“You sure you’re the right guy?” Barry asked suspiciously.
I was tempted to ask him what he would do if I wasn’t the guy. Instead, I put out my hand.
“Give me the keys,” I growled.
“Right,” he gulped, and scrambled to retrieve them from his pockets.
I did my best to take them calmly and failed utterly. Barry jumped back as my thick fingers closed around the key ring and snatched it away forcefully.
“Where’d you put the plates?” I demanded.
Barry stammered out a reply. “Your sister put them in the trunk herself.”
I strode around to the back of the car and popped it open. I yanked out the plates, then paused. My wallet and a note sat on the bottom of the trunk.
PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT OUT ON BARRY. I PAID HIM NOT TO TALK TO YOU. AND I GAVE HIM BAD INFORMATION, ANYWAY.
I wheeled back to the car salesman. “She paid you not to tell me where she was going?”
“S’right.”
I frowned at the note. It didn’t make any sense. I knew exactly where she was going.
“What did she pay you not to tell me?”
“C’mon now. Whatever’s going on between you two is family business, and I said I’d keep my mouth shut.”
I gave him a toothy smile and grabbed him by the collar. “You made it your business when you took her money. And when you took my car.”
Barry swallowed nervously. “She got on a bus.”
I let him go. “A bus?”
“Yeah. I dropped her off at the station two miles out of town.”
I frowned again. Why would she send me to the bus station if she was going there herself? Why would she ditch the Mustang to get on a bus anyway? It would take her twice as long to get back to Trent Falls. It was a huge waste of time.
Time.
Shit.
That was her plan. To buy herself some time, and to waste all of mine. So how did she get home?
“Did you actually see P—Jayme, I mean, get on the bus, Barry?” I asked.
“No.”
“How much money did she give you?”
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Three grand,” he said with a sigh.
“Didn’t that seem like an awful lot of money to stay at work a little late and to not tell me something that you were just going to tell me the second I showed you my fist?”
Barry nodded. “I told her I’d watch the car for a hundred bucks and keep my mouth shut just because she had a pretty smile. She insisted.”
I drummed my fingers on the hood of my Mustang. “Do you happen to be missing any cars priced around the three-thousand-dollar mark?”
“What?”
“My sister is clever. And has some annoying ideas about morality. Have a look around,” I suggested.
Barry’s eyes scanned the lot quickly, and then his face went red. He scurried off to a line of beat-up cars. One spot was conspicuously empty.
“What was it?” I asked.
“An older hatchback,” he replied miserably. “Good shape, too.”
“What was the price tag on it?”
“Twenty-seven five.”
“So she gave you a deal, then.”
I shot him a dark grin, slapped him on the back, and headed back to my car.
Chapter Fourteen
Polly
As I pulled into my driveway, Painter’s phone rang for the eleventh time. It had started with two calls every hour, on the hour, and one on the half hour. Then it bumped to every fifteen minutes. This call was the third one in the past ten minutes.
I knew who it was, and I knew he would be getting more frustrated and angrier by the second. I finally decided to get it over with and answer it.
“Hello, Cohen,” I greet with false confidence.
He didn’t sound at all surprised to hear my voice. “Hello, darling.”
I bit my lip and refused to acknowledge the endearment. Even a denial would be enough to make him smugger than he already was. I also ignored the way his familiar voice made me want to cower in fear. I just sat in my car and waited for him to speak again.
“You sure are causing trouble for me,” Cohen said.
He sounded amused rather than irritated. But I knew better.
“Likewise,” I replied.
“I sent my best man after you, you know that? You want to tell me what happened to him?”
“Not particularly.”
“Is he…doing well?”
My eyes widened, and I almost laughed at his implication. “Not everyone kills as easily you do. I left Painter in a hotel room, sleeping like a baby.”
“Does that mean you’re on your way home?” Cohen asked.
I didn’t see a point in lying. In twenty minutes, I’d be on the highway, and on to some other town.
“I am home, actually.”
“It seems like you’ve had an awful lot of homes over the past five years.”
I knew he was baiting me into an argument, and for one second I indulged him.
“It’s been six years,” I corrected. “And given the opportunity, I’d gladly stay in one place.”
“My door is always open.”
“Unless I’m trying to get out, of course,” I retorted.
His responding chuckle made me shiver, and his next words sent a chill straight down my spine. “You have something that belongs to me.”
It took me a moment to recover, and when I did, I was careful to answer in a steady voice. “I have something you want not something that’s yours.”
I could practically hear his shrug. “It’s the same thing to me.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Not from my end.”
“Cohen…why can’t you just leave us alone?”
He sighed. “Which reason do you want, Nina? Or is it Polly now? I’ve got a few. One, you just plain pissed me off with your refusal to stay put. Two, your life was payment for your mother’s debt, and that woman has still never shown up with my money. Three, I don’t like being tricked. And how about four? Jayme.”
His name on Cohen’s lips made me want to retch.
“You’ll never find us,” I whispered.
