“—Or never,” she said. She turned to Dean. “Can you take me home now?”
Dean glanced between Amy and the agent, who gave him a small nod. “You’ll keep us informed regarding any more sightings, won’t you?”
The agent nodded. “I understand you don’t have a cell phone, Amy. Maybe it’s time you got one. If I can find you at Promise House and get its phone number, so can Summers.”
She shook her head. “Meg wouldn’t tell anyone I was living there if she didn’t know them.”
The agent gave Amy a look. “She told me.”
“But you’re an FBI agent—”
“But she didn’t know that for sure, did she?” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two business cards, handing one to each of them. “You call me with anything, you got it? If you see him, if you even think you see him, you call me. I can be up here from Savannah in under an hour, weather and traffic permitting.” He gave Amy a somber look. “Even if you’re not sure. Even if you just have questions, you call me, alright?”
Amy looked at him, took the card, and nodded. Dean did likewise. He stood and reached for Amy’s elbow, gently clasping it in his own. Her face was still drastically pale. He wanted to urge her to do whatever the FBI suggested to keep her safe, but it wasn’t his place. All he could do was try to keep her spirits up. The urge to protect her was nearly overwhelming, the thought of someone coming after her leaving him feeling hollow inside. Could he possibly keep her safe?
9
Amy
Amy followed Dean out to his truck. She barely remembered leaving the room, or making the walk back outside the police station.
This couldn’t be happening. Had she misheard what the agent had just said? No. She felt sick, her stomach tight with knots of anxiety. It took every effort she had not to start crying, to drop to the ground. Her legs barely managed to hold her upright.
She appreciated Dean’s gentle, guiding hand on her elbow. She doubted she would have made it through the meeting in one piece without him. He wasn’t muttering empty platitudes or offering meaningless words of encouragement, but had just given her steady, quiet support. She appreciated that.
It was as if she were walking around in a bubble. Is that what a zombie felt like? There but not really there? Her feet were moving, her eyes gazing at her surroundings. She saw the trees blowing gently in the breeze across the street, smelled the hint of pine on the air. She heard cars starting, a burst of laughter from somewhere in the near distance. Birds chirping in the trees, clouds up in the sky. Everything was perfectly normal, but she was disconnected, as if she were watching herself from someone else’s perspective.
Nick. The fucking bastard. The surge of anger surprised her. Her parents had raised her to always turn the other cheek, and she was sure her mother would have a small heart attack at her language. That didn’t seem to matter anymore. She had always known, since the moment she was rescued, that she might eventually have to testify against them. Against him. She had hoped that she’d be able to provide a taped deposition, nowhere near the man who had robbed her of her trust and shown her that pure evil existed.
She hadn’t taken the agent’s warning lightly. She was terrified. Amy was tempted to run back to her room at Promise House and never come out. Her fear of being kidnapped again, tossed into another steel container, shipped off to—
No! Don’t go there!
The moment she had heard Nick’s name mentioned, it was as if something inside her changed, shifted. She no longer wanted to be a victim. She wasn’t ready to brave the world again, not yet anyway, but she would be damned if she was forced to start over at the beginning. She had to—
“Tell me what I can do for you, Amy.”
Dean’s voice broke through her thoughts. Somehow, she’d climbed inside the truck without noticing that, either. He sat there, in the parking lot, patiently waiting for her while she was lost in her head. If the man didn’t think she was an idiot already, then he had to now.
Amy turned, sliding the seatbelt into position, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Tell me what he looks like so that I can keep my eyes open for him. You better tell Meg and the others at Promise House, too.”
The calm voice of reason. All she could think about right now was her fear. Her overwhelming fear of slipping back into her self-enforced seclusion. She had just begun to feel slightly normal again. Still super-vigilant of course, but who wouldn’t be? She’d made strides in the right direction. She no longer shuttered herself into her room day after day.
Dean was quiet as he steered the vehicle back to Promise House, and she realized he was still waiting for an answer to his question. “Last I saw him, he had dark brown hair. Long, but not long enough to put in a ponytail. Longer than yours. Lean build, about one hundred seventy pounds, somewhere around there. An inch shorter than you, maybe.”
“Any distinguishing features? Tattoos?”
“Tattoos . . . yes, he’s got tattoos.” How could she forget? Over the past months, she’d forced herself not to think about Nick. When she found her thoughts straying in that direction, she purposely distracted herself. Someday, she was going to have to deal with her emotions about him. But not yet. He was out of sight, out of mind. She had been so proud of herself. Then Agent Hemmings had brought that all crashing down. “He’s got a tattoo of a moth with a skeleton face—you know, the one from that movie, Silence of the Lambs?” He nodded. “That one is on his shoulder blade. The right side.”
“Anything visible, on his arms or his face?”
The question caused her to turn toward him, the heat of a blush traveling from the base of her neck up into her cheeks. Shit. Well, that was embarrassing. “Yes,” she stammered. “On the back of his left hand, just below his thumb and index finger.” She paused, swallowed. “The same mark as the one on my neck.” She barely managed to choke that out before she abruptly turned away from him to look out the window. She didn’t want to see the look on his face. Didn’t want Dean’s pity. He swore under his breath.
