Charlie is asleep now, her head lolling side to side as I drive along the icy roads. She's so pretty when she sleeps, her face, once pinched in lines of stress, now relaxes; and I hope that her dreams are better than the reality that she's facing.
Pulling off the side of the road, I park my car behind a large wooden fence. The snow is falling so quickly, I doubt anyone will be able to see it from the road. Within a couple of hours, it will be completely covered. That may be the only good thing about February blizzards
Looking back at her, I notice that she isn't dressed for winter-weather hiking. She's still in her Converse, her little blue waitress uniform, and wearing my leather jacket. She opens her tired eyes and looks around out the window.
“Where are we?” she asks groggily.
“We're just off the highway. About an hour outside of town. I'm sorry I can't give you more specifics than that. I'm glad you fell asleep or I might have had to blindfold you.”
“Really?” she frowns, a little surprised.
“Yes, I can't risk anyone knowing where this is, even you. When I tell you this is my safe house, I mean it. I don't have anywhere else for us to go after this.”
Nodding her head in understanding, she looks around squinting in the dark.
“Where is it? I don't see it.”
“That's the thing, Charlie. We're gonna have to walk. I know you don't have the gear for it, and I'm sorry. We don't have any other choice.”
She looks down at her bare legs and I know that within minutes her Converse will be soaked.
“Can't we just go to the police?” she asks.
“No, Charlie, we can't, I'm sorry. We don't know if we can trust anyone, not even the cops.”
“What do you mean, the cops? My dad's a cop.”
“Yes. Your dad is probably the best of them. However, he's not here right now. He's in California, which means that the police department is being run by lesser men. They can be bought, Charlie. I know from personal experience.”
“Are you telling me that you bribed police officers?”
I pause for a moment, wondering the best way to explain this to her.
“Yes, Charlie. I have bribed police officers for information, or to turn a blind eye when one of my men is working on something.”
“Oh God, Noah.” She sighs, rubbing her good hand against her tired eyes.
“How many crooked cops are there on the force?” she asks.
“In our town?” I pause to think. “I know of at least five.”
“Five!” she gasps. “It's a really small department! Are you telling me that most of them are bad?”
“Well, I wouldn't say that they're bad men.” I shrug. “I would just say that they are opportunists. They're like anyone else. Charlie, just because they have a badge doesn't mean they aren’t human. We all have to put food on the table and cops make terrible money.”
She frowns. And I wonder what she's thinking.
“What are the names of these average men?” She rolls her eyes.
“No, no, I can't tell you that. You'll tell your dad; and then I will lose some of my favorite rats,” I grin.
“I thought you were reformed.” She rolls her eyes at me.
“I don't know that anyone can truly be reformed. I'm no longer peddling drugs if that's what you're wondering, but I have my hand in other things. By the way, tell your dad and I'll deny it,” I add, sliding out of the car, wrapping my coat around me.
I wonder if I have anything in the trunk for her. Walking around to the trunk. I open it. I see a flashlight, a roadside kit, kitty litter, and a single quilt. Looking up and blinking against the heavy snowflakes, I know that the quilt will just have to do.
“What if we call the police officers that aren't on anyone's payroll?” she asks, climbing out of the car, wrapping her arms around herself. “Maybe we can find the people that Raul hasn't bought, and then everything will be okay.”
I try not to smile. The naivety is amusing though. I never saw the world the way Charlie does; I never had the opportunity to be optimistic and unjaded.
“Every man can be bought.”
“My father can't,” she says, defiantly.
“For the right price, he could be.” I keep my voice casual.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “You're just saying that to make yourself feel better.”
“Charlie Traverse,” I say, turning to face her, not sure if I should be offended or impressed. “I have never heard you speak that way before, so dismissive and rude, especially to an elder!”
“Please, you're not my elder, you aren’t that old.” She shivers, looking around. “And I'm cold. Forgive me for being snippy.”
“It's quite alright,” I laugh, walking over and wrapping the quilt around her. “And yes, your father can be bought.”
“What's his price?” she demands.
“Same as mine― our children.”
Her lips part in surprise, not comprehending that one’s loved ones could be seen that way.
“Men will do all kinds of things for the women they love,” I say, turning away from her and closing the trunk. “I wasn't insinuating that your father would commit a crime for a million dollars. I'm saying he would do something horrible to save you or Lucy, and that might be the only reason why I like that man.”
“Oh my God, he's not that bad,” she laughs, tucking the blanket tighter around herself.
“That's because you didn't grow up with him,” I reply, clicking on the flashlight and grabbing a couple of branches to place on top of the car.
“Are you saying my dad bullied you?”
“I'm saying he deserved every ass-kicking I gave him,” I call over my shoulder, surprised as she laughs.
“Funny, my dad tells us stories about you differently.”
“Oh, I'm sure he does,” I chuckle and turn, gesturing towards the trail just to the left of the trees.
“How long is the hike?” she asks, walking side by side with me, her teeth chattering after about a mile.
“Just a little further. I’m sorry.” My tone is apologetic.
