Without waiting for her to answer, he moved closer, and his voice hardened. “They beat you.” She still had bruises and some abrasions from her family on her face, though they were now mostly healed. She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice in the dim light.
“How’d you do it?” she asked again.
He glanced back at the building. “They’re not the lie detectors you are.”
“You didn’t implicate me at all.”
“How do you know?” But then he lifted his chin. “You called your contacts. CIA.”
“I didn’t think they’d do anything to help, but I got in touch with my old handler, and once I told her what was going on, she pulled a lot of strings.” She was still surprised. She added, “I’m sorry it took so long.”
“You didn’t have to do it.”
“You set me free. How could I leave you to rot?”
They were quiet.
Mac walked over and rubbed against Lyndon’s leg.
“Good boy,” Lyndon said.
“They caught James,” Kadance said. “I suspect you helped with that somehow. They confiscated the last of the virus.”
“Good.”
More quiet.
Finally, Kadance said, “I’m sorry. For Angela.”
He paused. “They tricked you.”
That wasn’t an excuse—she’d never forgive herself for it. But she left it at that. She’d just needed to say the words to him, even knowing they wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t redeem her in his eyes. He still knew she was a murderer. It was worse than what he’d seen her do to the mercenaries at Dr. Ibekwe’s house. That’d been self-defense. Angela had been an innocent.
“Thank you for everything.” He started down the sidewalk.
She turned the opposite direction, toward where she’d parked her car.
Each step hurt.
But she didn’t deserve him, and now he understood that. It was better this way.
She paused and looked back at his retreating figure. She wanted to memorize him.
But then she kept going.
“Kadance.”
She turned.
He hesitated but then walked toward her. He stopped a few feet away and just looked at her.
Silence.
“I told you why I broke up with Angela.”
“You didn’t feel strongly enough.”
“And the reason I figured that out was because of the girl across the quad.”
She nodded.
“She had hair like a flowing black river. It blew in the wind and showed her neck and profile, her golden skin.” He paused. “Why didn’t you wear a braid that day?”
She couldn’t respond.
“I still think about that memory. All the time. I think that’s the real reason I haven’t ever been with anyone else. Some part of me was always thinking of that girl,” he said. “It was you.”
Quiet.
“It broke,” she said. Then she added, “My hairband.”
There was a slight smile in his eyes. “I probably wouldn’t have noticed from so far away if your hair hadn’t caught the wind. And your skin was darker because you’d just returned from the Middle East, or perhaps because you’d been out on the range with your family every day since returning.”
She had no idea what to say.
“I just want you to know—” He paused. “I will always be there for you. I respect your wishes, but I will always feel the same. If you ever need anything, I’ll always be there. Anything.”
A tear fell down her cheek.
He moved a step closer and murmured, “Kadance?”
Another tear fell. She couldn’t think clearly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I . . . You know what I’ve done. How could you still . . . ?”
His tone was muted. “I see the light in you.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. She didn’t know how to deal with so much emotion. It strangled her.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest.
She breathed.
That was all she could do—just breathe.
He was warm, and his heart was a steady and quiet thud. He caressed his fingertips lightly over her hair. She felt calm and safe. And not just safe from physical harm, but from all the other things that’d hurt her all her life, all the things so much worse than physical harm. All the things she’d always believed she’d have to live through.
Several minutes passed. Her tears stopped, and her breathing evened out.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She curled into his chest and held herself to him.
She heard as his heart beat a little harder.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He gently lifted her chin, and she looked up at him. The way he looked at her made her feel like her armor had been ripped away from her. And for once, that didn’t scare her.
He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone.
Her lips parted.
He pulled her more tightly against him.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
He rested his hand on her cheek with his fingers curled into her hair, and he slowly leaned closer.
His lips touched hers lightly, barely a feathery touch.
She couldn’t breathe.
And then he kissed her again, lips slightly parted.
Time seemed to stop. She had no idea how long they stood there on the sidewalk. All she knew was she didn’t want this moment to end. His touch was soft. She could sense how much he wanted her, but she also knew that if she gave the slightest indication she wanted out of his grip, he’d immediately release her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted onto her toes.
He finally deepened the kiss.
And everything changed, everything her life had been. The vastness overwhelmed her. She could think about the future, a future with Lyndon. She could make plans and be excited about things to come. She wasn’t sure what she even wanted. She was just excited to have the freedom to consider it.
The one thing she did know was this, right here, how this felt, this was what she would always want. She clung to him more tightly.
They stopped, both breathing heavily.
She noticed people in passing cars were staring.
He touched her face with his fingertips. “I didn’t think,” he said, “that I’d ever get to touch you.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever want to, not anymore.”
