“We aren’t going to the police. You think they set up road blocks for people they just want to ‘chat’ with?”
“How do you know those were for us?”
He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised over his hard eyes.
“It’s just a question. You don’t have to make me feel stupid.”
Bolton sighed. He pulled back onto the road, and they were driving again. “That’s not what I’m trying to do, Nadia. I’m keeping us safe.”
“Because there’s this great threat, and yet you can’t seem to explain to me why phones are off limits. Or why the police want to catch us.”
“Because Dante set them on us.”
“And a man in federal prison can command the police in that way? That makes no sense, Bolton.”
“He probably leaked enough information to make them think I’m Dante, so they’re on our tail. When they catch up with us, he’ll snap the trap closed. The police won’t know what happened, and we’ll be too dead to care. They’ll paint us as the bad guys.”
Nadia glanced out the window. She’d hated Manuel for what he’d done to her, trying to frame her for his illegal art deals and then trying to kill her so that he could get away with it. There had been enough evidence of things she’d done that it had made his assertion credible. Nadia had been sunk, until she’d turned herself in to the FBI with a flash drive from Manuel’s computer and told them the truth.
They’d offered her immunity for her small crimes in exchange for bringing down Manuel’s entire operation. Now Manuel was dead, Nadia had found everything she’d ever wanted in Sanctuary, and there was no going back. This was who she was, and it was where she needed to be again. And would have been, maybe even weeks ago, were it not for Bolton.
She sighed. “Where are we going?” He drove like he had a plan but not anywhere near their apartment. “I don’t suppose we’re headed in a roundabout way to pick up our clothes.” Her bible.
Their apartment had basically no furniture. They’d bought an old TV from a pawn shop and both slept on sleeping bags on the floor of the one room. It had been a sad existence, but a cheap one. Now that Bolton could walk, it made it worth it.
He didn’t answer her about where they were headed, so she said, “How is your back?”
“The anesthetic is wearing off.”
Which meant grumpy Bolton would reappear, the Bolton who didn’t want to take pain medication despite the fact he snapped at her every time she tried to help.
Nadia tried to remember why she wanted to be around him in the first place. Sanctuary had been in chaos. Bolton’s home had been destroyed. Tommy had been caught, and Bolton’s need for surgery had become imperative since a town resident slammed him on the back with a metal folding chair.
Nadia had wanted to be there when he had the surgery. She’d thought he wanted the same thing, so she’d convinced the sheriff to let her ride along in the helicopter with a special dispensation, given the circumstances.
Maybe Bolton had planned to get out of town for the surgery…and then disappear. In which case, he hadn’t wanted her there at all. Because he’d never intended to come back.
Bolton reached over and flipped on the radio. Apparently he didn’t even want to talk to her now.
Nadia blinked back tears. How had her life come to this?
“Police are on the lookout for a man in his late thirties with dark coloring, possibly of Middle Eastern descent, concerning the murder of two men, one a local doctor and the other who is believed to be a confidential informant for the Drug Enforcement Administration. The man is six-four, said to walk with a limp, and is wearing a black hoodie. He should be considered armed and extremely danger—”
Bolton snapped off the radio. “That’s why we’re not going to the police. I’ll end up doing life for a double homicide while Dante’s sentence is revoked and he sips mai-tai’s on some tropical island.”
And what about her? “They didn’t mention me on the broadcast.”
“That’s a good thing. It means we’ve kept you under the radar.” Bolton pulled up at a stop light. “I don’t think I even want to know what that look on your face means.”
He took a right and headed for the highway. Nadia hadn’t been out of Seattle since the day they arrived, but apparently Bolton knew every street and exactly how to get wherever he wanted to go. Five miles later traffic slowed, and they faced another set of flashing lights.
Bolton slammed the wheel with the heel of his hand. “Roadblock.”
“So we’re trapped?”
“They want us in the city so they can hunt us down. If we leave then we’re in the wind, but we have an advantage Dante doesn’t know about.”
Nadia shook her head. “What?”
“You. Dante doesn’t know I’m with you, and his men aren’t looking for a couple. The cops aren’t looking for a couple. They’re looking for a lone man, and you’re enough to distract them away from me.”
Nadia didn’t know whether to be flattered or not. “What’s with the Middle Eastern thing? Does Dante know something I don’t? I mean, your last name is Farrera. I thought you were Hispanic… Farrera isn’t your name, is it?”
“Actually Bolton Farrera was the name my parents gave me when they moved here, from Albania. It’s probably the most honest thing I have that’s still mine, even though it isn’t even my birth name. They purposely gave me an American name, but one that could be either Hispanic or even Italian. Add to that the American accent, and it made me blend in better.”
“Why did you need to blend in?”
“We need to figure out a way out of town.” He scanned the area, both sides of the road.
Nadia studied his face. Had she ever really looked at him? Sure, she’d gazed. But that wasn’t what she was doing now. This was the moment the maze dead-ended, and the only way out was to back-track halfway to the entrance in order to figure out where the center was. Did Bolton even have a center? If he did, he’d probably never show it to her. Maybe she could get back to Sanctuary, but she’d have to live the rest of her life never knowing what could have been with Bolton.
