The car slows as it nears Trey’s truck, its headlights illuminating the pavement all around us, but my heart rate picks up speed. “Be still and don’t make a sound,” Trey warns as the vehicle pulls to a stop beside the truck. A couple of car doors slam and heavy footsteps cross the pavement.
“Looks like an abandoned truck,” one of the goons say.
Opening my eyes, I crane my neck. Trey gives me a warning look. I watch as a pair of black boots walk around the truck and then stop, directly at my eye level.
“Scan for fingerprints, and let’s see if we can pull a connection to Miss Preston.” Definitely Thick Neck’s voice. A slight whirring sound follows his words as the fingerprint detector is activated.
Trey curses under his breath again, but so soft I barely hear it. The footsteps move to the back of the truck, stopping at the bed. The tailgate creaks open, and the whole truck shakes as someone climbs into the back. I hear the sound of something scraping, and then stuff being thrown around. My body tenses, and Trey's hands grip me tighter. I’m praying they don’t look under here next.
“Clear,” someone says. The truck shakes a little more as the person jumps out, his feet thumping against the pavement.
“Check the inside,” Thick Neck commands.
More doors open and there’s the muffled sounds of rifling around. “There’s no one here, Colonel.”
“Let’s go,” Thick Neck says. The footsteps move away, and the whirring noise stops.
We wait until the car leaves and is only a sound in the distance before Trey loosens his hold and wriggles out from under the truck. I follow him. But when I try to stand, my legs tremble so much that I stumble forward. Too much excitement for one night.
“You okay?” Trey asks.
I nod, but even as I do, pain shoots behind my eyes. “I think the night is finally catching up to me.” Trey’s hands try to offer support, but I push them away. “I’m fine.”
Frowning, he moves to the driver’s side of his truck. “Let’s get you home.”
As he drives, I rest my head against the leather headrest and recite my address so he can find it on his data map.
“I know where you live, remember? The package that showed up on your doorstep?”
Ahh, right. The package that started this whole mess. How could I forget?
“And how did you get my address?”
Trey glances at me, a grin spreading across his face. “Let’s just say we have a mutual friend.”
Mutual friend? I only have one friend, which narrows the possibilities considerably. “Chaz? You know Chaz?” When Trey nods, I ask, “How?”
“He works for me.”
I’m about to ask him what Chaz does for him when I remember. My bike.
“I need you to take me back to the Row,” I say. “My bike is parked there.”
“Are you sure? What if the government bloodhounds are still looking for you?”
I chew on my lower lip as I think about my options. This Thick Neck guy doesn’t seem like one to give up easily, and if he knows who I am, he can easily find out where I live. But I have to protect Mom and Emily. They need me.
“Maybe you should go into hiding,” he suggests before I can say anything.
Hiding? That’s not even an idea I can contemplate. Who would take care of Mom and Emily?
“I actually know of a place—” he begins.
“I can’t.”
Trey glances in my direction, but it’s too dark to see his expression. “If they find you—”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Besides, it’s not really your concern, is it?”
“Actually,” he argues, “it is. I’m the one who hired you. Therefore, I put you in danger.”
“And I’m the one who accepted the assignment. I knew the dangers involved.”
He heaves a deep sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else.
A few minutes later, I spot my bike still parked in front of the restaurant that closed hours ago. “Right over there.”
Trey pulls into a parking space beside it, idling the engine. “You sure you’ll be okay to ride home?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine.” I climb out of the truck and sidle over to the driver’s side, leaning into his rolled-down window. “Now, as far as payment goes…”
Trey shakes his head with a rueful smile. “The deal was for you to bring me the chip. Without the chip, I can’t make a payment.”
Clenching my fists, I curse under my breath.
“What?” Trey says.
“Looks like I’ll be sneaking back into that government facility.”
“You wouldn’t.” He stares at me, his expression serious.
I shrug. “I need the money.” I won’t beg. I refuse to beg. But the idea of eating Meat Delite for the next few months makes my stomach churn.
He rests his head against the seat before replying, “Maybe we can work something out.”
“Like?”
He leans forward. “Let me see your Lynk.”
Confused, I pull my communicator from my pocket and hand it to him. He presses our screens together and holds down the button on the side. “Now, I have your information and you have mine. I’ll be in touch.” Handing the device back to me, he smiles. “Send me a message if you need anything.”
Pocketing my Lynk, I turn and stride to my bike. I feel Trey’s eyes on me as I straddle my Harley and rev the engine. I’m sure he’s admiring her chrome handlebars and sleek frame as much as all the other men who’ve ever seen her.
On the drive home, my mind wanders to Trey and how he knows Chaz. I never did get an answer to that question. Who is this Trey guy and why does he care so much about that computer chip?
I tighten my fingers around the handlebars, enjoying the roar of the engine on the open road. The wind cools my skin and dries my hair into a frizzy mess, but I welcome my freedom. For the moment. The sun peeks over the horizon as I approach the turn-off to my home.