She’d asked Nick about that simple-looking tattoo. He’d looked down at his hand as if he’d forgotten it was there. With a small smile, he simply told her that it had something to do with his family.
His family. Of course, she knew now that it had been a lie. Everything had been a lie. She must be the dumbest girl in the world. He must’ve thought her such a hick. A naïve country girl from Arizona. And the truth was, he was right, mostly.
“I know this is hard for you, Amy. But I want you to know, to tell you again, that you can trust me. And that’s why I’d like to make one stop before I drop you off at Promise House.”
She turned to him, eyes wide. “What do you mean? Where?”
He gestured toward the Target store on the corner. “I think you need a cell phone.”
Amy started to protest. “I don’t want a cell phone, Dean. They can trace those . . . ping them or something off the cell towers. And besides, I have no one to call.”
He turned to her with a grin. “You can call me, Amy. And there are ways to get around the GPS stuff.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“No problem,” he said, pulling into the parking lot.
He didn’t park close to the front doors, but about midway down a crowded aisle, pulling in between a small SUV and a sedan, then turned to her. “Do you want to come in with me?” Amy quickly shook her head and he frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” There was zero chance she could face even a small crowd of people in the store after the meeting.
Dean stood, hesitating for a moment, then spoke. “Okay. You stay here, but keep all the doors locked and windows up, alright? I’ll run in, buy a phone real quick, and be right back out.” He paused, taking in a breath. “You need anything else while I’m in there?” Amy shook her head. An instant later, he was out of the car, walking around the hood of the truck on his way to the front entrance.
She couldn’t help it. She tried to make herself smaller and hunched down in her seat. Dean was buying the phone, putting the purchase under his name so that there’d be no trace of her ever going into the store or buying a cell phone. She shook her head. He was one step ahead of her.
Was Nick?
10
Dean
Dean hurried into the store and headed for the electronics department. To be honest, he wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he returned to his truck to find Amy gone. Would she try to walk back to Promise House from the store? He had been left jittery and anxious from the meeting with the FBI, and so he could only imagine what she was feeling. He shook his head, focused on the task at hand. Get in, out, and back to her. He momentarily perused the phones, grabbed one, and then grabbed two of the prepaid-minute phone cards.
In a matter of minutes, he was out of the store and heading back toward his truck. He nearly sighed with relief when he saw Amy still sitting in the passenger side. She was somewhat slouched down, but still there. A wave of sympathy swept through him, but he tried not to show it. He could already tell that she didn’t want anyone’s pity.
He wove his way between the couple of parked cars facing the front of his truck so as not to startle her. Climbing into his truck and locking the door behind him, he pulled the plastic phone package and one of the cards from the plastic bag. Amy stared at it.
Tearing open its package, he grinned. “Not what you were expecting, is it?” He glanced at her and then returned his focus to pulling the flip phone from its thick plastic case. “There’re several reasons why I chose this,” he said, struggling with the damn plastic wrap. “For one, it’s small enough to slide deep into your pocket. It won’t fall out. My iPhone falls out of my pocket all the time. In fact, I should get myself one of these.”
She said nothing as he balanced the phone on his leg and shoved the plastic remnants back into the bag. He pulled the other card out and handed it to Amy. It took him only a moment to activate the phone and load in the minutes, and then another few moments to add some numbers to the contact list. He pulled the business card from the FBI agent from his pants pocket, punched it in, and then finally handed her the phone.
“I put all of us on speed dial. I’m number one, of course.”
She gave him a weak smile as she reached for the open phone. He’d added in his name, then the land line of Promise House. Below that, the FBI agent. She could add in Sloane’s number later.
“You still have that business card the FBI agent gave you?” She nodded. “Keep it handy.”
Amy softly closed the lid of the phone and then, adjusting her position in the seat, shoved it into her front jeans pocket. “Here’s the charger.” He handed her the charger cord, still coiled. She took it and shoved it into her other pocket. “Keep the phone charged all the time. Keep it turned on all the time too, okay? Those have a good battery life on them. With minimal use, the charge will last several days, maybe even a week.”
She glanced at him and nodded. She looked so confused, so uneasy. He reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll find him.”
She nodded again and folded her hands in her lap, turning to stare out the window. At least she hadn’t flinched when he’d touched her. Dean started the truck and pulled away from the parking lot, heading back toward Promise House. He’d just turned the corner and started down the street when she asked him to stop. Dean didn’t ask why, but immediately pulled over to the curb. He put the truck in park, leaving the engine idling. Amy hesitated. She stared at the shelter several houses down before turning toward him, her eyes wide, the pulse in her neck once again jumping erratically.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “For the first time in months, I’m not sure I want to go inside.” She turned again to stare at the house before turning back to him. “What if he knows where I live? What if he’s found out somehow?”
