by Holly Hart
“You asshole!” I hiss as we launch across the divide between houses, trying to position our legs in front of us for the landing. We hit the gravel with our heels as the momentum pitches us forward into a barrel roll.
We lie there on our backs, looking up at the sky and panting.
“Sorry,” he says before I can scream at him. “But we both know I would’ve jumped and you wouldn’t have. Besides, that was romantic.”
“You can forget everything I said about post-wedding blowjobs,” I say. “Starting right now.”
We manage to shimmy down a tree and reach the backyard gate. Chance double-checks the coast is clear before he pulls a key from behind a false brick on the façade of the neighbor’s garage.
“How did you know that was there?” I ask.
“People tend to tell me things when they find out what I do for a living,” he says, opening the door. “Like they feel the need to brag about their own security to me.”
There’s a late-model Range Rover and Toyota Rav-4 parked inside. Chance opens the driver’s door on the Toyota.
“Get in,” he says.
“Not the Range Rover?” I ask, doing as I’m told. “But you’re rich.”
He gives me a sardonic grin. “Good one. There are thousands of Rav-4s in Chicago. Not so many Range Rovers.”
“How are you going to drive it? Something this new can’t be hotwired.”
“With this,” he says, producing a key fob from his pocket. “I ghosted his radio-frequency identification signals the day he brought it home, for just such an occasion.”
I blink at him. “Of course,” I say. “I do that all the time. Twice on Sundays, sometimes.”
He shrugs. “It’s sort of in my job description.”
The garage door whirs behind us and he pulls out into the alley. There aren’t any surveillance vehicles that I can see, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Luckily, the brilliant afternoon sun will make seeing through the Rav’s windows difficult for anyone who might be looking in our direction.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we pull into traffic on Southport. “If they’re watching your – our – house, chances are good they’ve got eyes on your bank accounts and the Atlas offices.”
“That’s what the pack is for. Emergency cash and supplies.”
“So you’re whisking us off to your secret billionaire hideaway then?”
“Sorry,” he says. “That only happens in cheesy romance novels.”
“I stand by my earlier blowjob comment,” I say as we drive toward whatever the hell fate has in store for us next.
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Nine
56. SARA
Chance drops a bag of fast food onto the round table with the wobbly leg as I emerge from the musty shower in the bathroom. Turns out fate had a $50-a-night room in the Rest-All Motel near Grant Park in store for us.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was still on my honeymoon,” I say, toweling off my newly-blonde hair. Chance is lucky – he can just wear a ball cap to cover his.
“Nothing but the best for my gal,” he grins as he pulls the burgers and fries out of the bag. “I even got you the supersize fries.”
I fan myself with my hand to show he’s making me hot. It actually feels good against my steaming skin – at least there’s plenty of hot water here. Chance dives into his food as I sort through the clothes we picked up on a Walmart stop before we got here. I choose a tank top and pair of yoga pants before sitting down across from him.
“What’s our next move?” I ask, picking at my fries. I don’t have much of an appetite right now. Too much going on in my head.
“I wish I knew,” he says. “Obviously I have to clear my name, but I’m open to suggestions on how we go about that.”
I frown. Usually I can fake it till I make it, but right now, I got nothing.
“Where do you think Pearce got that story about embezzling and blackmail?” I ask. “It sounds a lot like what you told me, except a lot less flattering to you and Sully. But there’s enough truth to it that he must have gotten it from someone in the know.”
He shakes his head. “There were rumors before the operation about a financier in Mosul. And it wasn’t a secret that Sully and I took out that terrorist cell. But to draw the two together would be a stretch. Unless…”
I raise my eyebrows. “Unless what?”
“Hm?” he says, distracted. “Oh. Nothing. Just eliminating scenarios.”
Why don’t I believe him?
“Just remembered something,” he says, reaching into a white plastic bag. He pulls out a small box and slides it across the table to me.
“What’s this?”
“Burner phone for each of us. I’ve already pulled the SIMs from our mobiles so we can’t be tracked.”
I open the box to see a generic black smartphone. The number is on a white sticker plastered across the front. For some reason, this prompts a little thrill to run through me.
“I feel like Jason Bourne,” I say, grinning in spite of myself. “Or Janice Bourne. Or whatever. You know what I mean.”
He indulges me with a grin of his own.
“It is kind of cool,” he says. “Knowing we can’t go outside without the possibility of someone catching us. The stakes are high.”
“And hiding out in a sleazy motel is kind of awesome, too. Especially after the Sapphire and Bora Bora.” I shake my head. “God, I’m sick.”
“If you’re sick, then I am, too,” he says. “Your hair looks great, by the way.”
“Would you recognize me if you saw me on the street?”
“Sara, I’d still recognize you if I was blind.”
Awww….
I stand up and move to the queen-sized bed with the royal blue coverlet where I’ve laid out my clothes.
