Slow Burn

by Roxie Noir

  My eyes are still closed, my head back against Gabriel’s shoulder, and I slowly remember where I am and what I’m doing here.

  We should go back inside, I think, but I don’t mean it. I should go back to the hotel, make sure Pearl didn’t wake up, I should...

  Gabriel wraps both arms around me and nuzzles my ear.

  Fuck it, I think.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Gabriel

  This is it, I think. This is what I want, this is all I want. This and this and this.

  I slide both arms around Ruby and hold her close. It doesn’t matter that we’re half-dressed in a weird alley behind a bar. It doesn’t matter that her parents are asleep at a hotel not that far away; it doesn’t matter that there’s no way I’ll ever be in the Secret Service again.

  This is what matters.

  “Ruby,” I murmur, right into her ear.

  “Mmm?” she says, leaning into me. She slides her fingers between mine, and I feel like a puzzle piece locks into place.

  “Run away with me,” I say.

  She swallows, not answering.

  “Tonight,” I go on. “Now. We don’t even have to run. All we have to do is not go back.”

  Ruby takes a deep breath, her body expanding and contracting against me. I know she’s going to say no, and I know that her reasons are perfectly good, and I know that leaving in the dead of night is exciting and romantic but probably not a good idea.

  But still. But still, I want to take her away and never look back.

  “Not tonight,” she says, finally, and it takes me by surprise.

  “Not tonight,” I repeat.

  She lifts my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles gently, folding my big hand around her small one.

  “We need to plan,” she says. “If we wait a week, maybe two, it’ll be easier. I can bring some things with me, I can find some money.”

  She pauses.

  “I can say goodbye to Joy and Zeke,” she says.

  Suddenly, I understand, and I feel like an idiot for not remembering that this is still her family, that despite everything, there are people here she loves.

  “I don’t think this is it!” a voice shouts from the walkway.

  I jerk backward, letting Ruby go, automatically turning away from the voice. In seconds, we’ve both pulled up our jeans and we’re smoothing down our shirts, Ruby running one hand through her hair, clearing her throat.

  A guy in jeans and flip-flops walks into the tiny courtyard, stops, and stares at it. It’s dead obvious in his face that he knows exactly what we were just doing, and he has no idea how to proceed.

  “Sorry,” he blurts out, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I was just... yeah.”

  He turns and leaves, and Ruby and I look at each other. She starts giggling, her face bright pink even in the dark, and then I start laughing too as she walks back into my arms.

  “That was close,” she says.

  “Close, but fine,” I point out.

  “Can you imagine if I got arrested for public indecency?” she says, sighing.

  “Just tell your parents that Satan pulled your jeans down, and it was actually his voice saying my name over and over again,” I tell her, grinning.

  She burrows her face into my chest, and I grin, stroking her hair, because I can tell she’s embarrassed and I think it’s adorable.

  “You’d think Satan would be busier,” she muses. “Billions of people on Earth, yet he’s got the time to come personally make me sin.”

  “Great time management skills,” I say, and Ruby laughs.

  After a moment, we head back into the bar through the back door. A few people definitely give us looks, but I just had the greatest night of my life and Ruby finally agreed to let me help her escape, so I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

  I pay the tab, and we leave, walking hand-in-hand through Charleston. It’s almost closing time, so people are spilling out onto the sidewalks, running the gamut from drunk and belligerent to talking quietly. A few times, Ruby flinches away from someone particularly obnoxious but I squeeze her hand and straighten my back a little, and nobody fucks with us.

  We stroll back to the hotel, talking about nothing at all. Ruby’s half planning her escape and half talking about all the things she’s going to do when she’s out, like wear tank tops and go places alone. I tell her I think she should also start wearing really short shorts, and she laughs, wrinkling her nose.

  “I don’t know if I should take fashion advice from you,” she muses.

  “There is no reason why —”

  I glance over Ruby’s head, and suddenly, my stomach tightens, pure instinct driving adrenaline through my veins while my brain rushes to catch up.

  Something is wrong, I think frantically. Something’s wrong. What? What is it?

  I hold my breath and scan the street, forcing myself to stay calm. Maybe it’s nothing, just a weird noise that kicked me into panic mode, a glass shattering somewhere, someone slamming a door.

  Everything seems normal, and we’re on the edge of downtown, only a few blocks from the hotel. It’s quieter here, less crowded, so I’m on higher alert, but there’s nothing wrong, I’m just...

  The car. It’s the car. A black minivan, half a block away, its lights off. All at once I realize that it’s been half a block away since we left the bar, but I’m drunk and didn’t notice it, not until now. Not until we’re in the quiet part of town, less people around to hear Ruby if she screams.

  “Why what?” she asks, looking up at me.

  I tighten my hand on hers, instinctively, and look to the front again.

  “Gabriel,” she says, and she sounds frightened.

  I nearly tell her it’s nothing, to keep walking, so we can get back to the hotel and I can send her to her room and we’ll take care of this. But I don’t. It’s Ruby. I tell her everything.

  “Don’t look,” I say, my voice dead calm. “That minivan is following us.”