She doesn't complain, though. She simply nods and keeps pace with me. My body slowly goes numb as we trudge through the snow that comes up past my ankles. I'm wearing my work boots, so I know that I'm better off than she is. I can’t help glancing to my right. She's adorable. And a little pitiful trudging through the snow. The quilt is tucked high over her head, like some kind of Eskimo. It reminds me of when she and my daughters were children. How they would wrap themselves up in blankets when they were cold during fall camping in one of our backyards.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I'm okay.” Her teeth chatter, giving her away.
I wonder if I should carry her? I might have to. The snow is getting thicker. And I can't have her fainting on me. She's been through so much already.
“Charlie?” I ask, trying to distract her.
“Yes?”
“What have you been up to recently? Now that you're in school?”
“Oh, well. Mostly I've been working. We're on an extended weekend break for the holidays.”
“Really? What holidays?” I frown, looking up at the snow falling from the sky.
“Valentine’s Day and Presidents’ Day.”
Shit. I haven’t celebrated either of those holidays in a very long time. I completely forgot about them.
“So how were you going to spend this little break?”
“Working, mostly.” She repeats a lot. “I was going to try to visit my mom but she flew to Florida.”
“No boyfriend?” I ask partly curious, partly just trying to keep her talking. I know she said no earlier but I don’t know how much of that was shock.
Her teeth chatter, and I can tell it’s difficult to speak.
“No, no boyfriend, right now. I’ve dated in the past year, but there is nothing concrete. I never found anyone interested in me that I liked too.”
“Guys will
always be there.”
“Right,” she smiles, looking at me. “Yeah, I suppose that's true.”
“And have you noticed anything different this last week? Any suspicious characters? People watching?” I press, changing the subject.
“Mmm, no,” she says slowly with a slight lisp. I wonder if her tongue is numb now. Christ, she is going to have hypothermia by the time we are through. “No, I haven't seen anyone. But,” she says after a pause, “I think― maybe it sounds silly― I think everyone gets this way when they're alone. I feel as if someone was watching me. You know, like, leaving my house, or in a parking lot. It's just random. I know everyone feels that way, especially women. So, it's probably nothing.”
“Yeah,” I say with a frown, and feel a sense of relief as I see the outline of a cabin on the horizon. “Hey,” I say with a smile. “Look up there.”
“What?” she asks, squinting through the dark. “Oh, thank God, we’re here,” Charlie gushes.
Chapter Seven
Charlie
God, that was a cold walk! My teeth are chattering like crazy. I don't know if I've ever been this cold in my entire life! As a Wyoming native, I like to think that I'm used to it. I don't have issues adjusting from the early winters, or the random cold snaps that come in the summer.
Wyoming is for the hearty, and up until this moment, I considered myself such an individual. Now, I felt like I’m becoming a human icicle. Blood frozen dry in my hair, teeth chattering, and toes numb, I can hardly feel the pain in my joints.
I wonder if I wasn't meant for somewhere more exotic, like Florida. I should have gone to Florida with my mom. God, that sounds nice right now. I'd be snuggled up in bed and dreaming about myself in a bikini on a beach in Miami. Instead, I'm here, dying of exposure in a dark cabin with a man who is as dangerous as he is sexy.
Noah shines a flashlight around the room, casting ominous shadows. Despite the darkness, it could be considered a nice cabin, rather high-end. It's much nicer than I expected after seeing his apartment. That place was a dump.
The safehouse though, has a large fireplace, hardwood floors, and an expensive looking leather sofa. I wonder if he actually owns this place, or if it is some kind of con. Are we squatting in a wealthy man's cabin in rural Wyoming? Won't this be an interesting story to tell Lucy about, I muse.
Standing frozen in the middle of the room as he carries a flashlight to a pile of wood, I watch as he crouches in the dark.
“I don't know why the lights aren't working. I have a backup generator,” he mutters to himself.
“There's power all the way out here?” I ask, my lip trembling from the cold.
“Yes,” he laughs, glancing over his shoulder at me. “There's power here. There's also gas lines and cell service.” He teases.
“I left my phone at my dad's house,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“Good. You won't be tempted to call anyone and give Raul a solid lead.”
“You think he would track my phone?” I ask.
“I don't know what he would do. But if you ask me, he's pretty damn invested in finding you and killing you,” he says so calmly that I almost wonder if he realizes the effect those words have on me.
I say nothing as I watch him build the kindling and light a match. I desperately want to run over and stand beside the small flame, though I know it will do little to warm me at this point. Taking careful steps forward, I step closer to the fire. I'm so cold.
“Okay,” he says, stacking the kindling neatly. “You stay here. I'm gonna go see if I can find you more blankets,” he says, rising and walking down the hall out of view.
The small fire gives an ominous glow, illuminating the expensive area rug. Maybe I should have taken off my shoes. I frown, then laugh, wondering if it even matters, considering the state of my dress, stained crimson.
I hear water running and turn my head. That's strange. I wonder what he's doing. Maybe he wants to clean the cuts on my arm and hand again. That water is going to be freezing.
