by Bex Dane
Rogan stilled, and as he pulled away, static crackled between us like socks fresh from the dryer.
I exhaled slowly and pressed my hand over my stuttering heart. I shouldn't get attached to Rogan. He hadn't expressed any interest in being friends with me or even contacting me after I got on my feet and left here.
He bent at the waist and squinted as he looked into my eyes. "You afraid of me?"
I glanced around before meeting his gaze. His eyes were the color of raw maple syrup. The cast of his pillowy lips reminded me of wild huckleberries on the river banks back home.
Yes. Terrified of how much I liked it.
"No. You just surprised me." I shrugged. "I guess I'm not used to being hugged."
A muscle twitched in his neck. "Let's sit down."
I followed him to the couch. He let me sit first, then chose a spot leaving two feet of space between us. "I want you to get rid of any ideas about going home for the younger ones."
"I promised my mom. Before she died. She begged me to take care of them."
"That's too much responsibility for you."
"No, it's not."
His jaw worked, and he took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "How the hell were you gonna get five kids out if you couldn't even get yourself out?"
"I had a plan." His eyebrows rose and scrunched together. "I saved a portion of my earnings in a jar. After a few years, I had enough for a bus trip out of town. I'd sneak them out through a tunnel in the middle of the night. It would've worked if my father hadn't sent me to Pakistan."
Rogan huffed out a sigh. "Ridiculous."
"What? The plan to escape or my mission?"
"Your suicide mission."
"They said it was safe."
"It's not."
"I know that now."
"Clearly." He ran his hand over his head and scratched behind his neck. He glanced at Takoda, where she'd curled up in her bed outside the kitchen.
"Have you ever cared for a child?" I asked him.
"No."
"There's nothing like the love you feel for them. Stronger than any heavenly love, tighter bond than you have with your brothers in arms. You’d give your soul not to disappoint those trusting little people who've placed all their faith in you. When my mother died, I grieved for them as much as her. When my father would go on a tirade, I fought to protect them from him, no matter the consequence. Even though I'm not their mother, I love them as if I were."
As I spoke, his shoulders lowered and his eyes gentled. Hopefully I'd convinced him how important this was to me.
"Listen, I would very much like to go to Idaho and plant one in your father's forehead—"
"Plant one what?"
"A bullet."
"You mean you'd kill him?"
"It'd be my pleasure." Rogan's eyes gleamed with frightening intensity.
"Oh. That's not what I—"
"I know, but as much as I'd like to, I can't get involved. I've already put my life on the line bringing you here."
"What? Why?"
He looked at the ceiling, and when he returned his gaze to mine, he spoke slowly, like each word was guarded. "I have enemies with long memories. I can't tell you the details. But I gotta lay low. Just give me your word you won't contact your family."
"I promise."
"Good."
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and chewed on his lip. He nodded as if he'd come to a decision and turned to face me. "You didn't hear it from me, but the FBI is looking into it."
"They are? I never saw anyone."
"Jeb Barebones has been under surveillance since Jeters went to prison. They'll have him soon enough. I understand you want to help them, but it's best if we let the law handle it."
The authorities were investigating my father? What could they have found out? No one on the compound would dare break the "tell them nothing" rule.
"Your word mean anything to you?" The bitter crease of his eyes and the distrust in his voice carried the sting of rejection. Rogan was a good man, and even if we weren't going to keep in contact in the future, his acceptance mattered to me.
"Yes. It does. I'll keep my word." Honoring the promise would wreck me, but he'd saved my life and given me my freedom. Now he was asking for my compliance to protect his own life.
I owed it to him. But we'd talk about this again soon because I'd also given my mom my word as she lay on her deathbed. I had to go back for Milo and the others. They deserved a chance to find joy too.
"Good." He stood and grabbed Takoda's leash. Her ears perked, and she bounded to him as they left for her walk.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Rogan wasn't home, and I gave TV a try. The news struck a raw nerve in me, so I stopped on a reality show where the woman had her choice of twenty-five handsome bachelors to find a husband. The girl had all the power, and the men fought over her instead of vice versa. I was laughing when Rogan burst through the door in a blast of energy.
