“No, not really –” I cut myself off as another vision flashes through my mind – Sam handing me something.
My mind is running a mile a minute, and my heart is thundering so hard, I fear it's going to burst straight out of my chest. The vision – memory – solidifies in my mind, and I can finally see it.
“He slipped me a note before he left, said if I needed anything to call him –” I say, speaking the words slowly. “I had no idea what was going on at the time. I just remember being so confused, but it scared me enough that I kept the note in my wallet all this time.”
“What did it say?” he asks.
As the memory emerges from the fog in my brain and I can see it as clear as if I'm watching a movie, it suddenly clicks. Suddenly, it all makes sense. I look up from where I'm seated on the bed and meet Grant's gaze as I speak.
“It had your name and address on it,” I say, my voice trembling. “Said that if something happened to him, and if I needed help, to reach out to you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Grant
I pace the hotel room, my mind being pulled in a million different directions, all at once. The curtains are closed tight, but I pull it back a bit – just enough to peek outside. The parking lot is still clear, and the first rays of dawn are starting to paint the sky in soft, vibrant shades of red and purple. The storm has passed, leaving the world draped in a blanket of soft white snow.
I've been up for most of the night, trying to figure out not just what's going on, but how we're going to get ourselves out of it. I haven't come up with anything solid yet. Nothing that doesn't end up with us catching a bullet from Mario and his guys.
I turn and let my gaze linger on Celeste's sleeping form. She's outlined by the sheet that covers her body, her raven black hair splayed out across the pillow a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin and the white sheet. Her beauty is ethereal and makes my heart swell with emotions I've never experienced before. Emotions I never expected to feel in my entire life.
Celeste came storming into my life and has turned everything in my world upside down. Things I thought I knew I find myself doubting, and I'm having to cope with feelings that are completely foreign to me.
Despite it all, I find myself embracing it, rather than running from it. I find myself embracing her. Running to her. Opening up to her in ways I never anticipated or thought possible. There's something about her that makes me feel safe. Like I want to share my life and open up to her.
It's the damnedest thing. Something I never expected would happen the morning I found her on that trail.
As I look at her, the memories of what she told me intrude, trampling over everything else. About Mario being responsible for Sam's death. She's hazy on the details and doesn't have specifics, but with her memories starting to return, she's sure that she heard Mario speaking about a man named Sam Frederickson – and she's sure she knows that Mario had him killed over some business deal gone bad. It's not a coincidence about Tasha. Whether she intended to or not, she pulled Sam into all of this. It was the same girl I saw in the hot tub that night, I know it.
It's still impossible for me to believe that Sam would be involved in any kind of business dealing with the mob. That's not the Sam I know – knew. The Sam I knew would never get into bed with the goddamn Mafia. Sam is – was – a stand-up guy. He did things the right way. He didn't cut corners, always went by the book. Sam was as good as they come.
There's no way he could have been involved with the mob. Celeste has to be wrong about that.
I tear my gaze away from her and continue pacing around the room. I check the parking lot again, just to give myself something to do. Not surprisingly, it's still all clear. I glance down at my watch and see that it's coming up on six. Almost time to give him a call.
Not wanting to disturb Celeste – she needs some sleep – as quietly as I can, I step out into the hallway and shut the door behind me as softly as possible. There's a small alcove just across the hall, so I step into it and sit down on one of the ledges that sit beneath the window casement.
The windows look out on the forest that stretches endlessly behind the hotel. On this side of the hotel, the world is still dark. The first fingers of dawn haven't quite reached over here just yet. I pull up the contacts list on my phone and call up Derek Hartford's information. I hit the button to call, press the phone to my ear, and wait.
Not surprisingly, he answers on the first ring. “Hartford.”
“Agent Hartford,” I say. “It's Grant Williams. I hope I'm not calling you too early.”
“Grant, hey. No, I've been up for a while already,” he replies. “Good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, I was hoping you had a moment to talk,” I say.
I hear him sigh. “Yeah, unfortunately, I don't have anything new on Sam's case,” he says. “I'm still working –”
“No, no, I'm actually not calling about Sam,” he says. “Not this time.”
There's a slight pause on the line before he speaks. “Then, what's up?”
I run a hand through my beard and try to gather my thoughts – which is no easy task. I close my eyes for a second, just trying to shut out all the noise. It takes a minute for me to gain my composure before I speak.
“I think I'm in a little bit of trouble here,” I say. “Your kind of trouble.”
“My kind of trouble?” he asks, and then it seems to dawn on him. “Are you talking about organized crime? You're mixed up with the mob?”
“Sort of,” I say. “I think.”
“Oh, man,” he says. “Lay it on me.”
I tell him the story, starting with finding Celeste, to where we are now – including Celeste's belief that Sam was involved with the mob somehow. I give him all the names I know, tell him what happened in Chicago, and what's happened now that we're home. Hartford listens to it all. When I'm done, he clears his throat.
“Well, you certainly know how to keep your life interesting,” he says.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” I say ruefully.
