If I Could Stay

by Annette K. Larsen

  An uneasiness crawled up my spine. It didn’t feel right. Where were the employees? Who were these men coming to their feet, with their button-up shirts, loafers and military haircuts?

  “Hello, Miss Marchant.” Panic bubbled up as the man showed me an FBI badge. “My name is Agent Bolton. I’d like to speak with you about your father.”

  “No.” I stepped back, bumping into Sam as I shook my head. “No, I’m not allowed to talk to you.”

  I turned and tried to leave, but Sam caught me and hauled me around to face the agents. “They’re not going to hurt you, Leila. This is my uncle and his partner. They just want to talk.”

  Sam had brought me to the cops?! The FBI! How could he? I kept trying to squirm away as I begged. “You don’t understand. I can’t talk to you. I can’t. It’s against the rules. I’ll get into so much trouble. Please just let me go before someone sees me talking to you.”

  The agent held out a hand meant to calm me. “No one will know you spoke with us. The last thing we want to do is get you into any kind of trouble, Leila.”

  “Then let me go back to school. I shouldn’t have skipped anyway. It was stupid of me.” Stupid to skip out on my bodyguards.

  “Your father ruins lives, Leila. He pretends to be a saint by saving people from financial ruin, and then he blackmails them into doing his dirty work. He traffics illegal goods, guns, drugs, and stolen and forged art. That auction house is just a way for him to launder his money. Did you know that?” The look he gave me was one of pity. He was talking to me as if I was ten and clueless.

  “Yes,” I bit out. “I know that. Which is exactly why I don’t want to be talking to you.”

  “Not even if it will protect innocent people? I know you’re not like him, Leila. You’re not heartless.”

  Maybe not, but I was fifteen and I was terrified.

  The uncle-agent took a step back. “Why don’t you just come sit with us? It would look mighty odd if you walked into a cafe and didn’t stay to eat or drink anything.”

  It would look even worse if my bodyguards looked in and saw me sitting with these guys. I glanced at the windows, noticing for the first time how many of the blinds were closed, the space where the agents stood blocked from the view of the outside world. If my guards were outside, they couldn’t see me, and if I left too soon, it would be suspicious.

  I hated that Mr. Agent Man had a point. So I sat down, my arms hugged tightly around myself, and I let them talk.

  They asked me a lot of questions and I answered when I could. It wasn’t as though I knew the inner workings of my father’s empire.

  When I ran out of answers, they thanked me for my time and left out the back doors.

  I stayed in that seat, staring at the table, terrified of what I’d just done. I’d broken the number one rule.

  Sam slipped into the chair across from me. He didn’t say anything and as I studied him, the reality of the role he had played fell into place.

  “Are you a cop?” My voice was wooden.

  He smiled and shook his head. “I’m only seventeen.”

  I rose an eyebrow in challenge.

  “I told you, Agent Bolton is my uncle. He asked for my help.”

  “Did he ask you to help before we met, or after?”

  “Before.”

  “Am I the reason you transferred?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You’re part of it. I’ve wanted to go to Northgate Academy for a long time. My uncle just helped convince my father.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s been working on your dad’s case for a long time. He wanted me to get a read on you, see if you seemed like the kind of girl who would…”

  “Betray her father?” I filled in, my voice sounding flat and harsh.

  “Do the right thing.”

  I clenched my jaw and looked away.

  “When I told him how scared you were of your dad, he—”

  “I never told you I was scared.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’m not an idiot.”

  Was it that obvious?

  “So when I told him that, he asked me to get close to you.”

  I thought of all the times he’d whispered in my ear, ran his fingers through my hair, kissed my mouth. My heart hardened and I narrowed my eyes at him. “Good job.”

  He sighed. “Leila…”

  “No. I don’t want to hear it.” I had no interest in the excuses of a liar. I had just betrayed my father. Sure, it was probably the right thing to do, but right now that wasn’t much of a consolation. “You need to leave now.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. Use your legs to stand up, walk to the door—”

  “Leila, if those guys who follow you everywhere are waiting for us outside, then we need to keep up the act.”

  Crap, he was right. He stood, holding out a hand to me. “I just want you to be safe.”

  I didn’t respond; my tears were too close. Sam had been the bright spot in my days, and he didn’t even care about me, not really. One of the best things about being with Sam was that our relationship hadn’t been based on manipulation and half-truths. Or so I had thought. Apparently I’d been born to attract unhealthy relationships.

  He wiggled his fingers toward me. “Come on. You can do it.”

  I looked up at him, trying to rally, to tell myself that I had to do the hard things, but honestly, my life experience had left me ill-equipped to do any hard things.

  “No, I can’t. I’m not an actress, Sam.” I stood, grabbing my backpack and pulling it over my shoulders. “I can’t pretend everything is ok, not after this. You broke up with me, that’s the story I’m going to tell.” Because it was true. “It’ll be a lot more believable than trying to act like everything is just fine.”

  I stalked out of the cafe, my shoulders hunched against the onslaught of emotions. Right before I got back to campus, my bodyguards flanked me.

