maybe the happiness would last forever.
Jason knew, though. He planned for this. While I was thinking about the bright future I wanted, he was preparing for the dire fate we deserve.
Jason looks back. I smile at him, but I can’t say anything around the mass in my throat.
In a heartbeat, I’m in his arms. “I’m so sorry, DeeAnn,” he murmurs.
“It’s my fault.” I nearly choke on the words, getting them out. “I was foolish. I never should have taken that money—”
“Shh,” he soothes, cradling me to the solid wall of his chest and stroking my hair. “We’d probably both be dead if you hadn’t. I almost certainly would be. Remember?”
He’s right. “I don’t regret anything. I just miss having a home.”
“But I have a home. It’s you, DeeAnn. It’s wherever you are. Wherever we can be together.”
I burst into tears. Jason holds me close, comforts me.
Too soon, he takes me by the shoulders and looks me in the eyes.
Why didn’t I grab some tissues from the bathroom? I sniffle, which is gross, but snot running down my face would be even grosser.
“Are you all right?”
I nod and take a deep breath.
“Can you say it?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I take another deep breath and slowly let it out. This isn’t the time for grieving. “Let’s get the car.”
“Why do you think that’s what we’re doing?” Jason asks. “Maybe I set up a place to crash.”
I shrug. “We always get a car.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I mean, you’re wrong, but only because I had time to arrange some things. Being predictable will get us caught. We need to change things up.”
My breath starts to stutter at the thought of being caught.
“Change things? Split up?” I ask.
“What? Sweetness, no. Never!” He’s so aghast that I believe him completely. “But maybe it’s time…” He shakes his head. I recognize his stubborn expression; he was about to say something he knows I’ll hate. And whatever he’s thinking of, it’ll be almost impossible to dissuade him.
Almost, bu
t not totally impossible.
I squint at him. “Time for what?”
A wailing siren cuts off whatever he was about to say. “We have to get off the street.” Jason grabs our bags, which he must have dropped to comfort me. “We’re not going far.”
Chapter 43
Jason moved quickly along the deserted streets. DeeAnn walked with jerky steps, arms crossed tight over her chest. She kept constantly looking over her shoulder. It was the opposite of how their evening had started, when she’d been so full of joy and life.
“Emptiness,” Jason said. “I get it.”
DeeAnn paused her surveillance to shoot him a questioning look. “That makes one of us.”
He would have gestured, but his hands were full. “When there’s nothing, you can fill the space with anything. No one knows where we are. You can relax.”
“That’s very philosophical of you,” DeeAnn said finally. “But how do you know we’re alone? FBI agents could be right behind us.”
“How? We dumped our phones. We took a very convoluted route out here.”
“Maybe they know about this place.”
Jason shook his head. “Impossible.”
DeeAnn’s confused expression, which had never really faded, grew tormented. “It should have been impossible for them to show up at Destiny Eight, yet they did.”
“It’s impossible because I used a fake ID that I made myself to rent it. Every time I came here, I left my phone at home, and I came in disguise.”
“What kind of disguise?”
“One no one would associate with me in a million years.”
DeeAnn laughed. “Drag queen?”
“Maybe.”
“No way!” She stopped walking, then hurried to catch up. “I don’t believe you.”
“I said ‘maybe’ and you’re assuming that’s a yes.”
“Then what?”
They were less than a block from their destination, a small apartment building. Jason had purchased it with the help of a lawyer, who had also mediated between Jason and trustworthy contractors thrilled to work for cash, off the books.
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