Girl Called Fearless: A Girl Undone Part 17

"No problem." Luke climbed into the back and kneeled before me. He draped his hand on my shoulder and his eyes searched mine as his other hand moved to my waist. What are we doing? Then he eased me closer and kissed me.

His kiss asked if I was sure how I felt about Yates, and my body answered by pressing into his. And the kiss I gave him back told me that I wanted him, too, that love wasn't a simple "either-or." Love could be both.

I want you both.

I know I shouldn't, but I love you both.

After all the drama and fear we'd lived through together, we were connected. We'd saved each other, goaded each other, condemned each other.

I lost track of how long we kissed before Luke pulled away. He held both my hands in his, keeping us at arm's length. Slow down, stop, he seemed to be telling himself.

"I don't know what will happen after we get to Denver," he said, "but I hope you'll come with me."

"Luke-"

"Shush," he whispered. "You don't have to decide now."

He let go of my hands, and I reached up and ran my finger down the gold stubble on his cheek. His smile opened up his face, showing me the Luke who'd share his big, limitless heart.

We gazed at each other for a long moment before Luke climbed back in his seat. I wiped the corners of my eyes. I wished things were simpler. Saving my heart for Yates had seemed like the most obvious thing in the world, but now in this moment, Luke was offering me a future, and my dream of a life with Yates seemed nave, unrealistic even.

Luke started the engine. "We're low on gas. We'll need to stop in Fort Collins."

I cursed Streicker under my breath for not filling up the tank. Once we hit the outskirts of the city, we started hunting for a station.

Fort Collins looked like it was once a pretty town with gorgeous mountain views, but it hadn't escaped the wrath of Scarpanol. We pa.s.sed a shuttered preschool. A dead bridal store. Empty nail salons. Cars were parked outside the auto parts store, and the funeral home had fresh Christmas wreaths on the doors. Shiny snowmobiles were lined up outside the dealership, where red and green banners flapped overhead.

Billboards lined the road. "Colorado State Nursing Program for Men. Big $$$ and Guaranteed Job Placement. 100% Government-paid Tuition."

"Mexican Brides! Bring Home a Gorgeous Seorita! Tour Price Includes All Legal Fees and Import Taxes!"

"Granny's Gun Club and Firing Range. Keep Your Independence! Low-cost Cla.s.ses. Senior and Early Bird Discounts."

We pulled into a gas station with a convenience store, and parked by the pumps. "Looks like I got to go inside to pay," Luke said. "You want anything?"

"No, I'm good." We were the only vehicle pulled up at the station. "I think I'll freshen up, as long as we're here."

I left my pack in the van, not wanting any extra weight on my ankle. The bathrooms were on the side of the building, and I walked gingerly, keeping my head down.

The step into the bathroom was coated with ice. As I reached for the doork.n.o.b, my foot slid and I came down hard on my bad ankle. "Aiiee." Colors burst behind my eyelids, and I made myself breathe until the pain subsided.

Inside, I did my business, then tidied up at the mirror. The hanging was twisted around my neck like a scarf and I fingered the st.i.tching. I was so ready to hand it over to the reporters. I'd bleached it off-white at Vera's, but anyone who knew st.i.tch code could help the reporters decipher it.

But what if the reporters aren't reporters?

Luke and I were headed to a meeting, but Streicker didn't know these guys. Sure, he was smart, but even smart guys get fooled.

I slid the phone out of my jeans. This was the crucial piece of evidence, and the hardest to hide. I remembered police in movies frisking criminals under the arms and down the legs and I stuffed it in my boot, thinking I was being ridiculous. If the feds caught me, they'd find the phone in seconds.

Breathe, I told myself. In an hour, this could be past tense.

I opened the door, and a man stood in my way. He had a beard, and a beat-up cowboy hat, and he smelled like Red Hots. "Excuse me," I said.

He tossed the toothpick he was chewing. "Miss Reveare, if you would come with me."

My stomach plunged, and I scanned the pumps for Luke. "He's still inside," the man said. "You can save him a lot of pain if you come quietly."

The man pointed to the open door of the SUV pulled up next to us. Two other men waited inside the idling car.