“Remember what I said before?” I say, opening my robe to him. “About rescinding my blowjob comments?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, eyes wide.
“Maybe I was too hasty.”
I take his hands and pull him toward me. He’s under my robe instantly, stroking my damp, naked skin as I unzip his cargo shorts.
Chapter One Hundred Fifty
57. SARA
“That wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile,” Chance sighs.
I nod. “But there was something so… I don’t know, dirty about such a squeaky bed. I mean, knowing that everyone around us could hear us. It was such a turn-on. And, to be honest – it kind of reminded me of the old cot in the rec center storeroom.”
He grins and rolls on his side to face me.
“No wonder you were even more energetic than usual,” he says. “If that’s possible.”
“Like I say, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”
I throw on the tank and yoga pants and take a seat at the table. I’ve finally worked up the appetite for my burger.
“I wish this place had a microwave to warm this up in,” I grouse.
“I’ll go get you a fresh one,” says Chance, pulling on his own clothes.
“You don’t have to. It’s fine.”
He holds up a hand. “Not another word. I’ll be back in a couple minutes with a fresh double cheese, hold the tomatoes, extra onion.”
Awww…
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’m your husband, Sara,” he says. “It’s in the job description.”
He grabs the keys to the old Camry we swapped for his neighbor’s Toyota at a chop shop in West Garfield. The guy thought we were pulling a sting on him, trading a new SUV for a fifteen-year-old sedan. Chance said take it or leave it, and here we are.
I’m learning how much Chance knows about being a criminal, and to be honest, it’s a bit disconcerting. And, to be even more honest, it’s also a major turn-on.
I take advantage of the time alone to call Grace on my new phone. She finally picks up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?” she says tentatively. The unknown number probably has he
r thinking I’m a telemarketer.
“Grace,” I say. “It’s me.”
“Sara!” she shouts, forcing me to pull the receiver away from my ear. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon!”
“Settle down. I’ve got more important things to worry about than your party.”
“Fuck the party! There are people looking for you, Sara! Very serious-looking people!”
Shit! I forgot Grace is staying at my apartment!
“Who were they?” I ask. “Did they leave a name or number?”
“All I know is they were in black suits. They said if you got in touch with me, I should call them immediately.”
“Okay, do not call them,” I say slowly. “That’s the last thing we want to do. Chance and I are… on the road. We have to lay low for a while.”
“Is that why your number is different?”
“Yes,” I say, not adding it’s also the reason my address, vehicle and hair color are different.
Okay,” she says. “But what’s going on? Weird stuff keeps happening.”
“You mean besides the men in black?”
“Yeahhh,” she says hesitantly. “Look, Sara, I talked to Tre this afternoon. I was trying to track you guys down. He said Chance is in big trouble.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s nothing we can’t handle, sis. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“There’s something else,” she says quietly. “Something Tre told me. It’s… not good.”
What she says next breaks my heart.
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-One
58. CHANCE
There’s an odd look on Sara’s face when I get back with her burger.
Everything okay?” I ask as I set it on the table.
“I called Grace on the new phone,” she says. “Some men in black suits came by my apartment looking for me.”
“Is she all right?” I ask, alarmed.
“She’s fine. Just a little rattled. But it blows the hope that we’re just being paranoid right out of the water. This is real.”
I came to that conclusion before we left the house, but I suppose my instincts are a little sharper than hers. Comes with the job.
She takes a bite of her burger, chews it automatically. I doubt she’s even tasting it.
“I’m sorry I brought your sister into this,” I say. “I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“I know that,” she says. “And Gracie’s tough. She can handle it.”
“Did she say anything else?”
Sara chews in silence for a moment before saying: “No, that’s it.”
I sit down in the chair across from her and toss my ball cap onto the shelf that also serves as the stand for the room’s old analog television set. Maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems more upset by her talk with Grace than she’s letting on.
But I won’t push her on it. We’re still feeling our way through all of this craziness – the situation, the marriage. The last thing I want is to put more unnecessary pressure on her.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.
“It’s yet another reason for me to get this shit sorted out as soon as I can,” I say. “I’ve got an idea that might work, but I’ll need your help.”
“Anything,” she says. “What’s the plan?”
“I need to get into Pearce’s offices and find out who his partner is on this deal. At the very least, that might help me figure out why he wants Atlas so bad. Maybe I can use that as leverage to convince the Sullivans not to sell.”
She looks at me sidelong. “You really want to add breaking and entering to the fact we’re already fugitives?”
“Technically, we’re not on the run from anyone because no one has charged us with anything yet. From a legal standpoint, we just have really poor taste in accommodations right now.”
“Semantics will get you nowhere,” she says. “Don’t make light of the situation. We’re in a lot of trouble, no matter how you look at it.”
I sigh. “Yeah, we are. I’m just trying to keep myself from dwelling on it and to think strategically. Panic and depression don’t help with that.”
