by J. C. Cliff
“How?” I shake my head in amazement. How was he able to do all this?
“Did you forget who our families are?” He smirked. “I’ve learned from one of the best about how to obtain new identities and then relocate.”
“I’m not sure I've got it in me to do this. I mean my whole life is here. I was born here. My parents, my job, my family, and Griffen are here.”
“Look, we'll figure something out together, okay? We just need to get you some distance and time away from Vince. At least long enough to figure out how we're going to handle the next step.”
I nodded, agreeing with him. He’s right; I have to do this, otherwise I would wind up in jail.
“You’ll also need to ditch your cell phone. I packed a pre-paid burner for you, although I don’t think it is a good idea to call anyone for a while, including me. Wait it out for a couple weeks or so.”
“What?” I whispered in disbelief. “I can’t have contact with anyone?”
“You heard me. If you want a successful breakaway, this is the only way. You also need to dispose of the car the second you get to the starting point; give it away for all I care, but the car has to keep moving. Doing that will send Vince's men on a wild goose chase, giving you a nice head start.”
“I don’t know the first thing about hiking, Connor.” My chest became tight, and I found myself sucking in a shaky breath. “There’s got to be another way. My dad will protect me, and my bro—”
“No,” he interrupted, his eyes flaring with heat. “Vince probably has the same number of policemen on his payroll as your father does. There is no escape by doing it your way. The second you hit those trails, Vince and his men will hit a brick wall.”
We both fell silent for a moment, and I took the time to truly study Connor in a new light. Conflict swirled behind those bright hazel eyes of his.
“I am so sorry, Lexi. I hate having to let you go unprotected. It’s going to take a huge chunk out of my heart to do so.” He slowly leaned in, and I knew what he was going to do. He softly kissed my lips, something he had never done before. I don’t know why, but I let him. Maybe because this was goodbye.
Connor had always been the most thoughtful and kindest of the two men; he always showed me careful consideration and made me smile. Even through my tough teenage years, he had taken those extra steps, ensuring I felt special and cared for. That’s why I was shocked he had been working under Vince and going along with his plans, but I now realize he had an ulterior end game in mind in order to protect me.
Connor’s lips were soft and gentle as he brushed them against mine. I was relieved when he didn’t try for anything more. His kiss was sweet, sincere, and I could tell it was full of love. When he pulled away, he breathed softly over my lips, a slight strain to his voice, “Oh, Lexi.”
“Connor…” I tried to interrupt.
“Shh.” He placed two of his fingers over my lips to hush me. I saw in his eyes, his contemplating the need to kiss me again. “I had to kiss you at least once. I had to know what you felt like, because for years, you’re all I’ve ever dreamed about. You didn’t know what it was like to watch you from the sidelines as other men got to touch you…kiss you…have you.”
“Connor…”
“I know.” What did he know? That I didn’t feel the same way for him? He gently skimmed his lips over mine one last time before he pulled me into his strong embrace. Holding me tight, he said with conviction, “My love for you is absolute. It will never fade or falter. I vow to keep you safe and from going to jail.”
I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I believed him; his words were palpable, and he couldn’t be more heart-felt and genuine if he tried. “I love you too, Connor.” I did love him, but not in an intimate way.
He kissed the top of my head, breathing over me. “I knew the ultimatum Vince was going to present you with today, so I came prepared. I have all the gear you will need in the back of my truck.”
“How much time do I have?”
“You’ll have to leave by daybreak tomorrow.”
I have methodically gone through the list of items I've packed in my head at least a thousand times, making sure I haven’t left anything out. Before I left the house, I had damn near forgotten the most important article of all, my good luck charm. Only when I was heading out the door and getting ready to lock up the house did it dawn on me. I have never gone on a mission without it, not since my mother passed away.
I call it my good luck charm, but it’s really my mother's angel pendant - a small angel necklace with a white diamond in the middle. My dad had given it to her in the hospital after giving birth to me. Growing up, my mother never took the thing off. She even wore it into my adulthood¸ saying it had always reminded her to pray for me every day, especially when I was away on overseas military missions. Before she passed away, she wanted me to have it. I wanted to bury her with it, because it only seemed right, but she insisted I take it. She was always sentimental that way. I shake my head at the fond memory, recalling the day she placed the pendant in my hand. She told me to keep it as a reminder that she would always be watching over me, and that one day it would be replaced by a true living angel.
My mind veers back toward my supply list, as I take inventory in my head. This will be my last chance to stop and pick up any supplies I might have overlooked. I truly was in a quandary as to how I should pack. On the one hand, I consider this job a search and rescue, but then on the other hand, I felt the need to be tactical despite Moretti’s assurances. I never rely on, or hold much stock in, what I’m told. I never have. I believe in being prepared for any situation, but since there is only so much crap I can carry, I had to make compromises with myself.
I packed heavy with the MRE’s, and decided on my KRISS Vector pistol. At least with this particular semi-automatic, I can use it to take down any game if I need to and at the same time, be able to use it in self-defense with a suppressor. The gun is light and compact enough, and if I conceal it accordingly, other hikers shouldn’t notice it. Not that it’s illegal to carry this particular firearm on the trail—I just don’t want the added attention.
