Part 9 (1/2)

She pales, her shoulders slumping as if I've punched her, before she rushes to the bathroom and shuts the door. And it takes everything in me not to punch the wall.

SEVEN.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I eye the clock on the nightstand that reads 11 a.m. and curse myself for being a good hour behind my planned departure time. Eager to get packed up and out of this rat trap, I secure my gun in my ankle holster and try Jared again. I'm listening to it ring, ready to throw the phone against the wall, when I hear the bathroom door. Glancing up, I find Gia standing at the end of the bed, her long brown hair brushed sleekly again, her lips glossed, and if I'm not mistaken she has on some makeup. She's wearing black jeans and a red Mickey Mouse T-s.h.i.+rt with red Keds, or whatever the h.e.l.l they're called, to match. I'm struck by two things. She looks completely different and still adorably, impossibly s.e.xy. What the h.e.l.l is the deal with the s.h.i.+rt?

”f.u.c.k me,” I grumble, removing the phone from my ear and discarding it. ”Did the kid just want you to silently scream for everyone to look at you? Is there any other option in the Walmart bag?”

She folds her arms in front of her, and I don't miss how carefully she avoids eye contact as she says, ”There seems to be a fictional-character theme that includes neon green and hot pink.”

”Of course there is,” I say, regretting the large bills I handed the kid to avoid a high-profile, drawn-out checkout. ”Put a hoodie over the top.” I toss an empty duffel in her direction. ”And put whatever you want to take inside that. Keep in mind that you can shop for better choices when we get to where we're going and get settled.”

Her gaze meets mine, and the vulnerability of the woman I'd bound and f.u.c.ked, or even the woman who'd darted into that bathroom, is nowhere to be found. This one is coolly reserved, absolutely composed. ”Which will be when?”

”We'll arrive late tonight if things go right.”

She studies me for a beat, then another, and I think she will ask the obvious question, but she does not. Instead, she simply walks into the bathroom and quickly returns with the Walmart bags in one hand and the hoodie in the other. She sets the bags on the bed and slips the hoodie over her head before picking through the purchased items and choosing a few things to stuff in the duffel.

”Done,” she declares.

I toss the small cash bag on the bed in front of her in obvious invitation for her to take it. She looks at it, and then me. ”Aren't you afraid I'll run? You did tell me that you'd sell me if you got the chance.”

”Rest a.s.sured, you're of more value with me than not, right now. I told you, you're helping me take down Sheridan.” I step closer, bringing us toe-to-toe, giving a cue at how badly I want to pull her to me and f.u.c.k her all over again. ”You try to run, I will come after you.”

”I have no doubt,” she replies tightly, and there is a new detached coldness to her voice that tells me my promise to sell her if I got a whim to didn't sit well. It puts a distance between us that should please me, but it doesn't.

”Then we're clear,” I state.

”Crystal,” she confirms.

Neither of us looks away, and what ensues is a battle of wills mixed with enough s.e.xual heat to have me ready to say screw it and strip her naked again. And that would be yet another mistake I can't afford. Gritting my teeth, I grab the one duffel bag I'm taking with us. ”Let's go,” I snap, walking to the door and opening it.

She doesn't move. ”Where are we going on foot?”

”You'll find out when we get there.”

”Right. Of course.” She closes the distance between us, surprising me by stopping in front of me, her blue eyes burning into mine. ”Just so you know. That lesson you wanted to teach me. Learned.”

I told her not to trust anyone, including me. For a man who likes to get his way, success sure bites, like a b.i.t.c.h on too much caffeine and sugar.

Following her outside the door, I note that the year-round warm Texas weather is leaning toward hot. Putting on my baseball cap, I say, ”No one would wear a hood on a sticky day like this. Stuff your hair under the back of the hoodie so it's not obvious you have long hair.”

She does as I say while I pull the door shut and motion her forward. We start walking and she crosses the strap of the duffel bag over her chest and shoulder, while I do the same with mine. Gia goes to my right, next to the highway, and I grab her arm and pull her to my left, where she's safer. She folds her arms over her chest and keeps walking.

We walk a short path along the highway and then enter a row of stores and restaurants. ”We'll get food when we get back on the road. I don't want to risk being recognized.”

”Understood,” she says, still staring straight ahead. ”I guess I can't ask how we're getting back on the road, so I won't.”

I motion to a s.h.i.+thole car lot next to a hamburger joint. ”There's your answer.”

”We're buying a car?” She stops walking and faces me.

”I have a plan for everything, remember?” I take her arm, telling myself it's out of the need for urgency, not the need to touch her again. ”We're out in the open. We need to move.” I start walking, taking her with me. She double-steps to keep up and we cross the parking lot of the restaurant. ”Keep your head down,” I say as we pa.s.s several people exiting a car in the lot.

”Can Sheridan's reach really be so far that he can get to us on the street?”

I keep it straightforward and honest. ”Yes.”

”That's it?”

”Money won't bring back the ones you love, but it can do a lot to destroy those you don't.” We reach the edge of the car lot and I lift a rope with flags hanging on it for her to slide under. She darts underneath and I follow, an uneasiness coming over me that has me stopping and scanning the area for trouble.

”What is it?” she asks, looking around as well, not nearly as discreetly as I am.

I grab her hand and walk briskly toward the back of the small, gray concrete building that's no bigger than the double-wide trailers so popular in parts of Texas. Scanning as we round the corner, I stop, backing against the wall where I have a bird's-eye view of the entire perimeter and pull Gia flat against me.

Glancing over her shoulder, my gaze travels to the other side of the lot, where a grandpa in a polyester suit and cowboy boots who I a.s.sume to be a salesman is chatting it up with a middle-aged couple in jeans and flip flops. The salesman seems to sense my attention and waves. ”I'll be right with you.”

I give him a wave in return and fix my gaze on Gia, my voice tight, my jaw tense. ”Don't ever make it obvious that you're looking for signs of trouble. That draws attention you don't need.”

Her fingers curl in my s.h.i.+rt. ”You think there's trouble?”

”I'm always cautious,” I say, choosing not to tell her that the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. ”And you need to be, too.”

”That's not an answer.”

”Talk later in the truck. Not now.” I turn her to face the lot, hands on her shoulders. ”The basic white one in the corner. Tell me why I'm picking that truck?”

”It's the only big truck on the lot, and you like big trucks.”

I rotate her to face me again. ”This is a lesson. Everything is a lesson, and it's about life or death. Texas is truck country. In other words, it's easy to blend in with a truck. The repeating theme of my message being don't stand out.”

She sucks in a breath and lets it out. ”Right. Don't stand out. I'll learn.”

”You need to learn quickly.”

”I know, and I'm sure it gets easier.”

”You can't let it get easier. If it does, you'll make mistakes, so make sure it doesn't. And after six years, I know from experience that making sure it doesn't takes a concerted effort. You will be tempted to feel like the storm has pa.s.sed.”

”You keep mentioning six years.” Her hands close down on my upper arms, her voice going raspy. ”What happened six years ago?”

I arch a brow, aware of the salesman's approach, while Gia seems oblivious. ”You didn't know it was that long?”

”That long since what?”