  “That was dangerous.” Andy stated it as fact, without any accusation or reprimand. Will stayed silent, as usual.

  I sniffed. “I know. Sorry.”

  He spared me one glance. “You all right?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He pulled me to a halt. “Leila, we need to know if someone is bothering you.”

  “He broke up with me, okay? Sam broke up with me. Now leave me alone.” I yanked my arm out of his grasp and went back to class.

  Two days later, my father called me into his study and asked me about my conversation with the agents in the cafe. I just stood there, shocked into silence. Terrified.

  “I certainly hope you didn’t tell them anything,” he said with a calm that made me want to take a step away.

  “I don’t know anything to tell,” I lied.

  “That’s good, because those men weren’t really agents. They work for Russo.”

  My heart dropped. Dad didn’t let me hear him talking about business for the most part, but everyone knew who Russo was. He was the man my father hated the most. The man who not only took his business, but who stopped at nothing to get it. He killed without provocation. He was the reason I had bodyguards.

  And I had sat in a cafe with his men.

  I started to shake. “I didn’t know,” I muttered. “I didn’t know. They tricked me. They all tricked me.”

  “What if they had pushed you into a van, Leila? What if they had decided to get rid of you just like your mother?”

  I shook my head, trying to make the world come into focus. “Sam tricked me—”

  “Sam isn’t his real name.”

  My heart took yet another beating with those words. Of course that wasn’t his real name. He wasn’t just a boy who would trick me because his FBI uncle asked him to. He was working for Russo. Or at least his uncle was. It didn’t matter.

  I started to cry, silent tears slipping down my face as I bowed my head and wrapped my arms so tightly around my chest that my fingers dug into my arms. I couldn’t believe that Sam had actually
told me that all he wanted was to keep me safe. Lies, lies, lies.

  My father’s voice broke through my grief. “You won’t do that again, will you, Leila?”

  “No, sir,” I said in a bare whisper.

  “That’s what I thought.” And he sent me on my way.

  I never saw Sam at school after that.

  2

  EVEN WITH THE promise I’d made to my father after being tricked by Russo’s men, I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to speak to the real FBI. Part of me was glad that I hadn’t gotten dad in trouble, while the other part wondered if going to the police would be the right thing to do.

  My father never spoke about the incident again, never spoke of my betrayal other than that one conversation. He just tightened security. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, but I adapted. I always adapted. I went about my life, ignoring the fact that every part of it was either illegal, completely false, or both. I was stuck in my home with my very dangerous father and his dangerous cohorts.

  It wasn’t until years later, when I finally made the decision to leave—to get away from the bodyguards, away from the posh prison that my father had built—that I was able to breathe again. Suddenly I was able to notice sunsets, turn my face to the rain, and appreciate the scent of the wind coming off the ocean.

  True, I no longer had my father’s men to protect me from Russo, but I figured I could hide from him out in the world much more effectively than I could inside my father’s house.

  Still, the price for my freedom was loneliness. I’d left to seek a normal life for myself, but the reality was that my suspicions and inability to trust anyone had isolated me almost as much as life with my father had. But at least it was on my own terms.

  So then what was I doing with Jack? I’d trained myself never to tell anyone even a sliver of the truth, but what if I told him? Just a little bit?

  My long-nurtured paranoia screamed that he would find out who I was and report back to my father. However, if by some colossal coincidence he did work for my father, he would have already recognized me and I was already screwed. So why not take a chance? I had almost died out there, and as I had shuffled along, wondering if my body would be found frozen on the side of the road a week or a month in the future, it had crossed my mind that my life consisted of very little actual living. No one knew my story. Maybe it was time that someone did.

  “So.” He broke the silence and I pulled my mind back to him. “You are running from something?”

  My lungs struggled to take a steady breath. “Yes.” I was sure he had figured that out when I had blurted out the bit about no cops.

  “Who are you running from?”

  The want that welled up inside me was potent, but it couldn’t overpower my distrust. As much as I might want a confidant, I couldn’t afford one. I turned my face to the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I would let him come to his own conclusions. Let him think I was running from a dangerous boyfriend, instead of my own father and his dangerous rival.

  “Is it the cops you’re running from?” he asked.

  For some reason the idea of me being a criminal was funny to me. “What? Are you afraid I’m going to clock you over the head with your own boot and then steal your truck?”

  “Just wondering if I should hide my wallet.”

  “I’m not a criminal.” I could certainly tell him that much, because while it wasn’t technically true (I’d done plenty of illegal things over the years), I didn’t want him thinking that I was anything like my father.

  “How long have you been running?” Jack asked.

  I stared out the windshield, debating how much to tell him. “A few years.” Four actually, and in those four years I had lived in four different cities and had four different identities, a bunch of different jobs, countless acquaintances, and very few friends.

  “How old were you when you left home?”

  “Nearly eighteen.” Actually I was nearly seventeen, but saying I was eighteen made me sound like less of a runaway kid. Though if I were honest with myself, I knew I had been just that. A kid. Scared out of my mind. Running from Daddy.