Creeping closer to the fire, I shiver and wonder about Noah. He has such a reputation for strength and danger. I wonder if underneath it all, there's a gentleman. I like to think so, considering how well his daughters turned out. I can't imagine Lucy or Abbie coming from a home with a man who's little more than a brute, which is exactly how my father has described him.
That isn't what I see, though. Sure, there is a hardness to him, and his life hasn't been easy. I can tell just by looking at him. The scars on his back that he hides, the tattoos marring his skin. They tell a tale of a man who's fought for everything he has and won.
“Okay,” he says, coming in behind me, his boots echoing through the halls. “I’ve started a bath for you. The water should be hot. I checked; the pilot light is still on. Thank God I went with gas, instead of electric, with that thing,” he says smiling at me. He shakes his head, bending down and pulling me to my feet gently, careful not to touch my arms. “How’s your hand feeling?” he asks.
“It’s not so bad,” I say, trying not to flinch as he takes my hand and unwinds the gauze to examine the wound.
“After you take a bath, you're gonna feel so much better. Also, we should get another look at your injuries,” he says, guiding me down the dark hallway, lit by a single candle on a bookshelf.
I see nothing as I am led to the luxurious bathroom with a large bathtub, big enough for two.
“Wow,” I awe, looking around the room. “I wasn't expecting it to look like this.”
“Yeah, it's a nice place.” He shrugs. “You go ahead and wash up, relax, I'll take a shower after you're done.”
I look at myself in a dimly lit mirror, as the candlelight flickers around me. I look like a victim from a slasher film, or perhaps the heroine because I am still alive. My green eyes look a bit wild like I've seen too much too soon. My long hair is matted, as I knew it would be, blood and sweat tangled together.
“God, I look awful,” I mutter.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and our eyes meet in the mirror. He looks down. Does he regret saying it? Perhaps he's like me and says things without thinking.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for helping me. I know this can't be easy for you.”
“It’s fine,” he says, looking back at me in the mirror, a slight smile touching the corner of his eyes.
He’s gorgeous.
That’s my only thought as I watch the flickering lights cast daring shadows across his face. I can tell he’s had his nose broken at one point in time and his lips curve into a small smile almost hidden by his beard. Lowering the blankets that I've worn since I left the car. I look over my shoulder at him. I'm not sure how I feel about him being here while I undress.
Suddenly, his eyes look down again, and I think he understands.
“Sorry, I’m just going to,” he gestures behind him toward the door.
Reaching for my zipper, I gasp in pain. I forgot that my hand was almost hacked in half. I have to stifle a moan at the sudden shooting pain up my arm.
“Are you okay?” he asks, from the door. Looking at him in the mirror, unable to speak from the burning sensation, I nod my head. “It’s okay. I can do this.” I try once more to clasp my hand around the zipper of my uniform and whimper.
“Oh, for God's sake, Charlie, let me help you,” he says, his voice pleading as he walks over and grabs the top of my uniform. I say nothing, lowering my hands, inhaling slowly, hoping the pain will ease faster that way.
“Sorry,” I groan. “I was just a little embarrassed.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says casually, unhooking the top clasp. “I’ve seen girls in their underwear before.”
“I know,” I say, defensively, unable to meet his eye in the mirror.
My heart beats faster. And I can't say if it's from the pain or from the proximity to him. He steps closer, slowly sliding down the zipper, and my skin hums where his fingers touch. I think he feels it too, because suddenly
he slows down, and his expression changes in the mirror.
I don't know what he's thinking. All I can say is what I'm feeling. I feel weak, anxious, and a surprising sense of longing. Forcing myself to be calm, I exhale slowly, my breath uneven.
How can he affect me this way? No other man has and I have been with others before. So, why do his fingers send my pulse racing?
I watch his face in the candlelight as he slowly unzips my uniform and stands holding the pieces together.
His voice is in a low tone I've never heard from him use before, “I’m not going to look, Charlie, but I don't know if your hand,” he pauses, glancing up at me, then looking back down to my zipper. “I don't know if you'll be able to get it off by yourself with your hand like that,”
I nod my head, giving him permission to help.
He closes his eyes and he slides my hair around my shoulders, letting it fall, as he pulls my uniform down my shoulders. I try not to flinch at the pain of it brushing against my arms, but it sends a throbbing pain through my body. I let out an unsteady breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I look back at his reflection. True to his promise, his eyes are still closed.
“Yes, I'm okay,” I whisper.
His hands reach forward, brushing against my back as he finds the clasp on my bra, and I feel my breath catching in my throat. It drops to the floor with a small clatter, his hands slide down to my hips and gently pull down my panties, leaving me naked in the mirror, my hair providing little privacy.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks, and I feel as if the air around us is pulsing.
I have this sudden urge to close the space between us, pull his hands back to me, to have him open his eyes and see me.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, feeling a wave of goosebumps cross my skin.
Eyes still closed, he nods his head. “Good, I will just be out here.” He gestures behind him.
CONVICT Page 5