There's another brief pause on the line, and I can tell he's taking down some notes. When he speaks again a moment later, his voice is all business.
“Are the two of you in a secure location?”
“About as secure as we can be, I guess,” I say. “We're in a motel off the highway.”
“Yeah, that's not going to work,” he says. “That town is so small, it's not going to be all that difficult to find you.”
“Yeah, I was kind of thinking that same thing.”
I can hear Hartford moving around. It sounds like he's pacing. He's probably like me – he thinks better when he's moving around. I don't want to press him, so I just let him play it out on his own time. Not like I have anywhere better to be at the moment, anyway. Finally, I hear him stop moving.
“Okay, listen,” he says. “I have to wrap something up today. But I should be able to get out of here by the end of the day. You and Celeste stay put. Don't go anywhere, don't see anybody. I'm going to take the first plane out and I'll come get you two. We'll get you somewhere safe and try to figure this all out.”
“Okay, good,” I say. “That's good.”
“Just sit tight, man,” he says. “These mob families are not people you want to fuck with. Trust me on that.”
“Given what I've seen already, I believe you, Hartford.”
“Good,” he replies. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”
He disconnects the call, and I already start to feel a bit better about things. When it comes to knowing – and knowing how to deal with – the mob, Hartford is the voice of experience and authority. He's been with the FBI's Organized Crime Division for years and has made quite a few high-profile busts.
Plus, he's a good man, and I trust him.
I slide my phone in my pocket and walk back to the room. I slip in quietly, but see Celeste sitting up on the edge of the bed, already dressed. She's tense and looks ready to bolt.
“Where'd you go?�
��
“I had to make a call,” I say. “And I didn't want to wake you.”
She gives me a small, thankful smile. I can see how pensive she is. In that moment, she just looks so frightened and vulnerable. I'd gladly bear all of those negative, fearful emotions for her, just so she doesn't have to feel them.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to stuff all of my feelings down. “I just talked to an old friend of mine who works for the FBI. His name's Derek Hartford. He's helping me out with Sam's case. Even after all this time, he's still working it. Still running down witnesses and other things. He's the only one who hasn't forgotten about Sam.”
I fall silent for a moment, taking a little time to collect myself by walking over and opening the curtains just a bit. The world outside is rapidly lightening, and the beams of sunlight flood in through the gap in the curtains. It's bright and dazzling, reflecting white off the snow-covered ground.
“Storm broke,” she said.
I nod. “About two this morning.”
She cocks her head at me. “What were you doing up so late?”
“Couldn't sleep,” I reply. “Too much going on in my head.”
She gives me a sheepish grin. “I feel bad for falling asleep on you,” she says. “I was just so worn out.”
“You were exhausted, Celeste,” I say. “You needed some sleep. You've been through a lot. You're still going through a lot.”
“What did your friend say?”
“He told us to stay put,” I reply. “He works in the FBI's Organized Crime Division. He's got experience with this kind of thing. He can help us figure something out. Find a way out of this.”
She shakes her head, looking absolutely miserable. “I don't think anybody can help us, Grant.”
I sit down on the bed next to her, taking her hand in mine, and give it a gentle squeeze. The feeling of protectiveness washes over me once more. I want to do everything in my power to keep her safe. To keep any harm from ever coming to her. I will do everything I can to make sure she gets clear of Mario and this whole pile of shit she's caught up in.
She tries to look away, but I take her chin in my other hand, and pull her face up to look directly into my eyes. The fear, doubt, and uncertainty I see in her eyes, wrenches at my heart. I would give anything to take all of that away from her. She doesn't deserve it. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that despite somehow being involved with a guy like Mario, she's nothing like him. At all.
“We are going to get out of this, Celeste,” I say. “I promise you that. I'm going to get you out of this and I'm going to keep you safe. Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, we're going to keep you safe.”
A small flicker of hope crosses her face, but it's nowhere near enough to ignite a fire inside of her. She's scared. And yeah, she probably should be, given who we're dealing with. But she doesn't know me. Doesn't know what lengths I'll go to in order to keep my word.
“We'll just hang on until Derek gets here,” I say, hoping she's finding some solace in my words. “Once he does, we'll figure it out. I promise you that, Celeste.”
She looks up at me and I can tell she wants to believe me. Wants to believe that I can keep her safe. She has a small shred of hope, but that shred is hanging on by its fingertips.
“So, what are we going to do?” she asks softly.
“Well, right now, since we're both up and dressed already, why don't we go down to the coffee shop and get something to eat,” I say.
“Are you sure we should leave the room?”
I shrug. “It's still in the hotel, so it's not like we have to go outside,” I say. “We'll be as safe there as we are in here.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
She gives me a small, weak smile. “Okay.”
* * *
We're both apparently hungrier than we’d realized. There's far more eating than there is talking – we're busy devouring our little feast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage, with a cup of fruit on the side.