I’m not intimidated by the journey itself. My concern is the subject of the journey - the pregnant mafia princess, who has recently committed murder - that has me on edge. A woman being either one of those two things is already questionably insane, but combine those ingredients, and she can be nothing short of an unstable, catastrophic disaster.
I look over at Kimber, her tongue half hanging out of her mouth as she pants in the passenger seat. She catches me looking at her, and that's all it takes for her to wag her tail and nuzzle up to me. She’s going to be in seventh heaven on these trails.
“You ready for an adventure, Kimber?” I ask with a grin. Her ears perk up as if I'd said biscuit, which is our word for a dog treat.
Moretti has me meeting one of his men at the base of the mountain before I set out on foot. I called Tony back as I was packing, and requested a piece of his daughters clothing. He thought it odd until I explained to him my four-legged friend was coming along.
I pull up beside a black SUV, and Kimber gives off a low, menacing growl.
“Easy, girl. I feel the same way about the mafia as you.” I put my truck in park, and turn off one of my favorite songs, “Arms of Sorrow” by Killswitch Engage. I give Kimber a hand signal to stay put and then slip out of the car. I glance at my watch, taking note it only took six hours to get here. All in all, it hadn’t been a bad drive.
A man about my age with mirrored sunglasses on steps out of the car, wearing a serious face. I squint my eyes against the bright sunlight, trying to place him because he looks familiar. I notice his build mirrors mine as he silently hands me the requested t-shirt.
I take it from his hand, and when I hold it up to see what it says, I stifle a laugh. A cartoon of a female horse is standing on her hind legs, and the quote below it reads, Seriously? Don’t flatter yourself, Cowboy. I was checking out your h
orse. I look at the driver, and he shrugs his shoulders and grins. “It’s one of her favorite t-shirts. It’s so worn her dad forbids her to wear it, even in the barn.”
“So, she’s a horse lover? Good to know.” I hold out my hand and thank him. “I appreciate you driving this out here. Hopefully, I can find her a little faster with it.”
When he shakes my hand, he holds onto me a little longer than necessary, not letting go. I tilt my head in question. “This is where her car was last parked,” he informs me. “Please find her and bring her back safely.”
“That’s the plan,” I assure him with a smile.
“My father trusts you, and his trust isn't earned easily. Something is going down with her, and nobody knows what it is.” Piecing the puzzle together now, I realize I’m talking to Moretti’s son, and he must’ve seen my confusion, because he then introduces himself, “I’m sorry. I’m Preston, Lexi’s older brother.”
“I thought you looked familiar. You resemble your father quite a bit.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Well, Preston, you can be rest assured. I’ve got this.”
“Thanks, man.” He looks really ripped up over this, as well he should be. If I had a sister in this predicament, I’d be going apeshit.
“I need to get back to my dad before he rips the rest of his hair out. Keep us posted, yeah?”
“Signals may be sketchy, but I will check in when I can.”
He nods his head and slaps me on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Thanks, be careful.” He then let go of me and gets back into his car.
I turn around and get my gear out of the bed of my truck before I let Kimber out of the front seat. I lift the fifty some odd pounds of my mountain backpack and groan. Not because it’s heavy, but because I’ve become too damn domesticated. I've had my fill of playing Rambo in my younger years; since then, I’ve become too comfortable with life’s amenities.
At least it's springtime, which means the weather should make for perfect daytime hiking. As I lock up my truck, I mull over the thought of just how long my vehicle is going to wind up sitting here before I can get back to it. Either that, or Stryker and Hunter will have to pick it up. I’ve prepared and packed for all the worst-case scenarios I could think of. If there is one thing I hate, it’s not being properly prepared. I did have a few arguments with myself, forcing myself to not carry every gadget I owned. I get this from my father, and I can hear his speech now. “It’s better to have and not need, than to need and not have.”
If it weren’t for the help of my longtime comrades, Stryker, Hunter, and Travis, this rescue would have been nearly impossible for me to assemble in one day.
I wipe the sweat off my brow, and then call out to Kimber to slow the fuck down. Even though I paid out the ass for all this ultra-light camping and hiking gear, it doesn’t feel so light after about six miles in.
My mind has been racing with all the different scenarios I might encounter with Moretti’s daughter. The picture her dad sent me was worth a thousand words. She was pristine, beautiful, and perfect in every way. Her entire look screamed “entitlement,” and I could pretty much figure out what I thought her life was all about. There was no doubt she was used to the finer things in life. Being a mafia princess, I’d already envisioned her to be a bit prissy. I can see highly manicured nails, perfect hair, makeup, and designer hiking gear while out on these trails.
It feels as if I’ve been hiking at a three mile per hour clip, which is damn fast for this type of terrain, all the while having this heavy gear on my back. For every foot of elevation I climb, time gets tacked onto my hike as well. While it would be nice to find her before dark, not knowing her mindset, reminds me she could be ten miles ahead of us.
I look at my carefree girl running back down the trail and grin, shaking my head at her. Her little backpack hasn’t slowed her down one bit. She’s on cloud nine out here and having the time of her life. This trip is damn near worth it, just to see her happy.