  She twitches, like she nearly turns her head, but she doesn’t and instead she has my hand in a death grip, so tight I think she might break my fingers.

  “I’m right here, and you’re going to be fine,” I tell her, pulling on every ounce of training I have to keep my voice neutral, because the last thing I need is for Ruby to panic and run or something.

  Right now, we’re in control of the situation. He’s following us down the street, and though it’s not crowded, there are other people around. But if we do something unpredictable, all bets are off.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say. “We’re going to go back to the hotel like there’s nothing wrong, and when we get there, you’re going to go back to your room and I’m going to stay in the lobby and call the team, leaving out the part where it followed us home from the bar. Simple as that.”

  Ruby nods, speeding up her pace, but I pull her back.

  “Don’t make him panic,” I say. “Come on. Slow and steady.”

  She squeezes my hand one more time, and I squeeze back. I can tell she’s terrified, but she’s also brave as hell and so she does exactly what I say: we walk the few blocks back to the hotel. We even pretend to chat about something, and she holds her head high and doesn’t look behind her once.

  It’s half a block behind us the entire time, a black shadow at the edge of my vision, creeping along and trying to dodge through the light traffic as it follows us.

  By the time we’re approaching the hotel, its soft yellow lobby lights practically calling us, something has become very clear: this guy has no idea what he’s doing. If you want to follow someone, you don’t creep along, lights off, half a block behind them. Maybe he wants to frighten her, intimidate her, and it might work if I weren’t here.

  But I am, and this motherfucker’s trying his bullshit on the wrong guy, because I spend most of the walk back staying intensely aware of the minivan while also fantasizing about the ways I’d like to kick his ass. There’s a lot of them, and the tighter Ruby h
olds my hand, the more creative they get.

  And then finally we’re there, at the hotel, where it’s well-lit, where there are security cameras, other people, and most importantly, a whole security detail. I’m just fucking praying that this guy isn’t smart enough to drive away, because I want him gone.

  I open the door and Ruby steps through, into the lobby, her movements stiff and awkward, like she’s really trying to act normal. The only other person in there is a guy at the front desk who’s half asleep, and I automatically tick through the plans of the hotel lobby: all doors but this one locked from the outside; cameras behind the desk; alarm system on the windows; someone always on desk duty. It’s safe.

  Before we get another step, Ruby sinks into my arms, so suddenly that I take a step back. She squeezes me so tight I can hardly breathe, her whole body shaking like a leaf.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, just give me a minute.”

  “Don’t be,” I whisper back, holding her tight. “You did great. You’re fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

  She takes a deep, shuddering breath. I turn my head and look through the glass doors. No minivan.

  Please don’t let him have gone far, I think, Ruby in my arms. I want to wring his fucking neck myself.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the stuff he wrote, and what I’d do if he suddenly came for me, and how I’d escape if he got me...”

  “Stop apologizing,” I say, into her hair. “You’re fine. I’m here. I promise. He’s gonna have to go through me to get to you, and he’s gonna have a rough fucking time of that.”

  God, I almost want him to try something, just so I’ve got an excuse to kick his ass.

  Ruby straightens up, takes a deep breath, wipes her eyes. I brush one thumb along her cheek, wiping away one tear, and she half smiles.

  “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I say, and a quick pang stabs through my heart, because stalker aside, I liked this.

  I liked being out with Ruby, in public, like any regular girlfriend and boyfriend. I liked holding her hand and seeing her in pants and making fools of ourselves by making out in a booth, and I hate — absolutely fucking hate — that come tomorrow it’s back to polite nods and significant glances.

  So I kiss her. Just once, quickly, but fuck this and fuck her stalker and fuck her parents and fuck everything. It’s my job to protect her, to make her not afraid, to make sure she doesn’t need to be, so I fucking kiss her.

  “Thanks,” she whispers, then turns and walks away. I watch her until she gets on the elevator, then mentally track her progress as I dial Ray’s number: up to the fourth floor; cameras in the elevator; every room filled with people who could hear her scream.

  She’s fine. She’ll be fine. There’s nowhere she could be more fine, but still, something nags at me. I wonder if I should have gone with her, even if it would have meant getting caught.

  I pick up my phone and call Ray, ready to get this show on the road.

  “Gabe,” says Ray’s voice in a deep croak.

  God, I hate when he calls me that.

  “We have a situation,” I say. “There’s a black minivan outside.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ruby

  I get into the elevator, hit the button for the fourth floor, and lean my head back against the mirrored wall as the doors close.

  You’re fine, I tell myself. You’re fine, and Gabriel’s fine, and he might actually catch this guy.

  The elevator reaches the fourth floor, and the doors slide open. I’m still on high alert, my nerves jangling as I make my way to the door of my hotel room. I look behind me about once every step, but it’s dead quiet and well lit.

  No one jumps out to kidnap me. No one slides out of the shadows. Nothing moves at all.

  I reach my room and stand outside the door, just listening for a moment. It’s a heavy door, so I don’t know what I’m expecting to hear, but there’s no noise at all.

