Rules of Survival (Entangled Embrace) Page 8

  “So maybe this Jaffe guy thinks so, too. Patrick calls to check in with his boss. Tells him he’s heading down to such and such to snap me up. Jaffe makes sure his guys get there first—but just in case they should cross paths with Patrick—or they fail—he sends them in disguise.”

  His mouth fell open. “That is the most convoluted thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Is it? You keep saying you’re not going to fork me over if there’s a chance he’ll hurt me. Maybe Jaffe knows that. He needs to come off smelling like a rose.”

  “You’re reaching,” he said.

  And maybe I was. He was right—not that I’d admit it—the whole thing was convoluted, but I still felt it deep in my gut. Those had been Jaffe’s men. Something big was going on here. I just needed to figure out what it was before it got me killed. Or Shaun. He was a pain in the ass, but was starting to grow on me. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him, but deep down, I believed he was a good guy. “We tried it your way, now we try it mine.”

  He narrowed his eyes and pushed aside his untouched burger. The moth had given up on mine and settled on his. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we still need these stupid cuffs off, and your friend can’t be trusted.”

  “I’m not going to say this again, so listen carefully,” he growled, fisting the white paper bag. The moth flew away. “Pat had nothing to do with those people showing up at the lot. I don’t care if they were Jaffe’s men, real cops, or whatever.”

  “All I’m going to say is that we told Patrick where we were going. Those guys showed up and tried to bag me.” I lifted our joined hands. He still wasn’t getting it. “You need to approach this situation a little differently now. If they snag me, what do you think they’re going to do with you? Pat you on the head and send you along with cookies? You heard that guy at the junkyard. Kill him. That’s what he said. You’re the him, in case you missed it.”

  “You still have no cold, hard proof that those guys are connected to Jaffe. This could be something entirely different.”

  Spend your life running from something—even if at the time you have no idea what it is—and you kind of develop a sixth sense for it. It’s instinct. But Shaun wasn’t an act-on-instinct kind of guy. He needed facts and evidence.

  That’s why I would give it to him.

  “Fine. Then help me get proof.” I bent close so I could look him in the eye. “I’ll make you a deal. You help me find out what really happened to my mom—which I believe will prove that this Jaffe guy is the one who had her killed—and I’ll go willingly to the police. You guys can collect your cash and be done with me.”

  He glared at me, suspicious. “All of a sudden you don’t mind being turned in?”

  There was a rock in his left hand. The muscles in his arm flexed as he absently played with it, squeezing the thing like it was one of those stress balls you found in the drugstores. We’d been chained together nearly an entire day now, and this was the first time I’d really taken a good look at him.

  The ghost of a thin scar ran from his ear, up across to his forehead, and disappeared into his hairline. It fit, I decided. Gave his face character and depth. Personality. His left eyebrow sat just a hair higher than the right. No. Not higher. Thicker. Like the right had been shaved at some point. A closer inspection revealed another scar, like the skin above it had been damaged somehow.

  Apparently my scrutiny was a bit too intense. He waved a hand back and forth in front of my face. “See something you like?”

  Shit. I was staring. Heat rushed to my cheeks and my stomach roiled. “I—you had a bug on you.”

  “A bug?” He moved closer. When he tilted his head to the side, the light from the street lamp caught his hazel eyes and made them look almost green. My favorite color. “What kind?”

  “A bee,” I answered without thinking. “It was a bee. A big one. Huge.”

  A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “Really? A bee? At night?”

  “Maybe it was something else,” I backpedaled. Shit-shit-shit. What else? A fuzzy?

  He leaned even closer, now only inches away. “Or maybe you just can’t take your eyes off me?”

  “Really?” I said, recovering and feigning annoyance. The truth, though, was that I was happy his mood seemed lighter. It wasn’t just that he seemed somewhat unstable when he got mad, but happy Shaun—even if he was irritating—was much better.

  He made a move to get to his feet. “I could stand up if you want. Make it a little easier for you to survey the entire package…”

  I tugged at the chain, bringing him back to the ground. “And anyway…” Shaun was nice to look at—really nice—but all it took was a few words from his oversize mouth to ruin the illusion. “If you help me get to the truth, I’ll deal with the cops. I’ll find out who killed her, get the proof I need to not only clear my name but put the bastard away, and be off the hook. Done deal.”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “I’m finished with all this, Shaun.” This was the most truth I’d offered anyone aside from Mom my entire life. “I need to be done. I loved my mom. More than anything. But I’ve been on the run my entire life—and I don’t have the facts, but I’m sure whoever killed her is the reason. I get why she did it now. Running, I mean.” I remembered the small bits from the letter I’d managed to skim. “She was scared. She wanted to keep me safe…but I’m ready to give normal a try.” I needed to give normal a try. “No more running.”

  His expression softened. “Even if I agreed, how would we even do that? Where are you going to find the proof you need?”

  “I’ll start with what I do know. Mick. We start by finding out who he is—and where—and how he knew my mom.”

  “Mick? You mean the guy your mom mentioned in that letter? So—what? You wanna look him up?”