“You’ve thought that before, haven’t you?”
The phone clicked, and I sat staring at it with my heart in my throat.
Quickly, quickly, I urged myself.
I flung the door open and scrambled to the front door.
“Misty?” I whispered.
I’d called her just an hour ago to let her know I was on my way, so I knew she’d be waiting. But I wasn’t expecting her to grab my arm, yank me inside, and hug me so hard it took my breath away. I let myself relax against my friend for a second. It felt good to come home. And heart-wrenching to know it was only for a few minutes.
“Jesus, Pol,” Misty swore in a hushed voice. “You wanna explain this?”
I stiffened and pulled away. “You know I can’t.”
“I don’t know what I know,” she replied with a frustrated shake of her head. “For the past year and half you’ve kept me at arm’s length. I mean, I guess I know we’re about as close to friends as you’ll let anyone be. But I sure as hell don’t know anything else. I assumed you guys were running from something, but I didn’t think it was the cops.”
“The cops?”
“Didn’t you get my text when you were at work the night before last? I told you Mike said a cop came by the shop. Which is why I didn’t push the questions when you kept calling, talking for five seconds and hanging up, and why I didn’t mind stalling Jayme. But now you’re here and…”
“He’s not a cop, Misty. Not even close. He’s just—” It was my turn to shake my head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. I have to pack. Is Jayme in bed?”
On cue, the bedroom door creaked open and he shuffled out, bleary-eyed. His hair was askew, and his pyjama pants hung off his too-narrow hips in a way that made me wonder if h
e’d eaten at all in the past twenty-four hours. But he was still the person I loved most in the world, and my heart flooded with guilt-laden love at the sight of him.
I stood back a bit, waiting cautiously for him to demand to know where I’d been for the past day and a bit, but he just cocked his head to the side and let out a resigned sigh.
“Guess you were right,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Again.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” I replied. “I wanted to be wrong.”
“I know.”
“I packed already.”
My heart wanted to break at his announcement. I wished that our moving on wasn’t a foregone conclusion, and that Jayme didn’t know it. I forced myself to stay strong as I answered him.
“You knew we were going?”
He shrugged. “I figured I lost when I hit you again. But I don’t like losing.”
My heart went from feeling it was going to shatter to feeling like it was going to cave in on itself.
“That’s not what happened.”
“I gave you that black eye.”
“You didn’t mean it.”
Jayme narrowed his eyes. “What if I did, though?”
“You didn’t,” I insisted.
“I was mad. Which probably means I did.”
He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with his rolling suitcase in tow. I turned to Misty.
“There’s a month’s rent in the coffee canister under the sink,” I told her. “Keep anything you want—food, clothes, whatever. Everything else…I’ll call someone to haul it away in a couple of days. The cell I called you on earlier…did your phone record the number?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I can’t keep the phone,” I said. “They’ll probably track it if I do. But I’ll hang on to it for another few hours.”
“You’ll call me when you’re settled?” Misty asked.
I hesitated and looked from her to Jayme. I hated the fact that if I said yes, it would be a lie. I hated the fact that saying no was going to hurt her feelings even more. Jayme saved me.
“She won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “We just can’t afford to keep friends. It’s not safe.”
Oh, God. How many times had I repeated that same phrase over the past six years? Too many to count. But with Misty, I’d broken the rule. I’d let myself care about her.
And look where it got you, I reminded myself.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Before either of them could notice the tears in my eyes, I ran to my bedroom to grab my things.
With more time than I had, and calmness I didn’t feel, I collected my few personal items and laid them out on the bed. I always had to decide which things to keep, and which to leave behind. I just wasn’t used to doing it with only five minutes to spare.
A few were a given. The framed photo of my mom. A snow globe that Jayme and I picked up at Niagara Falls, and a rock, worn smooth and shaped like an S, which we’d found at the Atlantic Ocean. A piece of charred metal that looked like garbage but which was actually a piece of burned licence plate that I just couldn’t throw away no matter how hard I tried. They all held too much meaning to leave behind. I ran my fingers over the tiny gold chain Misty had given me for my birthday earlier in the year. I would take it, too.
Some of the other stuff was sentimental, but probably unnecessary. I turned away from it to face my closet. From inside, I grabbed my one pair of jeans, a few newer T-shirts, my pyjamas and underwear. Quickly, I tossed everything into a backpack that didn’t look big enough for more than a two-week vacation, let alone an entire life.
I paused when I was done, struck by the fact that even though I’d escaped from Cohen, I had never managed to truly personalize my life. What kind of twenty-four-year-old woman had so little to connect themselves to the world? I’d had so many identities over the past six years, but none of them were really me.
I shoved down the morose realization and pulled the bag onto my shoulder.
There wasn’t any time to dwell on it. Not now. Maybe never.
I checked my face in the mirror and decided I’d composed myself enough to face them again. But as soon as I walked out into the living room, and Misty pressed a soft-sided cooler bag into my hands, the tears started up again.