She runs back to me, wagging her tail the entire way. “I know, I know. You want to find your mark tonight,” I tell her as I pat her on the head, “but let’s not give your owner a stroke in the process.”
Dealing with a retractable leash on these trails while having to navigate around bushes, trees, and underbrush is bullshit. Kimber had been trained to work off her leash in the military. It was drilled into her to move ahead of her handler so she could detect dangers, like mines and improvised explosive devices, among other things.
I understand why they have the leash law, and they need it, but for a trained dog such as Kimber, it’s simply not necessary. Nevertheless, to avoid unnecessary trouble, I used Velcro to adhere the leash onto the back of her backpack. Stryker thought my invention was funny as hell; I thought it was genius.
After I had Kimber smell Alexis' shirt several times and gave her some commands, her entire demeanor changed. Kimber became revved up, coming alive with excitement. I believe a large part of her misses the military work, but I think she’s turned this into a game - there is no sense of imminent danger, and it’s a human we’re scouting after, not bombs and enemies.
Three hours into the hike, Kimber suddenly goes down on all fours, wagging her tail, which tells me we hit pay dirt. Lexi really could’ve made some serious headway by now, working her way deep into these trails, but there she is. We're still far enough away from her for us to remain hidden from sight, and I give Kimber the signal to stay put as I slowly approach her from behind.
I have to give her credit because she did find shelter. The small wooden shelter has an overhanging roof, a wooden floor, and three walls. The structure is open to the elements on one side, but the roof is slanted in such a way it looks as if it would keep you dry in a rainstorm. I notice she has her stuff all spread out, looking as if she’s planning on staying here for the night. She'd be a fool not to.
This task was ridiculously easy. Had Moretti put any thought into this, instead of panicking, he would’ve known an inexperienced hiker such as she would’ve been sticking to the main trails.
She’s hunched over as if she’s trying to focus on starting a fire from scratch, but it’s not until I’m a few yards away I realize she’s actually in a small huddle, crying into her hands. She's obviously allowed herself to stop long enough to reflect on the past forty-eight hours of her life, letting her circumstances take over her emotions.
I come to a stop behind her and gently place my hand on her shoulder, softly speaking, “Hey, are you okay?”
She screams bloody murder, and then she flips her body around, landing square on her ass. Her hand covers her heart, and realizing I scared the crap out of her, I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I heard you crying, and thought you might’ve needed some help.”
“Holy shit,” she gasps.
Squatting down directly in front of her, I apologize to her again. “I really didn’t mean to startle you. I stopped because I was concerned.”
“It’s okay.” She takes several deep breaths, and then slowly exhales. “You just caught me off guard, is all.”
Being this close, I can’t help but notice what a natural beauty she is, and the picture her father had sent me is nothing like her now. She’s wearing no makeup on her flawless face, and despite her red, blotchy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, I can’t take my eyes off of her. Her cheekbones are naturally defined, and she’s got this olive complexion thing going on that gives off an almost regally refined look. So obviously, when she does wear cosmetics, as in the picture her dad had emailed me, she looks even more cultured and polished, almost as if she belonged on the red carpet.
Her dark brown hair has been woven into a thick braid off to one side, and the tail of it ran over her shoulder and onto her ample-sized chest. Her breasts…oh, hell…they’re perfect. With her heavy breathing accentuating them, I have to force my gaze back to her eyes, which are still wide with surprise. They're as beautiful a shade of li
ght brown as I’ve ever seen before.
“You were crying. When somebody’s distressed out here in the wilderness, it’s common courtesy to stop and make sure he or she is okay.” I take pause, staring her down, trying to decide for myself if she looks like a killer or not.
“Are you? Okay, I mean?”
“Yeah…yeah, of course,” she responds right away showcasing a false smile, one which looks practiced and perfected over the years. Since I’m privy to her background story, I know better, it's not a genuine smile.
I eye her with skepticism, and then pry, “What had you all upset?”
She takes a deep, cleansing breath before she answers, “The last day and a half has been pretty rough. I guess I let it all catch up to me.” She then gestures to the fire pit beside her and explains, “When I couldn’t get a fire going, I got overly frustrated and just broke down.”
I take off my ball cap and scratch at the top of my head in thought. I glance over at her gear, and it’s just as I thought; all of it is brand spanking new. She most likely has no idea what to do with half the garb in her bag.
I hold back a grin as I peel off my heavy backpack and lay it on the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I was raised to be a southern gentleman, ma’am. My mother, God rest her soul, would have my ass if I left you here helpless and didn’t bail you out, not giving your predicament a second thought.”
“Oh,” is all she says.
As I restructure her twigs, I dig around looking through all the items she’s laid out until I find what I’m looking for. I then look to her with a raised brow. “Watch and learn.” She nods her head and scoots in closer with interest.
Once I get the fire started, I explain how to build on it with bigger pieces of wood. I lean down to blow into the fire, helping it along, and ask, “I can’t help but wonder what a pretty young lady is doing out here all alone on these trails. It’s not safe.”