It was a very real possibility. Dean didn’t have to tell her that. “I have a spare bedroom. You’re more than welcome to stay at my house until this blows over.” He blurted the words out without thinking. How could he have been so stupid? He didn’t want to pressure her. She had enough to deal with today. He could’ve come up with something better than that, couldn’t he—
“You wouldn’t mind?”
Dean blinked. She trusted him that much? The thought made him a ball of nerves. He was determined to do right by her. “Not at all. There’s plenty of room. I’m gone a lot of the time, but I’m sure Penny would be happy to have you around.”
She was actually thinking about it. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected that. Not really. Not that he regretted the offer. He didn’t. It would be an excellent opportunity to get to know her better. A lot better. It wasn’t just a physical attraction, but the emotional connection he felt with her. If she could learn to trust him, maybe a relationship would eventually be possible. He couldn’t deny his attraction. It was there, causing his heart to accelerate every time he was within arm’s reach of her, his dick responding to even a glance at her. What if she—
Idiot!
The girl was frightened out of her wits, afraid to go to the one place where she had felt comfortable and secure and all he could think about was his dick? What the hell was wrong with him?
“Alright, thank you. Maybe just a day or two until I feel a little better . . . a little safer. Maybe they’ll catch him quickly . . .”
Dean forced himself back to the conversation. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” He pulled away from the curb and Amy gasped in surprise. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you settled and then I’ll come back later to pick up anything you need. You can call Meg and tell her what you need. If anyone is watching Promise House, I don’t want them to see you packing a bag and then decide to follow me to my place.”
She gave him a look. He knew what she was thinking. “I’m not trying to alarm you, Amy, but if this guy is trying to find you, we don’t want to make it easy for him. He could have eyes on the house. Either by himself or some crony working with him.”
“Crony?”
He laughed. “Sure, I know, it sounds corny. But true.” He wound his way down side streets, making sure no one followed them, making the trip back to his house longer than it needed to be, constantly checking the side and rearview mirrors.
“You think someone’s following us?” she asked. Her voice was sharp and Dean instantly realized the mistake he’d made.
Way to go freaking her out all over again.
He had to tread carefully with his reply. “No. But it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
“You look like you know what you’re doing . . . thinking about the phone, not going into Promise House with me to get some things, taking a round-about way back to your house . . . if that’s what you’re doing.”
“I have a little training . . . not as much as cops, but I understand the basics.” He wasn’t sure if she’d think that was good or a bad thing. Dean grinned and glanced toward her. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said. “When I was growing up, I got hooked on the Hardy Boys series of mystery books.” He saw the disbelieving expression on her face. “The Hardy boys were a couple of teenagers—”
She smiled. “I know. Frank and Joe Hardy.”
Her smile morphed into a laugh at the look he gave her.
“I liked the Hardy Boys, too.” She made a face. “So much more than Nancy Drew.”
Imagine that. What a strange thing, that a series of books about two amateur teenage sleuths published in the late 1920s would provide a link they both shared. He couldn’t help but ask, “Which one was your favorite?”
Her features relaxed and she leaned back in the seat, the tension completely gone. “The House on the Cliff. Yours?”
He grinned. “The Secret of the Old Mill.”
She smiled back, relaxing further into her seat. “Did you read all of them? I found some
at the local library and a few at the used-book store where I grew up, but not all of them.”
He nodded. “My dad had the entire set. I grew up around here. You?”
“Arizona.”
Well, how about that. They were sharing tidbits about their past. “This is my street,” he said. He slowed and pulled up into the driveway of the second house from the corner. The house had been built back in the thirties, square construction, with a wide wood porch surrounded by shrubbery and trees.
He looked at the house as if seeing it through a stranger’s eyes. “Could use a new coat of paint. One of these days, I’ve got to get out here and do some yard work. If I wait much longer, the house will be engulfed in ivy.”
“It’s lovely.”
He nodded, opening his door as she did the same. Glancing at the house, he smiled when he saw Penny staring back at him through the living room window. He chuckled and pointed. “Someone’s glad to see you.”
Amy looked where he pointed and then smiled before turning to him. “Thanks again for offering. I won’t put you out long. I just don’t feel comfortable going to Promise House tonight.”
“No worries.” He walked up the three short steps to the porch, then slid the key into the lock and slowly opened the door, knowing from experience that Penny would be right there. As usual, she wiggled with excitement and ran several happy circles around their feet as they entered.
“Let me show you the guest room and then you can call Meg and have her put a bag together for you. I’ll go pick it up and we’ll go from there, okay?”
She nodded and followed him up the short flight of stairs and down a hallway to the last bedroom on the right. They passed a closed door on the left. “That was my mom’s room.” He hadn’t gone in there much since she passed away, the memories still too fresh. He continued down the hall. He passed another door, halfway open. “Bathroom’s in there.” He pointed to the last bedroom on the right. “This has always been a spare bedroom. My room’s across the hall.”
Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3) Page 6