There was a smile in his eyes as he brushed his fingers through her hair. Then he reached around her for her braid, took the hairband off the end, and unraveled her hair. The smile tweaked his lips.
Mac meowed.
His smile broadened as he looked down at Mac. “Are you feeling left out?”
Mac stood on his hind legs and pawed Lyndon’s leg. Lyndon picked him up and included him in a hug with Kadance.
Kadance rested her head on Lyndon’s chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving me.”
“Are you talking to me or Mac?”
She laughed. “Both.”
SHE RAN.
She’d finally orchestrated an opportunity, and she’d run.
Twigs snapped under her bare feet. She hardly felt the pain. It was the sound that rattled through her. They’ll hear. They’ll find me.
She somehow ran faster.
Branches reached out and scraped at her skin.
She slipped on some wet leaves but managed to stay on her feet.
She couldn’t breathe, but she kept going.
To her left, she could hear cars. It didn’t sound like a freeway, but maybe a rural highway. Should she try to hitchhike? But the thought of getting into a car with another stranger was too much. She needed to get as far away as quickly as she could, but she wasn’t getting into a car with someone. Logically, she knew the likelihood of finding someone as bad as those she was running from was remote, but logic wasn’t forefront fo
r her. Right now she was in flee mode. Survival.
Darkness started to fall like a shroud.
Go deeper into the woods and stay there tonight? She thought about rest, that she needed to stop and sleep at some point, but she couldn’t get her legs to stop running. She’d run miles already. She’d probably collapse before finding enough control to get herself to stop.
Lights in the distance.
Flee mode subsided slightly. Her survival instincts screamed at her to stay away from all people, but she knew she couldn’t very well stay out here in the woods the rest of her life, however long that ended up being. If she was back home, she’d have a fighting chance, but she didn’t know this area, what kinds of animals were native, which plants were edible. As she slowed her pace, she realized how cold it was.
She approached the edge of the woods and peered around a tree to the source of lights—a truck stop. There were so many gas pumps she couldn’t count them. There were big semitrucks with their rumbling engines that made her nerves feel like lit matches. They sounded just like the truck she’d been thrown into back home, the one that’d taken her over the border to this country. That was actually better than what she’d been living through the last several days. On the truck, there had been many women. They’d had each other for warmth, for comfort.
She hid behind the tree. Since when had that nightmare on the truck morphed into a positive memory? They’d lost a few of the women—a couple of them just didn’t wake up, and one had had a heart attack, she was fairly certain. But she was almost thankful they’d been taken early. It was a better fate.
The chill seeped into her bones, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
She looked over at the truck stop—warmth, a restroom where she could wash. She dearly wished she had some money. She hadn’t eaten in two days. And she couldn’t steal; her parents had raised her to be honorable, even when it was difficult, especially when it was difficult. But maybe she could find some food in a garbage can.
Carefully, she analyzed the area, identified all entrances and exits, watched the people. They looked so different here. But they didn’t appear to be particularly threatening.
She stood straight, took a breath, and pulled her fingers through her long black hair. Hopefully, her appearance didn’t draw too much attention. As she walked across the grass, she tried to wipe the dirt off her feet. All while watching every person, every vehicle.
She moved quickly across the asphalt and into the store. It was huge. There were cases and cases of cold drinks, shelves of food, even two different fast-food restaurants. She made herself ignore the bottles of water so close and headed straight for the ladies’ restroom. Mercifully, it was empty. She turned on a faucet, washed her hands, and drank. She filled her cupped hands over and over. Then she washed her face, her hands, her arms. She glanced at the door and decided to risk washing her lower half as well. She lifted her short dress and rapidly washed. Maybe she could blend in, disappear, if she was clean enough. She was drying off her feet with rough paper towels when the door opened. She watched the middle-aged woman peripherally but didn’t make eye contact.
The woman said something that she didn’t understand.
She looked up. The woman was staring at her, at the bruises on her arms and legs.
She stood, walked into a stall, and locked it.
The woman paused but then used the restroom, washed her hands, and left.
She stood there in the stall and stared at a sticker on the back of the door, written in both English and Spanish. “Human trafficking. Do you need help?”
MERIC PARKED AND GOT OUT OF HIS CAR. He glanced down at the other entrance before walking inside the store. As he passed the counter, he overheard a middle-aged woman telling the cashier, “I asked her if she was okay, but she just locked herself in a stall. She looked pretty battered.”
Meric turned and headed for the hall that led to the restrooms.
He stopped outside the ladies’ room.
SHE WAITED LONG ENOUGH that the woman should be gone, walked out of the stall, ignoring her image in the mirror, and headed for the door.
