Secret Life Of Amy Bensen: Forsaken Part 9

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-shirt 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 shirt?

"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 shirt. "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?"

"Since that b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed my parents. And Gia-"

"Six years," she repeats. "Chad-"

"Sorry about the delay." The sound of the salesman's voice is my cue to wrap my arm around Gia's shoulder and turn us to greet him as he adds, "Can I help you folks?"

"I'll take that white truck in the corner."

The man's brow furrows. "You mean you want to test drive it?"

"No," I correct. "We'll take it. How much?"

"Five thousand."

"I'll make it six if you can get us out of here in fifteen minutes." His eyes go wide, and I quickly explain away any suspicions I've created. "We were headed to Austin to get my sister away from her d.i.c.khead husband who beats her, but my BMW broke down. The part for the repair won't be in for a week, and I'd counted on beating that man's a.s.s by sundown."

He arches a brow. "You carry around that much cash?"

"a.s.shole is a computer programmer with some hacking skills, and my sister is scared s.h.i.tless of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I'm making her throw away her credit cards and stay off his radar while I deal with him. This will deplete that money, but I'll replace it when we get to her."

Gia surprises me by adding, "He's horrible." She presses her fingers to her eyes. "She and I are like sisters. I'm sorry. I'm scared for her."

"Oh, honey," the man says, clearly convinced and sympathetic, and I don't blame him; she's practically sold me on the story. "Ain't nothing I hate more than a woman-beater. I'll get you out of here in fifteen, and you keep that extra thousand." He opens the door and waves us inside.

My hand goes to Gia's waist, guiding her into the building, and while I don't like people at my back, the old man included, I like them at Gia's even less. I just hope like h.e.l.l that acting performance she gave doesn't mean I'm one step away from a knife in my back that she's holding. Following her down a narrow hallway, we enter a bullpen-style office setup with two steel desks, one on each side of the door, facing the plate-gla.s.s windowed front wall that gives me a full view of the lot.

In unison, Gia and I step inside the door to the right and let the salesman pa.s.s by. He steps behind the desk on the left and opens a drawer while Gia surprises me by asking, "Is there a ladies' room?"

"That door we just pa.s.sed in the hallway," the man offers.

I give her a warning look, and my eyes narrow at how bloodshot her eyes are. "What are you doing?" I ask softly, wondering how the woman who didn't even know why I picked a truck became this one.

She steps to me and flattens her hands on my chest, kissing my cheek. "Breaking down and needing this truck has me fl.u.s.tered. I just a need a minute."

I grab her head and lean in near her ear. "Don't try to play me. You won't like the results. I'll be watching the door."

"Good," she replies. "I really don't want to be alone right now."

I want to know what that means, but she pulls back, and considering we have an audience, I have to let her. But I don't miss how her lashes are lowered to become an effective shield that leaves me incapable of reading her intentions. I allow her to escape.

"Okay," says the salesman, still standing behind his desk. "I have the paperwork and the keys." He offers me his hand. "I'm Jeff, by the way."

The bathroom door shuts, and I step forward and shake his hand. "Thanks for the help, Jeff," I say, leaving out my name, a habit I've perfected over the years.

"My pleasure." He releases my hand and motions for me to sit. I comply simply because it gives me a good view of the bathroom.

"I'll need identification and the cash."

Removing my wallet, I adjust my chair to profile the front window and the door Gia should exit from any second, laying the ID that reads "Kevin Moore" on the desk for Jeff to review. "The money after the contracts," I state.

"Not a problem." He glances at the ID. "Mr. Moore."

Ten minutes later, I've signed the contracts and we're about to exchange cash for keys, and Gia has yet to appear. A blue Chevy four-door sedan pulls into the lot and Jeff sighs. "That would be my wife with my lunch." He pushes to his feet. "Let me go get rid of her."

I follow him to his feet. "That's not necessary. We'll be leaving anyway. Let's count the cash."

He hesitates. "Counting money in front of my wife is a negative for me. I need to get rid of her. I'll be fast." He doesn't wait for an answer, heading for the door, but not before he s.n.a.t.c.hes the d.a.m.n keys. Cursing the delay, I walk to the bathroom door and knock. "Gia, we're leaving." She doesn't respond immediately and unease rolls through me. "Gia-"

The door swings open. "Sorry," she says, swiping hair behind her ear, her eyes bloodshot, skin pale. "I'm not feeling grand. Are we ready to go?"

Whatever is going on with her, I don't like it, but this isn't the time to figure it out. I grab her hand and lead her back into the front office, and scan for Jeff, who isn't anywhere to be found. Neither is his wife's car. A frisson of unease goes down my spine.

"Where's the salesman?" Gia asks.

"Good d.a.m.n question," I murmur, walking behind the desk and opening drawers. "Bingo," I murmur, grabbing keys with a tag that reads "Blue Dodge." Walking to the window, I scan the cars and find no signs of life. I do find the Dodge, and it's sitting in the center of the lot, blocked in. "f.u.c.k."

"What's happening?" Gia asks, moving to my side.

"Nothing good," I a.s.sure her, offering nothing more. Focused not on her, but on getting us out of here alive. The back door gives me no visual. The front makes us targets, but the cars are lined up close to the exit, offering good coverage.

"They found us, didn't they?" she asks from beside me.

I reach down and remove my gun from the ankle holster, barely glancing at her as I instruct, "We're going out the front door and between the two cars to our right." I turn to face her. "You go first so I can cover you. Get down low and stay that way."

"Low," she agrees. "Happily."

"Now," I say, opening the door without giving her time to develop a case of nerves, or us time to end up trapped, if we aren't already.

She goes down low and darts forward, and I follow, unzipping my bag and holding my hand with the weapon inside, where it won't be seen, as I do. In what feels like about a hundred heartbeats, though it's more like ten, we are between the two cars.

"Keep going," I encourage, urging her to the next row of cars, and toward the rope that divides the lot from a McDonald's. If we were seen, it's the predictable way to go, which means we can't hesitate or we'll be toast.

Gia seems to understand as well, driving forward and under the rope. I follow and in unison, no words needed, we head to the row of parked cars and kneel between the first two. I check the locks on some sort of Jeep. She checks the doors on a pickup.

"Here," I say when mine opens, and wasting no time, she climbs inside the side door and scoots over, going low. Again I follow her, settling the bag between us, my gun at easy grip range. Praying the owner doesn't show up when we're in the car, I quickly yank the dash panel off and connect wires, bringing the engine to a start.

"Chad," Gia says urgently, and I glance up to find that two men wearing gloves, both Mexican, I think, with the hard edge of hired professionals, have just cleared the rope.

I put us in gear, back up, and hit the accelerator.

EIGHT.