I was gone all night.
As I near our double-wide trailer, exhaustion sets in. All I can think about is climbing into my twin bed with the ruffled comforter. I just want to sleep. Forever.
Reality replaces my desire for sleep when I see a vehicle parked on the road in front of our trailer. A dark SUV with tinted windows. The owner leans against the back of it, his arms crossed over his chest. My heart stops when I get a good look at the man waiting for me.
Thick Neck.
“Well, Miss Preston, you weren’t too hard to find,” Thick Neck calls out as he strides down the gravel road toward me.
My mind races. Should I turn my bike around and try to outrun him? My eyes flicker to the trailer where my mother and sister sleep. No, I can’t leave them here. Not with this crazy man right outside their door.
Taking a deep breath, I cut the engine and slide off my bike. As I walk toward him, I half-expect his goons to appear at any moment and force me into that black beast of a car, but the doors remain closed. I’m not sure what game Thick Neck is playing, but I decide to play along.
I hold out my arms, expecting him to bind them, but he only chuckles. “I’m not here to take you in, Miss Preston. I have a bigger fish to fry.”
My arms drop to my sides. “What do you want?”
“I have a proposition for you. A business arrangement, if you will.”
Cocking my head, I cross my arms. “I’m listening.”
“I can choose to ignore the illegal act you performed if you would be willing to help me with something.” He pauses. “A special assignment.”
“What is it?”
He holds up a hand. “Before I tell you, I feel it’s my duty to enlighten you concerning something you should have learned long ago.” He pauses. “Your father once worked for Harlow Ryder. In the Capital.”
I stare at him, surprised he knows anything about my father or his former life.
“I know,” I say.
“Do you know why he left the
Match 360 headquarters twenty-one years ago?”
I shake my head.
“Because of Harlow Ryder. Your father found out something—something he didn’t want to be a part of. He wanted to leave, but Harlow threatened that if he ever told anyone what he’d discovered, he would kill him.”
“What did my dad discover?”
Thick Neck shrugs. “Don’t know, exactly. But what I do know is that Harlow made good on his promise a year ago.”
“That’s not possible. My father died of a heart attack—”
“A drug-induced heart attack,” he clarifies.
The world spins. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to sort through my thoughts, my feelings. How do you mentally swallow that kind of information?
My father was murdered. Harlow Ryder is the one responsible.
The sure foundation I’ve been resting on is crumbling beneath me, and I have no way to stop it. All this time, I believed my father died of natural causes. With this new knowledge, a fire burns deep inside. It’s because of Harlow Ryder, that genetic-coding swine, that I’ve spent the past year selling my soul. I inhale slowly and exhale even slower.
I open my eyes and glare at Thick Neck.
“Why are you telling me this?”
The man grins and leans forward, pushing up onto the balls of his feet.
“Because, Miss Preston, I want you to put an end to Harlow Ryder.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Time stands still for a moment. Like one of those out-of-body experiences where everything slows down, and I’m able to see it from different vantage points. Except this is real life. And I’ve just been hit with a blow beyond imagination.
Kill someone. Harlow Ryder.
“Why do you want Harlow Ryder dead? What’s in it for you?”
“That’s classified,” he says.
Exhaling slowly, I try to ease my racing heart. I don’t know who he thinks I am, but I’m certainly not a murderer. I can barely kill the scorpions that find their way into our trailer. I can’t kill a man.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I could never.”
Thick Neck’s face twists into a sneer. Before I have time to react, he grabs my arm hard and drags me toward his SUV. I try to dig in my heels, but he’s too strong.
“Let me see if I can convince you.” The door lifts open with a hiss, and I gasp. There, seated in the back, is my mother. Her eyes are wide, her mouth gagged, and her hands bound.
“Leave her out of this,” I warn, yanking my arm from his grasp. I start toward her, but Thick Neck’s claw-like fingers dig into my shoulder, pulling me back. He grins. “I figure your mother can serve as insurance.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck despite the heat from the rising sun. “She needs her medicine,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You deliver Harlow Ryder to me, dead, and you can have your mother back. Until then, I’m sure we have anything she needs,” he finishes.
“You want me to kill Harlow Ryder in exchange for my mother’s freedom?”
“That’s correct. And don’t even think about trying to go to the Enforcers. First, they’d never believe you—a girl from the trailer park. And second—” He leans toward me, his lips curling into a sneer. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Threats and blackmail. Pure and simple.
“And neither do you,” I hiss.
The man laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his thick neck. “Name’s Radcliffe. I’m a colonel in the military and head of the AIG branch of government. I have connections you can’t even dream about. I practically own this city.”
“So, basically, that makes you a tyrant. Not surprised.”
Radcliffe’s eyes narrow, and he moves abruptly to my side. Before I have a chance to defend myself, he grabs my hair, jerking my head back. I hear my mom whimper as she watches us. Pain radiates through my neck, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.