She peeked into the hall before slipping out the door.
A strong hand grabbed her arm.
Rage roared through her. She yanked at her arm, but before she could hit him or scream, he demanded, “Be quiet.” It took her a second to realize he’d said it in Spanish, not English. He lowered his voice, not calming, just quiet. “They’re outside.”
“Who are you? Let me go.” She was sure he wasn’t with the men who’d been holding her. He was far too well-dressed and polished.
She struggled to free her arm.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “They have both entrances covered. You need to call the police.”
“I can take care of myself. Let me go.”
“This country is different. The police will help.”
“No they won’t.” She yanked at her arm again, but he was so strong and she was weak from lack of food, almost no sleep, and all the running.
He held both of her arms and shifted closer. “Stop and think rationally. I know what you’ve been through, but you need to slow down and think. You have to accept help.”
She stopped struggling but glared up at him. He was tall with broad shoulders and strong hands, but she refused to feel intimidated. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“They kidnapped you—out of Mexico, based on your accent. They’ve abused you and plan to sell you. Am I getting it right?”
“How do you know that? Who are you?”
“Someone who pays attention and who happened to stop for a bottle of water at exactly the right time and place,” he said. “If you don’t call the police, I will. But you’re going to have to tell them your story.”
For some reason, tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She hadn’t cried at all since they’d taken her—cursed and screamed and fought, but not cried. Why did the tears want to come now?
As he looked at her, his expression changed—just something in his eyes. There was a coldness to him that covered him like a sheet of ice, but in his eyes, there was something else. Fury, but also pain.
“Stay here,” he said.
Then he walked away. Without pausing, he told the cashier something as he walked by. One of the words sounded like policia. Was he telling the cashier to call the police?
She shifted to the end of the hall and watched out the window.
He grabbed a man standing by the door, slammed him up against the glass with his face toward her, and looked at her. She realized he was waiting for her to confirm it was one of the men who’d been keeping her prisoner. It was the shorter one with receding blond hair, though he was only maybe late twenties. He called himself Carl.
As she looked at Carl, rage flamed up in her chest.
The polished man seemed to understand her expression. He turned Carl around, even as Carl struggled, and punched him square in the face. Blood splattered against the window, and Carl crumpled to the ground.
Then the polished man burst with speed she wouldn’t have guessed a man in such fine clothes capable of and caught another man who’d been running away from the other entrance to the store. He caught him halfway across the parking lot, put him in a headlock from behind, and dragged him back to the window.
She walked out from the hall to get a better look. She recognized Josh’s face, the face that tormented her nightmares. She made eye contact with the polished man and nodded.
He released the headlock, threw Josh against the glass, and punched him just as hard as he had Carl. Josh slumped to the ground.
The man walked back inside. “Is that all of them?”
She barely got the word out. “Sí.”
He turned to the cashier and said something. She heard the word that sounded like policia again.
The cashier stammered a response.
The man grumbled “useless” under his breath in Spanish. Then he took a cel
l phone out of his inside jacket pocket and dialed three numbers.
As she stood there, she realized the entire store had stopped and was staring at both her and the man who’d just knocked out two young, able-bodied men.
He had a short conversation on the phone, hung up, and went back outside to stand over his victims.
She was too shocked to move. Was she really free?
She couldn’t stand to be stared at any longer and went outside.
“You shouldn’t leave,” the polished man said.
There were just as many people staring out here, but it didn’t feel so bad. Maybe because there was one person here who understood her language. “I don’t know . . .”
“I understand you don’t know what to think yet. That’s a reasonable reaction. But you need to stay here and tell the police what happened.”
She realized she’d placed herself with the polished man blocking her view of Josh. Just the thought of looking at him made her want to run.
“If you don’t tell the police, they’ll be released and will be free to do the same thing to someone else.”
A thought struck her. “And they’ll arrest you for assaulting them.”
“Probably.” He didn’t seem terribly concerned about that.
But she was. “I’m staying.”
“That’s brave of you.” He said it matter-of-factly, obviously not intending to give a compliment, simply stating a truth. He glanced over at Carl, who was still unconscious like Josh.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What’s your name?”
“Meric.”
A couple of women standing by a parked car whispered to each other.
He glanced at the women and back to her. “May I ask your name?”
She hesitated. “Liliana.”
He glanced down at Josh and then back to her. There was that something in his eyes again. “Thank you for letting me help you.”
“You didn’t exactly get permission.”
She thought the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly.
The sound of sirens made her jump. A few seconds later, two police cars pulled into the lot.
“I’ll stay,” Meric said. “You won’t be alone.”
She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel comforted. Everything was suddenly alien.
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