“It’s just sandwiches,” Jayme pointed out.
“I know,” I replied.
But when was the last time anyone cared enough about us to bother making sandwiches? I wondered.
Misty winked. “They’re my sandwiches. So they’re extra special.”
Jayme rolled his eyes again. “Not special enough to cry over.”
My friend smiled. “There’s also a thermos with iced coffee in it, some orange juice and plastic cups, and some fruit.”
“Thank you,” I said, hoping she knew I meant for more than just the food.
We carried our things out to the hatchback, where I ignored Misty’s raised eyebrow, and threw everything into the trunk. I gave her a quick hug, wiped away another wayward tear, and pulled out of the driveway without looking back.
Chapter Fifteen
Painter
By the time I got back to Trent Falls, the sun was already high up on the horizon. My head was throbbing like a son of a bitch, and I knew without a doubt that Polly—yeah, I was going to keep thinking of her as Polly—was going to be long gone.
Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that her home town was just about the only lead I had.
“There’s no fucking way I’m starting from scratch again,” I muttered as I drove through the quiet streets.
And there’s even less of a chance of me going back to Cohen empty-handed.
It only took five minutes to get across town to a neighbourhood full of squat, multifamily dwellings. I slowed as I reached the address on Polly’s most current driver’s licence. The second I parked the car a familiar figure emerged from the front door.
Mike the mechanic.
The burly man’s face was dark.
“Shit,” I muttered.
So much for his claim of barely knowing Jayme Duncan.
Before he got more than five steps, a blonde woman with a toddler in tow dove from the door, too, and clung to his elbow. Even from where I sat, I could tell she was crying. Mike gave her a quick hug, murmured something to her and the kid, then turned and stalked toward me.
“Shit,” I said again.
I got out of my car slowly, hands out in front of my body so I would appear as unintimidating as I could.
“I’m just looking for Polly,” I said calmly.
“First Jayme, now Polly?” he replied.
It was my turn to feel confused. Weren’t they one and the same? Maybe I misunderstood. But before I could ask for clarification, the blonde burst in angrily.
“Are you going to threaten us, too? Because I didn’t tell the last guy anything, and I’m sure as hell not telling it to you, either.”
“There was another guy here, asking for her?” I replied tensely. “What did he look like?”
Who the hell did Cohen send? And why? I was his best tracker.
“You really want to pretend you don’t know about that?” she scoffed.
Mike put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Relax, babe. I’m sure he doesn’t. This is the cop.”
“He’s not a cop,” the woman snapped, then narrowed her eyes at me. “And I’m damned certain pretending to be one is illegal, too.”
“You’re sure he’s not a cop?” Mike asked.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “Polly told me herself.”
“Take Little Mike inside, Misty,” he commanded.
My head was spinning with questions. I couldn’t ask any of them without giving away my ignorance.
If Polly isn’t Jayme, who is Jayme? Why did she let me take her in Jayme’s place? What the hell kind of game was Cohen Blue playing with this one?
I fought to keep from clenching my hands into fists.
&nbs
p; “Please stay,” I said to the blonde. “You’re right. I’m not a cop. But I am just doing my job.”
“Yeah, so was the jerk who tossed Polly’s place and pounded on my door, demanding to know where they went. So you can take your job…” She paused, covered her little boy’s ears, and hissed, “And shove it up your ass.”
I held up my hands in a surrendering gesture. “I get why you might not want to tell me anything, but I swear to you…I wouldn’t hurt Polly.”
“Too late,” Misty muttered, and Mike put his hand on her arm once more.
“Why don’t you tell us what you want with her and Jayme?” he suggested. “And we’ll decide what we’re going to tell you.”
“Fine,” I agreed, noting once again that he’d identified Polly and Jayme as two different people. “The man I work for—”
The boyfriend, I realized, and cut myself off, mid-sentence. Jayme is the boyfriend.
No wonder Polly had gone so far out of her to protect him. Jesus. Now I was going to have to go after both of them. How the hell did this play out with Cohen? Clearly, he knew Polly and wanted me to bring her in, but it was Jayme he’d sent me after in the first place…
“Well?”
My head flicked to Mike, who’d spoken the one-word question and was looking at me expectantly. I struggled to remember what I’d been about to say.
“The man you work for?” Misty prodded.
“Right. I work for a man who lends people money. The kind of people who can’t get money anywhere else. When those people don’t pay, I come collecting.”
“Like…a bounty hunter?” Mike filled in.
“Best description I can think of.”
“And Polly owes your boss money?” Misty didn’t sound like she believed it at all.
“No,” I said. “It’s Jayme who owes my boss money.”
There was no point in lying. Or in admitting that I’d thought Polly was Jayme.
Misty laughed, then caught sight of my face.
“You’re serious,” she stated.
I shrugged. “I just follow the name, not the circumstances. And Cohen sent me after Jayme Duncan.”
“That’s impossible,” she retorted. “He’s—”
Mike cut off Misty with a look.
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