"Hey." He dropped his gym bag by the door, and I stared at his backside as he set the alarm. His skin glistened with sweat, and his workout clothes clung to his sinewy muscles. His butt under his tight shorts was firm and round like cantaloupes. Yum.
He glanced at the TV then looked back at me. "You watch TV on the compound?"
"No, but... I've watched TV before."
"How's that?"
"When I babysat, I watched TV there."
"Your parents know this?"
"No. They wouldn't have allowed it if they knew. They believed TV was sinful."
"Huh. It might be, but it's not hurting anyone." He turned and headed for the kitchen. "Hungry?"
Um, yes. I'm suddenly craving ripe melons. "Yes."
He tilted his head for me to follow him. I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe as he hunched over the fridge to look for ingredients. His T-shirt rode up over the top of his shorts, and the band of his briefs peeked out. I could almost make out the lettering...
"Eggs alright?"
"Uh. Sure." I shifted my gaze to the wall. "I can cook. I worked in the kitchen on the compound."
"Don't need you to cook for me, Tess. Need you to eat, gain your strength."
My new name sounded even cuter shortened to Tess.
"How are your injuries?" The eggs he'd cracked sizzled in the skillet.
I rubbed the sores at my wrists. "Getting better. Not as red. I feel stronger today."
"Glad to hear it." He placed two plates of steaming eggs on the counter, pushing one toward me. I stood next to him and burned my tongue on the first bite. "They're good. Thank—"
He stopped me with a raised eyebrow.
"They're yummy." I smiled with my mouth full.
"Got a friend coming over this morning to see you." He shoveled a forkful into his mouth.
"To see me?"
He nodded as he chewed. "He'll get you set up."
"Okay..." Whatever that meant.
Rogan poured us each a glass of orange juice. "He's aware of your history. You can trust him."
"I thought you said trust no one."
"Exceptions. You can trust me, the five other men on that plane, and Dallas and Brock Monroe. That's it."
"Including Blaze?"
"Yes, why?"
"Seems like you don't like him."
"Blaze operates at a level of intelligence beyond what most of us can comprehend. He stirs the pot to entertain himself and throw people off, but he wouldn't betray you."
"And I'll meet Dallas and Brock today?"
"Brock today. Dallas next week."
As Rogan cleared the breakfast dishes, a rat-a-tat-tat sounded from the front room.
Rogan opened the door to a tall figure looming in the corridor. He wore all black and held a bulky manila folder in his left hand. The threat I sensed from him forced me to take a step back as he entered.
Rogan greeted him with a head tilt. "Tessa, this is Brock Monroe."
My worry dissipated when he smiled.
An alluring dimple appeared in the scruff on his chin, and he spoke with a mellow voice. "Hello, Tessa."
My hand felt small in his as he wrapped it around mine and gave me a palm-to-palm handshake. "Uh, nice to meet you."
There must be something in the water in Boston because this man had flawless bone structure, long legs, and an athlete's build. Women everywhere must stammer and drop their jaws in adoration like I'd just done.
Rogan coughed to bring our attention to the card table in his nook. He shifted his laptop to the kitchen counter and motioned for us to sit.
We all took seats, and Brock pulled out a compact leather clutch purse from the manila folder. He withdrew a card and held it up for me to read.
Tessa May Harlow
"Your ID."
The Massachusetts driver's license had a recent picture of me smiling at the camera. I didn't remember anyone taking my picture.
"For me? I'm Tessa May Harlow?"
"You are now. Your new birthday is July tenth. You'll be twenty-three this July."
"Again? I turned twenty-three when I was in Afghanistan."
His russet eyes flashed in the morning light coming through the window. "Let's hope the second time around is better."
His tone held compassion like he knew I'd spent my last birthday tied up and frightened.