  “Without a last name that might be hard. Mom stopped pulling the big times when I was born—but she still dabbled. She had to, to keep us fed… Whoever he is, if he was important enough for her to name in the letter, one of her ‘friends’ has to know who he was…”

  “And you’re suggesting we pay one of said ‘friends’ a visit,” he said, grudgingly.

  “Do you have any other ideas?”

  He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “I feel like this is backing us into a corner. Like we’re being herded. Trapped. I hate feeling trapped.”

  I picked up his untouched burger and handed it to him. It was cold and smelled horrible—he’d ordered extra-extra pickles. Mom would have liked that about him. She’d loved pickles. I had to take that as a sign that trusting him was the right move. “Welcome to my world…”

  …

  I was feeling a little paranoid after everything that happened. After hitting the safe-deposit box, we had more than enough cash to rent a motel room for the night, but a familiar itch in my belly told me it would be a bad idea. Jaffe’s men—or whoever they were—were still out there and undoubtedly searching for us. Mom had several associates in the area, but I didn’t trust that the cops weren’t keeping an eye on them in case I made contact. We needed something low-profile. Shaun said he had it covered.

  “Why are we sneaking around a Home Depot?” I asked as we crept along the side of the building. It was after ten and the employees were still trickling out the front door. There was a steady breeze now, and even though Shaun insisted I wear his jacket over my shoulders, I was still freezing.

  “You said you didn’t want to stay at a hotel, so we need a place to crash for the night.”

  “And you were thinking the garden center? Because I’m sure I could find a nice pile of dirt to stick you under…”

  He clutched his chest and squeezed both eyes closed for a second. “You’ve wounded me!”

  “And yet you’re still here,” I said, trying to hide my smile. Things between us seemed to have taken a turn, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was easier. More casual. I found myself forgetting, for chunks at a time,
that he was the enemy. “Seriously though, why here?”

  He poked his head around the corner of the building and pointed across the lot to the row of sheds. “Free room and board.”

  A line of twelve large wooden sheds—some made to look like miniature houses and others the definition of simple—sat a few hundred yards away. “Huh,” I said. This time I didn’t fight the smile. “That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

  He winked. “Of course it is.”

  We waited, hunkered down around the side of the building for what felt like hours. Finally the last people filtered out to their cars, followed several minutes later by the storefront lights shutting down. After the last car pulled from the lot, Shaun took my hand and started for the sheds.

  With a sweeping gesture, he said, “Your castle awaits. Which one will it be?”

  I skimmed the long row. A green one at the end caught my eye. It was perfect. There were pristine white shutters that surrounded the two large windows, and intricate latticework around the door. And just below the roof, there was a mock balcony with a host of colorful flowers and leafy greens. I imagined that life here, had it been a real house, would have been perfect.

  Mom and I would enjoy relaxed evenings on the balcony, the fragrant scent from the gardens wafting past as we sipped iced tea and gossiped about boys. Then, after it got dark, we’d head into the kitchen and dish some more over pints of ice cream, staying up ’til all hours until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore.

  “That one,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat, my imaginary future crumbling.

  We took one last look to be sure we were alone, then slipped inside. Shaun closed the door behind us and let out a sharp whistle. “Well, shit. I guess the movers didn’t get here yet.”

  “No tip for them,” I said, sliding down the wall in the corner. The moon was nearly full, so there was just enough light shining through the window to keep us from being completely in the dark.

  Shaun slid down beside me. He was shivering, but I knew better than to try to give his jacket back. I’d tried twice already, saying we should share it at the very least, but he insisted he was fine.

  I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I assumed Shaun would do the same, since we’d both had one hell of a day, but he didn’t. “I slept in a ton of these things when I was younger,” he said after a few minutes.

  I opened my eyes. His head was tilted back, aimed at the ceiling, and his eyes were closed. He looked so much younger in that moment. Not a smart-ass bounty hunter in training. Just a guy. Someone lost.

  Like me.

  When he told me Patrick took him in, he specifically left out why he’d left home to begin with. I knew how it felt to have secrets so I wouldn’t push, but I didn’t mind filling the silence. If I found out more about him as a result, then all the better. Knowledge was power. “Before Patrick found you, you mean?”

  “Yeah. It was January during a snowstorm. Spent an entire week in one. Not the best planning on my part, but I was a kid.”

  “Planning is overrated,” I lied—said it with a smile, too. I was proud.

  He opened his eyes and turned toward me. The grin on his face was actually worth the lie. “Right. Says the girl who’s mapped out our route in painful detail.”

  “Busted.” I laughed.

  He shifted until he was leaning sideways against the wall, facing me. “Do you ever just wing it? Wake up in the morning and face the day without a plan?”

  I shook my head. “No way.”

  “Why?” he said, voice low. He hovered dangerously close, and added, “There’s a lot to be said for spontaneity.”

  I swallowed hard and forced myself not to back away—or push forward. There was no denying the attraction, but I wouldn’t allow myself to act on it. “Not in my world.”

  He considered it for a moment, then nodded, sitting back in his original position. “Yeah. I guess I can see that.”