His gaze snagged on hers. “You’re doing that face thing again.”
“You want me to be happy? I don’t think I can fake that.” Nadia sighed. “I’m just facing the fact that nothing is going to work out the way I thought it would.” Nadia swallowed against the lump in her throat. “After I help you, I need to get back to Sanctuary. But I don’t know how that’s possible now. If Grant Mason isn’t in charge of witness protection, then who is going to help me?” Nadia swiped at the tears trailing down her cheeks.
Bolton muttered and pulled out of traffic. “We have to get out of here, Nadia. We don’t have time for this.” He shoved the car in park, opened the door, and grabbed her hand. Bolton pulled her down the embankment.
“Hey!”
Nadia glanced back. A cop pointed at them. Four uniformed officers ran toward her and Bolton.
“Run!” Bolton dragged her along. She could have argued she was fitter than he was, but the pace he set was punishing. It had to hurt. He pulled out a cell phone and dialed with one hand.
“You have a—”
He’d had a phone this whole time, all the while telling her she shouldn’t even go near one?
Bolton’s voice was breathy, his teeth gritted together. “Because they’re after us, Ben. This isn’t working.”
Chapter 6
Twenty Years Ago
Bolton lifted his chin and faced down his boss.
The old man huffed. “I’ll slap your little teenage face if you say one word. Those girls won’t think you’re such hot stuff after that.” Anton shoved him away. “Take out the trash like I told you to.”
Bolton strode past the other two guys who worked at Anton’s garage, with their smirks. They got to actually work on cars. He grabbed the trash bag and hefted it outside. The door hit him in the back when he stopped. Rain poured down on Baltimore, a torrent that put a six inch deep pu
ddle between him and the Dumpster.
He hurled the bag at the opening and watched the thing split open to deposit the trash inside. At least it hadn’t landed on the street this time.
Bolton turned back to the garage and saw Anton’s car pull out with Yuri and his cousin inside. Apparently he was the one to lock up tonight. Bolton went back inside and strode to where his bike had been shoved in the corner. It didn’t run yet, hadn’t since he’d hauled it out of a pile of car parts at the junk yard and started tinkering with it. Anton and the two goons who worked for him thought the whole thing was hilarious, but they gave him their old tools, and Bolton ignored their jibes.
As he sat beside the bike and got to work on it, the world bled away. It always did. Life didn’t matter anymore, not his family, not school and how much he hated it, or how the year until graduation and freedom felt like an eternity. It was like that when he drew, too. Mostly bikes—ones he saw in magazines—and ideas for how he wanted this one to turn out. He had sketch pads full of them between his mattress and the bedframe.
The man who entered did so in virtual silence. But not silent enough.
Bolton didn’t turn. “The boss isn’t here. Unless it’s me you want to kill. Though I don’t know why you would. I don’t have any cash.”
“I’m not here to kill you.”
Bolton turned. The man was clean-shaven. That was new. Usually guys who came in the garage were drab in their overcoats and thick beards. This guy had a nice shirt, nice jeans. He looked like some kind of downtown office worker like the ones who sometimes dropped off their BMWs or Lexus’s. In his twenties, probably.
“And I’m not here to see Anton. I actually wanted to speak with you.”
He sounded proper, but the weird ones always did. Bolton stood, the wrench still in his hand. His father had laid into him enough that Bolton knew how to give back if he had to—if it meant the difference between being this guy’s sick toy and getting away.
“Whoa. You could do some damage with that thing.” The man smiled, and it was nice enough. Bolton didn’t detect anything sinister. “I’m Ben Mason.”
Late twenties, Bolton figured. Though maybe he was younger, and he just looked older because of those eyes. People always said that about Bolton, too. “What do you want?”
“Your help.”
“I’m not interested.” Bolton wanted to get back to work on his bike, but he didn’t turn around. This was not the kind of man to give your back to.
“Hear me out. I’ll make it worth your while.” Ben Mason pulled a hundred from the front pocket of his shirt.
Bolton took the money. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t need it.
“Anton is a bad man, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
“What if I do?” Bolton wasn’t exactly lily white, not when he had a couple of charges on his juvie record already.
“Men like Anton, they don’t do their work in the light of day. Sometimes it’s hard to catch them in the act. To bring justice, even though they’ve hurt so many people. It’s my job to bring down Anton and everyone he works with. That’s what I’m getting paid for.”
Bolton stared. It was a rare man who spoke the truth with no preamble. He could have lied. Easily. But he hadn’t. He’d given Bolton the respect of being upfront.
“He’s my uncle. You gonna take me down, too?” Bolton watched for a reaction. That was when he knew the man had done his homework. He knew about Bolton’s connection to Anton.
“I’m not talking about killing him. I’m talking about him going to jail for a very long time.”
Bolton snorted. “Like that’ll stop him.” Anton’s reach spread across the city, if not further.
“Maybe I want to know more about that.”
“You think I’m going to betray him when I know he’ll kill me if he even thinks it was me who talked to you?”