Apparently, they weren't interested in Luke, only me. "Let me guess," I said. "You work for Jessop Hawkins?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I glanced over my shoulder, knowing I had only a second to decide. I couldn't jump the fence behind me, and I couldn't make a dash for the street, not on this ankle. If I yelled for Luke, these men would hurt him, and who knows what they'd do if they discovered the thumb drive he was carrying.

The choice became crystal-clear. Give up my freedom, and Luke could finish our mission. Go back to Hawkins, and Jouvert would pay for his crimes. I had to surrender so Luke and thousands of girls like me would get justice.

I got into the SUV.

The man climbed in after me, crushing me against his buddy. He peeled off his beard, and chucked his cowboy hat over the seat. "Do we need to handcuff you?"

"No."

The SUV pulled away from the station and I saw Luke exit the store with a bottle of orange soda. I raised my hand to wave, knowing full well he couldn't see me through the nearly black windows.

He strolled over to the van. Luke would probably wait a few minutes before he tried knocking on the bathroom door. When I didn't answer, what would he do? I kept my gaze locked on him.

Go. Go meet the reporters, Luke. Don't wait for me. Go.

The car sped away, and all the fight in me dissolved. A faint memory of a poem surfaced in my head, something about the world ending not with a bang but a whimper.

I'd imagined that when the feds captured me, there'd be guns and noise and blood, that I'd be screaming hysterically, not sitting in a back seat silently giving up.

I had not given up. I had sacrificed myself.

So you have to go, Luke. Go meet the reporters.

I pictured him starting the van, as if by picturing it, I could make it happen. He couldn't save me, and I didn't want him to try. Go, Luke. Save the Mikhaelas and the Hannas out there.

And please, for G.o.d's sake, don't get hurt.

The Fort Collins airport was only minutes away. We went in a back entrance and drove up to a private jet on the tarmac. "After you," the Retriever said, pointing to the lowered stairs.

I wasn't surprised in the least to see Adam Ho, Hawkins' a.s.sistant, in one of the cushy white leather seats. Ho didn't bother to get up or even set down his tablet. "Welcome back, Aveline."

"Yeah. Long time no see."

Seeing him again, I realized why Ho reminded me of a lizard. It wasn't just the taut skin on his face, it was his slender geckolike body.

The Retrievers took the seats behind Ho, leaving me to pick from the three nearest him. I chose the one right across the aisle so I wouldn't have to look him in the face. Ho made a call while I strapped in. "Yes, we have her. We'll wire you the funds immediately," Ho said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

The person who'd ratted me out was getting her reward money. I imagined Hazel McAllister lounging at a resort in Florida, smacking her toadlike lips.

"Mr. Streicker said to tell you that you did the right thing, going quietly and not getting his man involved."

I shook my head. b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Now the nearly empty gas tank made sense. At least Streicker had kept Luke's name a secret.

A quarter of a million for turning me in. It was pure Streicker, playing both sides of the field. Taking the reward, and turning me over to Hawkins while helping Luke screw the Paternalists-the same guys whose new laws were making Streicker a fortune in the smuggling business.

I unzipped my ski jacket. The plane lined up for takeoff and my eyes began to fill.

I will not cry. I bit the inside of my lip, until I tasted blood, because I'd be d.a.m.ned if I'd let Ho see me lose it. I lifted my chin and sat up straight.

Screw Streicker and Hawkins. Screw them both.

Retrieved

21.

During the flight back to L.A., I stared out the window at the smooth white wing, but all I kept seeing was Luke with that bottle of orange soda coming out of the convenience store at the gas station. I prayed he wasn't still there, that he'd realized I was gone and had continued on to Denver.

I hoped he thought I'd bolted. He'd hate me, but at least then he wouldn't torture himself looking for me. The worst was if he believed I'd been taken, because good guy that he was, he'd blame himself for leaving me alone.

The pilot didn't land at LAX, but at a smaller airport in the valley. We taxied up to a waiting helicopter and Ho handed me a big khaki fabric bag. "Put this on."

"What?"

"It goes over your head with the mesh panel in front."

Apparently, the mesh was so I could see out. "You want me to wear this?"