  She’s still asleep, I think. Just sneak back in, and if she wakes up pretend you were just in the bathr—

  All at once, I realize that our plan is fucked. My hand is in my back pocket, getting the key out, and I just stop moving. I stop breathing, and I wonder if it’s too late.

  I could just go back downstairs, get Gabriel, tell him, and we could go. It wouldn’t even matter where or how, because everything is about to fall apart and we’re idiots for not realizing it.

  My stalker’s going to spill everything. He wrote me an entire letter detailing my daily activities at the county fair. He’s been watching. At the very least, he saw Gabriel and I leave a bar together, holding hands, at nearly two in the morning.

  I feel dizzy, suddenly, like I need to sit down, like I need to take a moment and think through what we should do. Because I can’t go into this room, not now, not after I finally decided I trusted Gabriel enough to let him help me leave.

  My ears are ringing. I feel like everything is crashing down around me, and one last, desperate time, I think about my siblings. Joy and Zeke, whispering about college math in the kitchen.

  I put the key back in my pocket, still staring up at the door to the room I shared with Pearl.

  Go. Go now, before he calls in the rest of the team, before they catch the guy and he spills everything.

  Joy, Zeke, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.

  And then, just as I step away from the door, it swings open, a rectangle of light falling into the hall. I panic, wondering what on earth I can possibly tell Pearl that will keep her from sounding the alarm.

  But then I look up, and the figure standing there in the doorway isn’t Pearl.

  It’s my father.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gabriel

  “Negative,” Steven says into his walkie-talkie. “No movement here. Target not sighted. All’s quiet. Over and out.”

  He’s nervous and jittery, too excited, and talking like a he’s a Navy SEAL in a bad action movie, but I let him do it. Anything I try to communicate is gonna be too profanity-laced and loud to even get my point across, so I don’t bother.

  My point being, let me the fuck at that bastard.

  I pace back and forth again, right in front of the hotel doors. The Kevlar vest Charleston PD gave me is a little too small, digging into my skin, but that’s not the worst part.

  The worst part is that he’s out there, only a few blocks away, and someone else is going to be the one to take him down. Some Charleston police officer is gonna get to grab him, cuff him, be the first one to see his face and tell him that it’s all fucking over and he lost, and I’m here, at the hotel.

  Just waiting.

  I fucking hate waiting.

  I get it, obviously. I’m Ruby’s bodyguard. It’s my job to guard her, and she’s here, up in her room, probably pretending to be asleep. Anyone who comes here is gonna have to get through me — and also Steven, sure — before he can hurt her, and he’s gonna have one hell of a time doing that.

  But it doesn’t change that I’d love to be the one punching this guy in the face.

  The radio they gave me crackles, a rough, tinny voice coming through. I listen tensely, still pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

  “Gibson, roger that. In position now, Cartney and Stiles heading Southeast on third street. Target is still moving very slowly, approximately ten miles per hour.”

  “All right. Moving to block now, nice and easy.”

  Silence. More silence. I imagine what’s happening right now, the plan we laid out not five minutes ago: one police car behind the minivan, one in front, officers with weapons drawn and bulletproof vests on. Ideally, the unarmed suspect gets out of the van, hands on his head, gets on the ground, and it’s over.

  If anything else goes down, it’s ten armed police officers against one lunatic. I don’t like his odds.

  The radio crackles again.

/>   “Gibson,” the man’s voice says. “Gibson. Shit!”

  Over the radio there’s the sound of a motor revving so hard it roars, the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering.

  “What the hell?” someone shouts.

  Steven and both shove through the hotel doors, drawing our weapons, moving in sync. I’ve got no fucking idea what happened, but it sure as hell wasn’t the plan.

  We stand on the sidewalk, motionless, the curve of the hotel driveway in front of us. For a moment, there’s nothing but the near-total quiet of a quaint town at two-thirty in the morning, the slight hum of the street lights, the occasional rustle of the breeze.

  And then there’s a siren. The sound of crunch, shattering glass, an overloaded engine being driven so hard it’s practically screaming.

  I tighten my grip and plant my feet, every nerve in my body practically humming. Someone’s shouting over the radio, but I can’t understand him through the static, and I’m using every muscle in my body to listen for the sound of a minivan careening my way.

  Come on, I think. Come the fuck on.

  Try me. Just fucking try me.

  More glass shatters. The sirens get louder. Metal crunches, and then there’s a screech, the sound of metal grinding on metal and a dark hulking shape rounds the corner like a drunk turtle on a skateboard, fishtails, and then points itself right at us.

  I swear to God I almost smile.

  The minivan’s engine howls, redlining, and blue lights whirl around the corner right behind it, but I’m not looking at that. I’m looking at the pale shape behind the steering wheel and I’m thinking, finally, you motherfucker.

  He doesn’t stop and I don’t move. Instead I tick off the milliseconds, forcing my nerves quiet as I wait until he’s in range. I feel like everything is moving in slow motion: the sirens, the van, the spinning lights. Another car’s side mirror goes flying, and then the van is there, in range, and I finally fire.