"You were raised in Wilmington, North Carolina. Your cousin Seth Hendrix lives there, goes by the name Falcon. I suggest you get yourself up to speed on Wilmington and North Carolina so you can be convincing if it comes up in conversation."
The name Falcon sounded familiar, but Brock talked too fast for me to process any of this.
"You came to Massachusetts to go to UMass Boston, my alma mater. You'll get a quality education there."
"What do you mean?"
"You're registered as an undeclared major. Summer session starts end of June."
I'd be going to school in a month? I was nobody. Invisible. "I- I never graduated high school."
"Tessa Harlow earned her GED three months ago."
"What's a GED?"
"It's equivalent to a high school diploma."
My hands shook, and my heart hammered in my chest. A high school diploma? This couldn't be happening.
Brock continued matter-of-factly like this was indeed happening. "Your parents are Dale and Sandrine Harlow from Wilmington. They're a typical working-class couple, devoted to their only daughter. They don't exist, so no inviting friends home for Christmas."
"Of course, no. Uh..."
He held up a large key and fob on a simple ring. "The key to your new truck. Automatic transmission, security alarm." Brock slid his gaze to Rogan. "Fully armored, run-flat tires."
Rogan responded with a slight nod.
I had no idea what armoring and run-flat tires were or why I would need them.
"If you find trouble, stay in your truck and call Rogan or me. Can you drive a truck?" Brock shifted his gaze from Rogan to me.
"I drove the old Chevy around the farm and into town for work sometimes."
"This is a top of the line special edition Sierra Denali. A lot more fun than an old Chevy."
"Oh." I clapped my hands together and held them over my mouth.
Brock watched my reaction with assessing eyes as he handed me the fob. "If you want, we can take your truck out for a break-in run. Leave the city, head up to the mountains? I can give you a four-wheel drive lesson."
"I- I'm not sure." I looked to Rogan, but he'd frozen solid, his face blank. "I haven't thought about leaving Rogan's place."
"When you've been confined in a cage for a long time, it's daunting to venture out, no matter how eager you were to escape. Your shackles have been removed. You're free to fly away."
Why hadn't I considered the possibility before? "You're right. I am." With a phone, a car, and this identity, I could go anywhere I wanted with no one to stop me except myself.
"Then yes!" Brock and Rogan sat motionless as I stood and bounced on my toes. "I'd love a driving lesson. Thank you, Brock." I couldn't hold in the tiny squeak from the back of my throat.
"You come alive like this over a truck, I got a new bike to show you."
"Ooh, I like bikes too." I placed my hands flat on the table and smiled at him. "We had a Schwinn on the compound, but we all had to share it."
He chuckled and wiped his hand along the table top. "Not Schwinn, sugar. I'm talkin' Harley. Even better, take you for a ride on the back of my Ducati. You like to go fast?"
Motorcycles? I'd never even ridden on a moped. "I don't even know. But yes. I'd love to find out!"
The prospect of riding a motorcycle with Brock had me so enthralled, I'd forgotten Rogan was even in the room. When Brock cast his gaze over to Rogan, I looked too and saw he'd turned to stone. He shot a dark look at Brock.
Brock cleared his throat and gathered his hair in his fingers as he ran his hand over his head. Wow, he had long fingers and silky brown hair. He pulled a blue document from the purse and placed it on the table. "Passport." He pointed at two cards in the folds of the purse. "Social security card and a debit card connected to a bank account. You have five thousand dollars in there to get you started."
"What? I mean... Why? You're giving all this to me?"
Brock grinned. "Courtesy of Dallas Monroe. Help you get your feet off the ground."
"Is he your father?"
"My little brother. You'll meet him next Monday. Be at Siege in Somerville at noon. You now have a job at the hottest nightclub in the city."
"I can't..."
"You're a Siege employee now. Dallas takes care of the people who work for him."
I blinked away pending tears. "Please tell him I'm so grateful. I can't wait to meet him. I'll pay him back for all of this."