She walks behind me and starts kneading my trapezius muscles through my t-shirt. It feels incredible.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” I sigh.
“Let’s say you find out who this mystery partner is,” she says. “How could you use it against Pearce? I mean, you can’t do anything about a legitimate business deal.”
“That’s just it – I don’t think it is legitimate. If someone is using Empire to buy Atlas and its influence in Washington, it’s because that someone doesn’t have either the money or the credibility to do it themselves. Pearce may have a reputation in the business world, but only a superficial one. Yeah, he’s a shark, but his checks don’t bounce.
“Someone with a less stellar reputation – an arms dealer, say, or a loudmouth media mogul – would never convince the Sullivans to sell, even if they had the money. So they go to Pearce, who uses his reputation to their advantage. Once he owns Atlas, the next buyer can be whoever is willing to pay him the money.”
Sara’s fingers continue to dig as she mulls over what I’ve said. I have to make a mental note that she likes to do things with her hands while she thinks. If she keeps this up, I might just nod off on her.
“So Jersey Boy’s uncle is the partner, that much I’m sure of,” she says. “We just need to figure out who he is. Piece of cake. There’s only, what, like nine million people in New Jersey?”
I chuckle. “Hopefully I can narrow it down if I get into Pearce’s computer system.”
She finishes up with my neck and gives it a little kiss before sitting down on the bed.
“And you can hack into his system?”
“Should be able to, yeah.”
She stares at me long enough for me to start feeling uncomfortable.
“What?” I ask. “Did I grow a new eye or something?”
“You learned all this stuff in the Marines?”
A jolt of adrenaline stabs my gut. No, hacking was definitely not a part of Marines basic training. I learned most of this stuff from certain people who I really don’t want to talk about.
“Sully had access to people with skills,” I say. “I’m really not at liberty to go into details.”
“Not even with your wife?”
“Sara, that’s something you’re going to have to get used to. Some of what I do is classified.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I get that.”
So why do I think she’s still hurt by it?
“Anyway,” she says. “What do you need my help with? Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about espionage or hacking.”
“Actually, what I need you to do is something you do exceptionally well.”
“Really?” she says, feigning shock. “And you want me to do it in public?”
I grin and shake my head. “I meant something else you’re really good at.”
“Which is?”
“I need you to draw attention to yourself.”
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Two
59. SARA
I can think of a lot of places I’d rather be at this time of night than Lincoln Park. Unfortunately, a jail cell isn’t one of them, so here I am.
And just in case sitting alone in a vast city park with nothing but the glow of the streetlights to see by isn’t bad enough, I’m also waiting for the person who threatened to ruin me just last week.
“You owe me so big, Talbot,” I mutter.
A smattering of people have walked past my bench since I got here: a few merrymakers staggering home from the bars, a bodybuilder jogging, a Goth-looking gal with two huge Rottweilers. But none of them are Quentin Pearce. When we spoke on the phone, he said he’d be here within a half-hour. It’s been over forty-five minutes now.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he bailed on me,” I say softly.
“Talking to
yourself, Ms. Bishop?” says a voice from behind me.
I leap to my feet and spin to face Pearce, who’s approaching from the grass behind the bench. Obviously a plan to catch me off guard and upset me.
“Quentin,” I say. “You startled me.”
“Not nearly as much as you startled me by marrying Chance Talbot,” he says, strolling closer to the streetlight so I can see him clearly.
I shrug. “You weren’t offering, so I figured I’d take the rebound.”
His jaw muscle twitches in the white glow of the overhead lights. Looks like he’s not the only one who can throw people off their game.
“Hilarious,” he says in a cold voice. “I assume you didn’t make me drive all the way here to make a joke. I was enjoying a pleasant night in with friends.”
“No wonder it took you so long to get here,” I say. “But you’re right, I needed to discuss a few things.”
“And you couldn’t do it over the phone?”
“We both know that phone lines aren’t a safe option for me right now. I took a big enough risk just calling you to meet me here.”
“Ah, yes,” he says. “I believe there are a few employees of the Department of Defense who would like to have a chat with you. Tre told me that they showed up at your apartment.”
Hearing Tre’s name makes my stomach flip. I’d love to tear Pearce a new one over luring him to the dark side, but I can’t talk about it. Literally.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I say. “I want this all to stop. How do I make that happen?”
“Tell your husband to sell his shares. It really is that simple.”
“And you’ll just let that happen? He can just walk away from Atlas with your money and everything will be forgotten?”
“I’m a businessman, Sara. Once I have his shares, you and Chance Talbot can run away and join the circus for all I care.”
I glance at my watch: it’s been almost an hour since Pearce left his house. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll have to drag this out.
“What about the DoD people?” I ask.
“I’ll use my influence to call them off. Apologize for sending them on a wild goose chase.”
