On the Way Home (10 page)

“Got it,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“I’m serious, but I’ll be back soon. Like a couple hours at the most.” And if I wasn’t back by then, there was a decent chance that I wouldn’t be back at all. I didn’t want to think about what that would look like, but my mind was a heartless bastard. How long would Clint wait here before he figured out I was gone for good? Would he call the police or just leave?

Ugh, now I was planning my own funeral.

I turned to go upstairs and grab my purse. He caught my hand, his fingers ensnaring mine. He wasn’t holding me, not forcefully, but I still swung back as if he’d locked me down tight. When I turned to face him, he pressed a kiss to my lips, sweet and questioning. He cared about me. The certainty sank into my bones, building me up in a way I didn’t deserve.
Shit.
When had this happened? Hundreds of passengers, thousands of them, and I had to fall for the one I was supposed to kill.

“See you soon,” I forced out, stepping back.

It was only hurry that made me run up the stairs. Not guilt. Not shame that I couldn’t even meet his eyes. Not sadness that made me avoid the kitchen when I left the house, not looking for him at all. I walked down the freshly repaired porch step, got into my truck, and drove away. It wouldn’t do any good to fall for him. There was no point in dwelling on what might have been. After plotting to kill him, even if I hadn’t known him yet, I’d pretty much given up any right to a relationship with him. But I’d try to save him if I could.

I might just die trying.

Chapter Eight

Clint

Della was hiding something. I’d figured that out pretty quickly, but hey, everyone was entitled to their secrets. She’d let me into her home, but she still deserved her privacy.

So I really had no fucking explanation for why I’d stowed away in the bed of Della’s truck.

There was a fifteen-minute ride during which I berated myself for being every kind of moron, for being a creepy-ass stalker. She should call the cops on me. This was the behavior that could make the news alongside a special expose on the effects of warfare and PTSD.

And maybe they had a point. I really had to wonder if my head was on straight as I huddled beneath a tarp. Of course following her was wrong, but I’d just seen something in her eyes that I recognized: fear. I needed to find out what—or who—she was afraid of. Even if that made me a nut job. Even if she’d kick me out of her house, and her life, if she knew what I’d done.

The vehicle slowed as she turned into a parking lot. I tensed, wondering where we were. The ambient traffic sounds were the same as they’d been. We hadn’t gone too far and we hadn’t turned off on any dirt roads. We were off some random city road.

Brakes squeaked as we stopped completely. The window whirred as it rolled down.

“Good morning,” said a voice over an intercom. “How can I assist you today?”

The bank. She’d gone to the fucking bank. I raged at myself all over again. You stalker. You creepy fuck. She let you into her home, she trusted you, and you repay her by following her when she runs legitimate errands.

“I’d like to check my balance,” came Della’s voice.

“One moment, please.” After a pause, the teller stated a balance of a few hundred bucks in checking and a little over eight thousand dollars in a savings account. Not a bad nest egg. Creepy. Stalker.

“I’d like to withdraw eight thousand,” she said.

And just like that, the warnings were pinging all over again. Something was wrong here, seriously wrong. Eight thousand bucks in the bank was good stuff for a girl who clearly lived modestly and worked hard. She had a house and a truck. All signs pointed to fiscal responsibility, but she practically runs away from breakfast and withdraws all her money?

No. This girl needed help.

I waited with very little patience while she completed the transaction. I wanted to bust out of the bed of the truck and get some answers. I wanted to demand she let me help her. But that would only terrify her right now. I needed to know more about what I was dealing with. I also needed a little backup.

As we got back on the road, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed James.

He picked up on the second ring. “Yo.”

“Hey, man.” Suddenly I felt sheepish. Okay, sure, we told each other everything. But I hadn’t forgotten how crazy this made me look. It looks crazy because it is crazy, man. “How’s Rachel?”

“She’s good. Better than good. Now why are you calling me from a fucking wind tunnel?”

It was pretty loud in the back of a truck when it was going forty—no, fifty—miles per hour. We had clearly picked up speed, which meant she was heading somewhere else, away from home rather than toward it. Another innocuous errand? Or did she have a plan for her life savings?

“I have a situation,” I confessed.

“With the data?” he asked, his voice on high alert.

“No. Shit, no, I haven’t even had time to think about that. I’ve been…distracted.”

“Ohh, that kind of distracted.”

“Don’t say ohh, jackass. It’s not like that.”

“What is it like then?” he asked in a mocking tone, clearly not buying it. As well he shouldn’t, since he was on the right track.

“There’s this girl.” I ignored the smug sound over the phone. “Actually, you know her. Sort of. It’s the stewardess from the plane. I needed a ride and then Chelsea kicked me out and—”

“Wait a minute. Chelsea kicked you out? But it was your apartment.”

“I know. It’s a long story. Well, no, it’s not a long story. It’s a short one. She asked me to leave and I did. I had no desire to sleep in the bed where she’d fucked another guy.”

“Aww, shit.”

“Yeah, I know. But Della was there. She’d given me a ride, and I ended up going home with her.”

“You fucking dog.” Genuine approval rang in his voice.

“Yeah, well. It’s been great. She’s amazing and I’m more comfortable at her place than I’ve ever been in my life.” Oh yeah, and I’m falling for her. Hard.

“So what’s with the SOS?”