"No worries." He stood and strode toward the door. "I have to get going, but good luck to you, and I'll see you at Siege."
I waved goodbye to him as Rogan walked him out.
"Thank you," Rogan said to Brock as he shook his hand. "And I'll teach her how to drive the truck," Rogan said more quietly.
Brock ducked his chin to his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Sorry, man. I didn't know. I'll hold off on the bike ride too."
Rogan grunted.
Brock left, and Rogan set the alarm behind him. We stared at each other as I processed the deluge of information swimming in my head. A guilty smile twitched on his lips.
"Did you do all this for me?"
"Nah. Dallas Monroe is a generous guy."
"He doesn't even know me."
"He knows you're a friend of mine. That's enough." He looked around like he was missing something. He swiped his keys from his gym bag by the door. "I'm going to the store. You need anything?"
"Ooh, could you pick up some cornmeal?"
"Cornmeal?"
"Mmm-hmm, with flour and salt, some butter. I wanna make cornbread."
He stared at me like I'd spoken in French.
"And I'd like those Ensure drinks in chocolate, if they have it. Maybe some ice."
His eyes crinkled, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Why don't you come with me? We'll take your new truck."
I smiled and ran to grab my shoes and my new purse. "That'd be so much fun."
He chuckled under his breath as he opened the door and pushed the buttons of the alarm. "Yes. Fun."
***
I had to clean out the cobwebs and dust from Rogan's oven before I could use it, but the cornbread came out with a crunchy brown crust, and the dome didn't flatten when I set it on top of the stove.
As it cooled, I moved to the bathroom to shave my legs. I spread the shaving cream over my shin and carefully drew the razor up to my knee. Removing ten weeks of hair from my legs was like shedding a second skin.
The front door clicking open and the alarm beeping let me know Rogan was home.
"What's that smell?" his voice called from near the front door.
"Cornbread. Spoonbread, really." Standing on one leg with my
foot up on the counter, I had to arch my neck and twist my torso to see him in the living room. I gasped as I took in his new haircut. His square buzzed cut highlighted the thick cords of his neck and made him look more like a soldier.
"Where do you get your hair cut?"
"Why?" He cocked one knee as he looked at me.
"Next time, let me do it for you. I just need scissors and a comb. Do you have an electric razor?"
"You are not cutting my hair."
"Why not? I did it all the time back home. I'm good at it."
He shook his head and walked to the kitchen.
"Let me cut your hair next time," I called to his back. "You don't need to pay a barber when I can do it for free."
The silence of his reply was a firm no to that idea.
As I finished up my right leg and switched to my left, Rogan returned and stood in the bathroom doorway. His eyes darkened as he stared at my bare leg angled above the counter.
"That doesn't taste like any cornbread I've ever had."
"It's spoonbread. It has cheese, sour cream, and all kinds of mushy goodness. You can eat it with a spoon. Did you like it?"
"Fuckin' loved it."
I smiled, and his gaze focused on my mouth. "If you eat all that, I have enough ingredients to make more."
He grunted and nodded as he turned to walk to his computer. Over his shoulder he said, "And close the bathroom door, Sunshine."
Chapter 6
I woke up and peeked into the living room. No Rogan spilling off the couch meant he must be at the gym or walking Takoda.
With the place to myself, I cranked up Taylor Swift in my ear buds and danced to "Shake It Off" as I made my way to the kitchen. I'd heard the song the first time over the radio at the drugstore. I looked it up on my phone and listened to it whenever I could get time alone with an internet connection.
Near the fridge, I chanted the words and wiggled my butt like I really had girlfriends and ex-boyfriends I could sing about, pretending I could shake off whatever life threw at me.
At the other side of the kitchen, I looked through the opening in the far wall. In the nook, Rogan and two men sat at his card table with their guns held motionless in the air, all three sets of eyes focused on me.
Rogan's gaze skimmed over my face and torso. He snapped his head away and shoved a long rod inside the barrel of his gun. Bottles, cloths, and tools were scattered between the dismantled parts on the table.