"For a smart girl, you can be quite dense. Mr. Hawkins does not want your face on the news-not before he has ironed out your legal issues. I myself wouldn't mind seeing U.S. Marshals carry you off."

"I bet you'd hand me over to them personally if you thought it would help Jes Hawkins' bid for governor."

"Without hesitation."

As I drew the cotton twill over my head, I saw the label. Chaste Wear. Sparrow had told me she'd seen girls in New York wearing these things, but I didn't believe her.

The small mesh rectangle only let me see what was directly ahead and I couldn't see my feet at all. A hot Santa Ana wind whipped the bag around my legs as I limped down the steps of the plane. I grabbed at the fabric before I found two slits for my hands.

Heat rose off the tarmac, baking me inside the layers of twill, down, and wool. The Retrievers flanked me the short distance to the helicopter and waited until Ho and I were buckled in before they secured the doors and drove off. Mission accomplished.

Ho gave me a thin-lipped smile. "Time to go home."

We flew over the freeway and into the Santa Monica mountains. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I can't believe I'm going back to Hawkins, and that I went through all that h.e.l.l for nothing.

The helicopter pitched in the wind as it approached Hawkins' compound, and I gripped the seat belt across my chest with both hands. Below, the privacy fence cut across the point, severing the compound from the Pacific Coast Highway. The grounds were as welcoming as he was: harsh, rocky, and covered in brush probably riddled with rattlesnake nests.

Once I was inside that fence, chances were I wasn't getting away. And if I did somehow manage to, Hawkins would alert every law enforcement agency and I'd be dead within hours. The feds would make sure I couldn't testify in a trial.

The pilot went to touch down on the landing pad on Hawkins' underground garage, but the wind surged and tossed us out over the ocean. My heart almost stopped, then the pilot maneuvered us back over the house and onto the pad. He shut down the engine, and I rubbed the tear tracks off my cheeks.

Thank G.o.d, Hawkins isn't here to greet me. I need time to take this in.

The pilot got out first. I hesitated at the doorway, unsure how to step down without injuring my foot. He raised his wrestler-sized arms. "Let me give you a hand."

"Thanks."

He lifted me down as if I weighed the same as a bag of groceries.

"Deeps is your new bodyguard," Ho said.

"Nice to meet you," I said. Deeps had shaved the sides of his head, but left his bleached-blond hair long on top. It was tied back in a half pony. He was half as old and probably twice as strong as my old bodyguard, Roik. Hawkins must have wanted to make sure I couldn't overpower this one.

All the coaching I'd received about bodyguards from my teacher Ms. A came back. Be polite. Get him on your side. Find out what he likes to eat and keep it in the house. Cheer for his sports team, especially if your dad or domestic manager cheers for its rival.

I'd peeled down to my sweater back in the chopper. The wind whipped the ends of the sleeves that were tied around my neck.

The house was out of sight, set into the cliff below us. Ho motioned to the stairs that led down to the entry. "He's waiting."

Hawkins.

My chest filled with broken gla.s.s. This is really happening. Deeps offered me his arm. "Like some help with those steps?"

I looked into his smoky gray eyes, wishing he would read my thoughts, put me in the copter, and fly me away. "Yes, please."

I steeled myself. Hawkins had just dropped a quarter million to get me back, and had to be furious that I'd messed up his bid for governor. That much I knew.

The house was the same. A one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the ocean the minute you walked in. The main room a severely bare art gallery with a giant blue acrylic fish struggling on a spear, and a distorted-looking oil painting of slaughtered chickens.

"He's in his office," Ho said.

I followed Ho down the stairs, memories jolting me with every step. Hawkins pinning me to the banister and forcing his tongue into my mouth. Hawkins locking the Love bracelet on my wrist while the camera snapped.

Ho led me down the hall and my heart thudded as we pa.s.sed the alcove where Hawkins had promised to hurt Yates or even kill him, if we didn't break off our relationship. I wondered if he could get to Yates now that he was in custody. I wouldn't put anything past Hawkins.

The door, a sleek panel of ironwood, opened soundlessly. Hawkins sat in an artistically shaped wood and leather chair, a tablet in his hands, feet propped on a leather cube.