“Wouldn’t it be awful if something happened to your dear mother and sister?” he says, his voice low, his breath reeking of garlic or onions, not sure which. My throat constricts.
Radcliffe shoves my head to the side. A dull ache spreads at the base of my neck and works its way to my brain. I suddenly wish I had let Trey bring me home. At least Trey has a gun.
I glance over at my mother, who is still bound and gagged in the backseat. In her eyes, I see all the confusion, sadness, and fear that I feel but can’t show. I have to stay strong—for her and Emily. And now my mother will have to watch me do a deal with the real devil.
I clear my throat and clasp my hands together. “How would I do it?”
Radcliffe gives me a sick smile. “I figure it’s only fitting for Harlow Ryder to experience the same death as your father.”
“A heart attack?”
“Poison. It stops the heart almost immediately and simulates a heart attack.”
An image floods my mind. My father dead on our kitchen floor, his skin cold, his eyes blank. Murdered.
How can I even entertain the idea of killing a man? Even though Harlow has my father’s blood on his hands, I don’t want to be his judge and jury. I don’t want to be the one to snuff out his life.
“It doesn’t seem like it would be a very hard decision, Miss Preston. Especially if you want your mother home safe and sound with you and your sister. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want Harlow dead anyway, considering what he did to your father.”
I am not a murderer. I’m not. But I have to protect my family.
Then again, why me? Why not someone with experience? Military training perhaps?
But I know the answer without even thinking too hard. They need a scapegoat. An untraceable scapegoat. If things go awry, they need someone to take the fall. Someone who will never be linked to them.
But, I’m not a murderer.
Then what are you? A thief? A liar? Does that make you any better?
It’s just one man. One man who’s causing a division among the people. One man who took away everything I’ve ever known and loved. One man who deserves to die.
Radcliffe crosses his arms over his wide chest. “Well, Miss Preston?”
I lick my lips and struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER NINE
Inside the house, I find Emily still curled in her bed with no idea that her mother was taken while she was sleeping. I don’t know how Radcliffe got in and out without making any noise, but there’s no sign of a struggle.
I pace the tiny kitchen, chewing my lower lip and trying to come up with a plan. When Emily stumbles into the kitchen a little while later, the sun is barely peeking through the flimsy curtains nailed over the window. She yawns and rubs her eyes.
I immediately pull her into my arms and breathe in the scent of her Smashin’ Strawberry shampoo. She is so small, so fragile, that she fits perfectly in my arms, her bones poking through her thin cotton nightgown.
I cling to her because she’s all I have left. If anything happens to her…
“I’m hungry, Si-Si. Will you make me breakfast?”
I pull back to look at her and smooth the hair away from her face. “What would you like?”
“Can I have chocolate oatmeal?” Chocolate oatmeal was my dad’s signature breakfast item. Of course, Emily doesn’t remember that, only that she likes it. She doesn’t remember much about the man who once rocked her to sleep and sang off-tune lullabies in her ear.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. We don’t have any oatmeal, but we do have some lovely dehydrated bologna.”
Emily makes a face as I open the fridge.
“The shelf life for product Meat Delite expires in—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” I mutter, grabbing one of the packages. It only takes a few minutes to rehydrate the meat. After placing it in a bowl in front of Emily, I take a seat next to her at the counter. I watch her take the first bite, grimaci
ng as she swallows, her blue eyes wide awake despite the early hour.
“Is Mommy still sleeping?” she asks, peering at me.
Shaking my head, I search for the right words. I don’t want to scare her, but I don’t want to lie to her either. “Mommy went away for a few days.”
“For work?” For a five-year-old, she sure is perceptive.
“No, sweetie. But I’m sure she’ll be home before you know it.”
Emily scrunches her little nose, looking like a cute bunny. “Is she okay?”
“Of course.”
Cocking her head to the side, she thinks for a moment. “When Mommy comes home, will she not be so tired?”
I glance down at my hands, searching for the right words. She doesn’t understand. How do I explain to my sister that her mom is physically sick, unable to care for herself and others?
I run my fingers through her curls, and she swats my hand away. “Right after Daddy died, Mommy worked so hard that she wore herself out. Now her body is trying to get better.”
“When will she be better?”
I pull her close and kiss the top of her head, thinking how right now, our mother’s sickness is the least of our worries. “I don’t know, sweetie. I just don’t know.”
***
Taking Emily’s hand in mine, we traipse across our yard together. With more sand and rocks than grass and plants, it’s a typical desert landscape.
Mrs. Locke, our only neighbor, is outside watering the plants on her porch. She’s a kind, elderly woman who lost her husband several years ago. She’s also Emily’s babysitter when the need arises.
“Hi, Mrs. Locke,” I say, greeting her with a smile.
She straightens up, watering can in hand and housedress hanging around her knees. “Hello, Sienna. How are you, dear?” Her smile lights up her wrinkled face. With one weathered hand, she smooths the gray hairs back into her bun.
“You are very ambitious, Mrs. Locke, to grow flowers in this heat.”
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