“I think she’s in trouble. She’s not telling me much, but the way she looks sometimes…it’s like that moment when the shooting starts. You realize there’s a very real chance you will die in the next ten minutes, and there’s not much you can even do about it. It’s just random chance at that point. You think, I’ve been lucky so far, but maybe it’s run out now. That’s what I see when I look in her eyes.”

“Well, shit. Between the data and this, you sure do know how to find trouble.”

It did seem to be an unfortunate trend. And it had all started with that damned data. My commander had wanted me to make the list go away, but I couldn’t do that. A split second decision had changed my life. I still didn’t regret keeping it. Too many lives could be saved with that information. No matter what fallout happened, I would never regret trying to get it into the right hands, because it was the right thing to do.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going down, but I might need your help. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Whatever you need, I’m there. You know that.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up the phone as we pulled onto a gravel road. The truck bounced along the road, and my head slammed into the metal side. “Ouch,” I muttered.

Hopefully Della wouldn’t have heard that. And wouldn’t notice the extra weight she was dragging. She pulled off to the side, rocks crunching beneath her wheels. She stopped the vehicle, and everything went still and silent. Gradually I heard the sound of birds and…. a distant brook. We had definitely left the city and gone into a rural area.

The door opened and closed. Footfalls grew quieter as she walked away.

I counted to sixty before letting myself sit up. Shit, that hurt. My neck was cramped from being jolted against metal ridges for a dozen miles. Della was nowhere in sight, but it was clear she’d followed the trail that went through the trees. At some point there was big ranching type of fence that was locked shut, with no call box. She must have stepped between the wooden posts and continued on foot. Behind the truck was only open, empty countryside.

Once assured I was alone, I slipped out of the truck bed and into the trees. From there it was easy to track and catch up to her, moving silently through the brush as she walked along the path. Her head was down. Her posture looked… scared? Defeated?

Fuck. Where was she going? She had her purse, which presumably contained the money she’d withdrawn. Was she going to bury it? Was this the ultimate lack of trust in the country’s banking system, that she was going to bury her money rather than store it in an account? I wished that was true. It would be a relief to know that she was crazy and not me.

I had come up with half a dozen scenarios for the situation Della was in, and most of them I could handle myself. First on the list was paranoia on my part. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe she wasn’t afraid. And maybe my PTSD was projecting all over her. That one scared me because of its implications on my sanity. But at least that one would mean Della was safe.

Safe from everyone except me.

There were other, more mundane options, like an abusive ex. Just let him try and touch her. I’d beat the ever-loving fuck out of him, and then I’d really feel relieved. Neither she nor I would be crazy, and a violent bastard would get what he had coming to him. I wouldn’t even call James for anything like that. It would be just one-on-one. I’d show him what it felt like to be hit by someone stronger than him.

But the last option… Jesus, the last option seemed to be the right one. I had the awful suspicion that I was dealing with something much worse than PTSD, much bigger than an asshole ex-boyfriend. And as I came to the clearing where the woods stopped, I knew that was the right answer.

Can I take Criminal Hideouts for $500, Alex?

Yeah, this place was bad news. And Della had gone inside. I wanted to shake her for being so reckless. I wanted to tie her up until she explained how she knew these people and why she’d come here. I had to focus instead on breaking in and hoping their security was god awful. I really wished I’d brought my gun.

* * *

The place was way out in the country, but it was clearly built for a rich-ass homeowner. Unlike Della’s lush green lawn and flower bed of daisies, this place had neatly trimmed hedges that would rival a castle in freakin’ England. The house itself was a sleek modern structure that looked out of place in the countryside. The whole setup screamed I have money and power. Please someone suck my dick.

Pathetic.

Two guards stood on either side of the door. They were also pathetic, one half-asleep and the other playing on his phone. I took out the guy on his phone first because he was closer. By the time he had slumped against the wall, unconscious, I had the other guy in a choke hold. He twitched and then went still. I wished I had zip ties to bind their hands, but I had to settle for using their belts in a rough tangle that would come apart when they woke up and worked at it.

But at least I had guns. I tossed the semiautomatic weapons into the hedge nearby and kept both pistols, one in my hand and the other tucked into the back of my jeans. I had no intention of shooting anyone today, but more importantly, I had no intention of getting shot.

And Della is somewhere inside.

The place was poorly guarded. Or maybe I was just used to the stringent security protocols we’d used when I was undercover. Part of my role had been a security consultant. Ironically, I’d helped the assholes beef up their security. But since I also knew their routines, their access codes, their procedures, I’d disabled them easily when the time came.

I made it inside the building and saw Della before I heard her. There were several layers of glass between us, as well as an atrium and a garden center beneath oversize vaulted windows. She was talking to some guy in a suit. A guy I immediately wanted to punch, on principle. That was crazy. I was never violent.

PTSD, motherfucker.

Because now I could have pummeled this guy even without confirming he was an ex-boyfriend, even without knowing he had ever been an abusive one. Just for hugging her and watching her body go tense from twenty feet away.

I slipped closer, still careful to move silently. Getting caught now would probably just land me in prison, and I still wouldn’t have the information I came for.

“The money,” I heard her say, “If you’ll just take the money and give me my sister back.”

He said something I couldn’t make out.

“I can’t give you that.” Her voice sounded agitated. What was he asking for? More money? Sex?