  I should have left it there and closed my eyes. Drifted to sleep and let the conversation die. But I was starting to realize something about myself. I liked having someone to talk to. It was nice to finally come clean about my life. It didn’t matter if I told Shaun the truth. He wasn’t there to judge me. I wasn’t trying to win him over. We were just two people stuck in a bad situation together. When we got out of it—and we would—I would disappear and never see him again. It might have sounded cold to a normal person, but to me it was sort of freeing. For the first time in my entire life, I had no reason to hide.

  “My mom did what she had to do, I get it, but it sucked,” I said. “I never stayed in one school for more than three months. I never had any friends. There was no control. I felt like a ping-pong ball.”

  He stretched his legs. “You never had any real structure.”

  Shaun was irritating. He was arrogant and spontaneous, and didn’t seem to think anything through, but he was also real. There was a good chance someone else would have felt sorry for me. Pitied me for all I’d missed out on and everything I’d gone through. Not him. There was no sympathy in his voice, only understanding.

  “Planning things out is the only area of my life I’ve ever felt like I had any control over. I try to stick to little things. I learned early on that bigger plans—what you were going to be when you grew up and where you were going to live long-term—tended to fall through. But the little things? Those I can have more control of. Even if it’s as simple as making a plan to get from point A to point B.”

  “That makes sense,” he said. “Control is an illusion, though, you know that, right?”

  “Maybe,” I said, forcing a smile. The wind outside kicked up, seeping in through the cracks and chilling the air. I shivered. “But the illusion helps me get through the day. Sometimes I need that.”

  He reached across and pulled the far corner of his jacket tighter around my shoulders, his finger brushing my cheek accidentally. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  I shifted closer, until we were shoulder to shoulder, and closed my eyes. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. It was just for the warmth.

  Just for the warmth…

  Chapter Ten

  “Friends” was a loose term when it came to con men. There were a few Mom considered trustworthy, but she made sure I knew that “trustworthy” only went so far. One of the most important of her rules—always remember there was no honor among thieves. Even your friends would sell you out if the price tag was right—not that I’d ever had friends.

  I figured my best bet at getting some information on who Mick might be was Gerald Collins. I’d never met the guy, but Mom told me all about him. She knew him from time spent in Kansas City long before I was born. He’d retired from the game and had hoarded his stash to buy a beef farm in upstate New York. He was the nearest, and also the most off-the-radar, so naturally, he was our first stop.

  “And what makes you think we can trust this guy?” It was early afternoon and Shaun had been on edge since we stepped off the bus. He insisted he wanted to call Patrick again, but every time I pointed out a pay phone on the way over to Gerald’s, he made up an excuse.

  It wasn’t a safe place to stop.

  Too many people around.

  Patrick was probably sleeping…

  He wouldn’t admit it, but he was rattled about what happened in the mall parking lot. He might not believe that Patrick was the one who ratted us out, but he couldn’t deny the facts.

  “Trust is a relative term,” I said with an offhand wave. “He won’t narc on us, though. No way would he bring the cops that close to home.”

  “Comforting,” Shaun huffed. He knocked twice on the screen door, then adjusted the hoodie to cover the shackles. “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

  “If it is, it wouldn’t be my first,” I said, trying to force a smile.

  “I have no trouble believing that.” His demeanor was different today. Warmer somehow, and I liked it. There were actually points that I forgot I was shackled to a bounty hunter. I found myself
laughing at his jokes and studying the lines of his face, committing them to memory. “It might end up being your last, though.”

  “Wow. And you called me dramatic…?”

  A few minutes later, a stooped old man appeared, cigar hanging from his lips and coffee cup in hand. Balding and covered with liver spots, he looked like a normal little old man—not a sexy mastermind who used to con rich women out of their millions. But he was. I’d heard stories. Mom used to tell me Gerald Collins was quite the James Bond type back in his day—whatever that meant.

  He took one look at us, rolled his eyes, and started to close the door. “How many times do I gotta tell you people? I’m not converting—”

  “Wait! We’re not here to convert you.” I jammed my foot in between him and the door just before it slammed shut. It crunched against my big toe and I bit back a scream.

  The pressure on my foot eased. He didn’t open the door all the way, but he left enough room to eye us suspiciously through the crack. “What ya want?”

  “My name is Kayla. You knew my mom. Melissa Morgan?”

  His eyes grew wide. “You’re Mel Morgan’s kid?” He gave me the once-over—tip to toe. After a moment, he nodded and pulled the door open all the way. “Yeah. I can see it. Ya got the same eyes.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing someone tell me I looked like Mom made me feel warm all over because I didn’t see it. Mom had been beautiful. Long silky brown hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a button nose. She always joked that her appearance was one of her biggest assets. She was cute. Innocent-looking. No one ever suspected a criminal mastermind when they saw her. And boy did she know how to work it.

  Me? I saw myself as shifty-looking. Suspicious. I wasn’t one of those girls who peered into the mirror thinking they were ugly or too fat, but I didn’t have that innocent, little-girl-lost look like Mom had. I gave off more of the “Oh crap here comes trouble” vibe.