Ben Mason studied Bolton for a second, then said, “Uncles who reign terror on everyone they know are something of a specialty of mine.”
“What about fathers?” The question was out before Bolton could even stop it. He shifted, started to move away.
“I can help with that, too.”
Bolton shrugged.
“I’ve seen your drawings.”
Bolton’s head whipped around to the man. He’d gotten inside Bolton’s bedroom?
“A week ago, at the library.”
“Guess I know where that notepad went.” He’d gone to the bathroom and forgotten it, come back and found it was gone. “So, aside from some kind of creepy stalker and a glorified family counselor, what else do you do?”
Ben Mason cracked a smile. “What you can do with a pencil and whatever image is in your head of a motorcycle is a beautiful thing. You want to restore bikes, maybe even make a few of your own? You have enough talent you could set yourself up for life. But that’s for tomorrow. Right now this is what I see.” Ben paused. “You’re a good kid. And you’re not like them.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be like them, that was the point.” Assimilating into the culture was the name of the game. “But if you mean I have a conscience, that’s not a real good thing. Not so far.”
“Your life can be whatever you make of it. That’s up to you.”
“My life?” Bolton barked a laugh. “Now I know you’re crazy. Not sure how a bunch of sketches translates into millionaire.”
“Okay, then. We deal with the immediate, and then we worry about the rest later. Ten grand, you get me what I need on Anton.”
Ten grand would get his bike up and running in a week. Bolton would have what he needed to get out of Baltimore the minute he graduated. Anton wouldn’t even be able to find him.
Bolton lifted his chin. “What do you need to know?”
**
Present day
Ben slipped the phone into his pocket and strode back into the one bedroom apartment Bolton and Nadia Marie had shared for weeks. This isn’t working. Bolton had to hold on. He had to handle Nadia Marie, or Dante was going to find them faster than Ben could hide their every move. That phone call she’d made, asking for Grant, had cost them.
Shadrach looked up from a pile of mail he was searching through. “Everything okay?”
Ben nodded. “It will be.”
“Daire?”
Ben shook his head. “Daire’s on vacation right now. He had some personal stuff to take care of.”
“He gets vacation? Nothing about days off in your employee handbook.”
Like Ben actually had one of those. “It’s meritorious.”
Shadrach snorted and went back to the pile of junk mail, all there was in the living room except for two old dining table chairs that sat across from the tiny, ancient TV. Ben strode to the bedrooms. Bedrolls, two sleeping bags on the floor in the bedroom. Almost no other belongings, since they probably didn’t want anything personal they’d have to leave behind.
Okay, so most of it had been Ben’s plan, but Bolton had followed it well. Between the two of them they’d agreed this was the best course of action to keep Bolton from being found by Dante until the right moment, and in the meantime keep Nadia Marie out of it. Yeah, it bothered him that they’d had to use Nadia Marie for Bolton’s cover, but when she knew, she would understand.
Things were working well so far, as long as they could stay out of the police’s clutches long enough to get to the safe house Ben had set up.
It was a dance, juggling who knew what and predicting precisely how people were going to react. But it was also Ben’s job. And he was good at it. Bolton had helped him take down Anton Sabrowsky, who’d been smuggling arms in from overseas. Anton and his brother—Bolton’s father—had been the US end of an international crime family that originated in Albania. Ben had turned the tide of war with the help of one teenage boy, and the kid hadn’t even known the extent of how helpful he had been. All he knew was that Ben had funded the beginnings of Bolton’s adulthood. A beginning from which the kid had managed to build an empir
e.
One that Ben had found it necessary to dismantle.
Who knew?
But the kid had done the right thing one more time, testifying against Dante, even if it was only to escape a lengthy prison sentence himself.
The only wildcard in this operation was Shadrach, or more to the point, what Shadrach was going to do when he found out that Ben had known all along where his sister was, and the fact he’d said nothing about it.
Ben strode back to the living room. “There’s nothing here. Let’s head out.”
“Sure.” Shadrach stood, holding one book.
“What’s that?”
Ben’s employee shrugged off the question. “Nadia’s bible. That’s all.” Shadrach glanced around. “I can’t believe they were here for weeks, and she didn’t even try to call me. Just Grant.”
He was keeping something more to himself, but Ben let it go. It wasn’t like there was a whole lot of truth between them in the first place. Ben had hired him, and Shadrach’s skills were substantial. Not to mention that dog of his protecting Remy. Shadrach would make a good addition to the team, but the manner in which Ben was keeping Bolton and Nadia safe would likely make the man quit. If he didn’t beat the tar out of Ben first.
Still, when Shadrach walked away, his sister would be alive.
Ben’s watch vibrated. It was more an extension of his phone than a watch, but he swiped the screen until he’d read the entire update from his receptionist. Assistant. Accountant. Kenna did it all, but right now she was fielding calls from federal agencies wanting to know why he was in Seattle, given the timing coincided with the escape of a federal prisoner and a man the police were hunting.
Sanctuary Deceived WITSEC Town Series Book 4 Page 6