At this hour, the little diner attached to the hotel is virtually empty. There are a couple of people – long haul truckers, probably – sitting up at the counter sipping their coffee in silence. Christmas music softly plays from the overhead speakers – thankfully, or the place would be as silent as a morgue.
“Do you really think we'll be okay?”
I look up at Celeste, surprised she's spoken. Food aside, she's been pretty quiet since we left the room. I figure she's just scared of her own shadow at this point. Not that I can blame her. It must be terrifying to know that the Mafia not only tried to kill you twice, but still wants you dead, and is coming for you.
I sat us in the far corner of the diner. There's a door nearby that leads out to the back lot, just in case we need to make a quick exit. Where we're sitting also gives me a clear view of the front doors, as well as the front parking lot beyond. Agent Hartford is right – in a town this small, it's only a matter of time before they find us here. There really aren't many places for us to hide. At least if I can see them coming, we have a chance to run.
I'm, glad I had the foresight to take the precautions I did when I see two dark SUVs pull into the front lot. I don't want to alarm Celeste just yet – it might be nothing at all – so I just follow them with my eyes and say nothing. Just surreptitiously watching.
The SUVs pull to a stop and I watch three men climb out of each one. They're all dressed alike – dark suits, dark sunglasses – and have that same rough edge to them. These aren't businessmen – these are men who do violence for a living.
Mario's men. I have no doubt.
“What is it?”
Celeste's voice pulls me out of my own head and back into the here and now. I look at her and see the alarm on her face. I cut my eyes back to the parking lot and see the six men heading for the office. I have no doubt they'll have our room number in thirty seconds.
“We need to go,” I say.
“What? Why?”
“Let's go, Celeste,” I say, my voice firm. “Now.”
My tone of voice must be enough to motivate her, because she quickly slips out of the booth and is on her feet. I drop some cash on the table and take her by the hand, pulling her through the back door and out into the parking lot. The only problem is that my truck is around in the front lot.
The morning air is cold, but not unpleasantly so. It's brisk. We walk around the building, keeping the brick wall between us and the front lot. I lean out and carefully peer around. Through the windows in the office, I can see the men all crowded around. The desk clerk is saying something to them, his face etched with fear. Part of me hopes he refuses to give them the room number – though, I know if he does, there's every chance they'll just kill him and take the information they want anyway.
As we stand there, and I try to figure out what we're going to do, I'm kicking myself. Hard. Why in the hell didn’t I use a false name when we checked in? That was stupid. That should have been a no-brainer.
Having gotten what they wanted, the men file out of the office – three of them head for the stairwell, and three of them head for the elevator that will take them up to the third floor. Celeste has been quiet and patient this whole time, but I can feel her getting antsy behind me. I turn and give her hand a gentle squeeze.
“It's Mario's guys,” I say, trying to project calm. “They tracked us down.”
I hear her gasp, but she manages to keep it under her breath. Celeste's face is a mask of terror. she looks ready to run. I keep hold of her arm and lay a steadying hand on her shoulder. I look into her eyes directly, trying to project calm and confidence.
“I figured it was only a matter of time before they showed up,” I say. “This town is tiny. Since they knew about my place, had already been there, and with the storm bearing down, there weren't many places we could have gone. Once the storm broke and we were able to move around again, I knew they'd eventually get to this place. It's okay. We're fine.”
Her
lower lip trembles and her eyes shine with tears as the terror of the last few days comes crashing down over her. I tighten my grip on her arm and shoulder, trying to force her to focus on me.
“Stay with me, Celeste,” I say. “I need you to keep it together.”
“T – they're going to kill us, Grant.”
I shake my head. “No, they won't,” I say. “We're going to be fine. Just keep your head and stay with me.”
She swallows hard and I watch her try to gather her courage and nerve. I know that time is ticking by quickly. We've only got a few minutes – at best – before Mario's guys figure out we're not in the room and come back down. We really need to get the hell out of here. I stand there, trying to give her the time she needs to pull herself together, but I'm keenly aware of each and every second ticking off the clock.
Finally, I see her jaw clench, and a look of steely resolve crosses her face. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but close enough. We don't have enough time to stand around. Fake it 'til you make it, baby.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods.
“Trust me?”
“I do.”
Keeping hold of her hand, I lean around the building again and see that the coast is still clear. I edge out from the building, and start to lead her across the parking lot, heading for my truck.
“What about our bags?” she asks.
“Nothing in there worth getting shot for,” I say. “We'll pick up new clothes and shit later.”
We make it to the truck, and I unlock the door, quickly ushering her in. The honking draws my attention before I even have her door closed. Somebody is in one of the SUVs, beating on the horn. Obviously, a signal. I hadn't even bothered to look to see if they'd posted a watcher.
“Shit,” I growl.
I slam Celeste's door and run around to the driver's side. I hear shouted curses as I pull my door open. Three of Mario's guys are bursting out of the stairwell – I'm sure the other three aren't too far behind. I jump in the truck and start it up.
“Buckle up and keep your head down!” I yell.
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