  Dad hadn’t looked for Renee when she had disappeared, at least not that I knew of. I think he was almost relieved to have her run away, to be able to wash his hands of her and not face the accusation in her eyes every time he looked at her.

  However, I think once the reality of losing her settled in, it scared him out of his mind. Suddenly I was the only family member he had left, and his paranoia and fear of losing me grew with each passing year. No one was good enough for me. No activity was safe enough, no friend was approved, no trip was acceptable. As I grew up and needed more freedom, more space, his hold on me only increased. Everything was too risky for his little girl.

  “So you’re twenty, twenty-one?” Jack asked.

  I smiled into the collar of his coat. “Something like that. What about you?”

  “Twenty-six. And my full name is Jackson Trent, in case you were wondering.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

  He squirmed in his seat. “Jack is fine. Are you going to tell me your real name? Or should I just call you Celeste?”

  I shrugged, a little distracted that he seemed to be uncomfortable with me calling him by his given name. “You can call me whatever you want. I’ll be gone soon enough anyway, and my name won’t matter.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “A bus station, I guess.” If I could just get to the station in Kansas City where my locker was, I’d be good to go. Except…the key was in my go-bag.

  Crap. “Wait, go back.” I turned to look out the back window, trying to estimate how many miles separated me from my car, from my trunk, where the key to my bus station locker was, along with extra clothes, cash, and ID.

  “Go back? Why?”

  “All of my stuff was in my car. I need to get it. Do you have a crow bar?”

  “A crow bar?”

  “The trunk was smashed shut. I’ll need to pry it open.”

  “Can’t that wait until tomorrow? You’re freezing, and it’s dark. Do you even know where you left it?”

  “Not exactly. It was sort of down in a ditch.” Hearing the panic in my voice unnerved me even more.

  Jack’s hand settled on my arm and I turned to him. He looked like he understood, like he didn’t think I was crazy, which was good, because I was starting to feel a little bit crazy.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he assured me. “We’re not going to be able to find it in the dark. I have to go home, sleep for at least a few hours, and then get to work, but I’d be happy to take you back to your car after I get off my shift, okay?”

  I wanted to protest, to demand we go back right now, but I knew I couldn’t ask him to drop everything and go on a wild goose chase with me in the middle of the night. I could wait a day. I could.

  It took concerted effort, but I nodded my consent. I took a minute to think through his proposal. “So, you live close?”

  “A little place called Cameron, just north of Kansas City.”

  Not too far from my car, and an easy distance from my bus locker. “Is there a bus station there?”

  “Not a station, but there’s a stop, right at the Shell Mart.”

  Good. That would work. I had enough cash in my go-bag to easily cover the bus fare, and then I could go somewhere else. Somewhere completely new. I let myself relax, satisfied that I had a way forward, even if I had to rely on Jack for a little longer.

  “And where will the bus take you?” he asked.

  I pulled my knees up, curling up sideways on the seat, wrapped in his coat. “I haven’t decided yet,” I lied.

  He looked over at me, and I could see that he wanted to keep asking questions—he probably had a knight in shining armor complex—but when I blinked slowly, he closed his mouth. He faced the road again and blew out a breath. “Go to sleep, Angel. You need it.”

  My mouth curved in a
small smile at him calling me Angel. “I thought you said it wasn’t far.”

  He shrugged. “A half hour of sleep is better than nothing.”

  I wouldn’t argue with that.

  ***

  I woke up in a panic, unsure where I was but knowing that it wasn’t a bed and it wasn’t familiar.

  “It’s okay,” a male voice said close beside me, and I flinched away. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and focused on the man driving the truck. My heart started to slow when I remembered who he was.

  Jack. He had saved me from freezing to death. I was still wrapped in his coat. His hat was pulled over my ears and his huge boots covered my feet.

  I swallowed. “Sorry,” I said.

  “No need to apologize.”

  I stared at the boots covering my feet. “Have you been driving barefoot this whole time?”

  The side of his mouth that I could see pulled into a smile, and he lifted one shoulder. “I have my socks.”

  I looked out the window. We had exited the freeway and were pulling into a rest stop. It was one of those elaborate places with not only gas and snacks, but a full restaurant inside, and a bigger store with more than just knick-knacks and candy.

  I really hoped he wanted to eat at the restaurant.

  He put the truck into park. “I’m guessing you need to eat, and there won’t be anything open once we get into Cameron. I need to gas up as well.”

  I nodded and started pulling off his coat, but he stopped me. “You keep it. I just need my boots.” His grin had a little-boy quality to it.

  I took off his boots and handed them over, wondering why I was fighting a blush. He pulled them on then slid from the truck. I shivered at the blast of cold air and hunkered down into his coat. Staying here in the warm cab was appealing, but I really was hungry, and I needed a bathroom.

  It felt like it took forever for Jack to pump the gas, maybe because this was a big truck, but eventually he jumped back in, hunching his shoulders and rubbing his hands together. “Food?” he asked as he put the car into drive and scooted forward to one of the parking spaces right in front of the store’s restaurant.

  I nodded.