*
Reid kept his tone neutral—more neutral than he felt—and the only tell Grier had was the tightening of her grip on her knife. Not a good sign, but he’d take the knife over the fork. He knew from experience getting stabbed with one hurt way more than the blade of the dull hotel knife.
Maybe he would’ve told her that, joked with her about it at one time, when things between them seemed to be growing so easily. He should’ve known that nothing came easily. Nothing good, anyway.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant. Or why you’re breaking into my private files.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t understand either.” He gave a short laugh and stood, his appetite gone. If she’d admitted it, if she’d smiled, acted like he was some kind of idiot spy, this would’ve gone much better. “You love your job. You told me that yourself.”
“I told you a lot of things.”
“Were any of them true?”
“Yes. All of them.” She dropped the flatware onto her plate and pushed it away. Bit her lip before continuing. “Reid, I honestly haven’t been thinking about how all of this ties to me. I thought I was just the unlucky marshal watching Benji. If Jack had first watch—”
“They wouldn’t have taken him,” Reid interrupted. “You’re the perfect target.”
“Because I put in my papers?”
“That and the deposit you made on the day Benji was transferred to your care.” He pulled up the bank statement Dylan e-mailed him on the iPad and showed it to her. Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“This isn’t my money. This is a mistake.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Shit.”
“They included Jack in their plan anyway. There’s money in his account as well.”
“Is he all right?”
“He will be. Dylan’s going to help him. But until we figure this out, you’re both going to need to rely on us for help. Jack doesn’t seem to mind. You, on the other hand …” He shook his head. “Why are you retiring?”
“A lot of reasons. I didn’t even tell Jack yet, so I’d appreciate being the one to tell him.”
“Of course. Imagine, letting you control the situation. That’s different.” Reid’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“You controlled everything on the last job.”
“Obviously not.” He shared everything, including his deepest, darkest secret about his past. About not being able to save his mother, his entire family from a fire. And then Grier had gone and had herself fake killed, right in front of him.
He still hadn’t fully recovered from that.
“I owe you,” she started.
“I don’t want a relationship based on favors.”
“I didn’t know you’d wanted a relationship at all.”
“You didn’t bother asking before taking me out of your life, did you?”
“Reid, the job you have …”
“Makes it impossible? I’ll have to tell that to all my happily attached friends. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, in terms of a relationship with me. But I’ve already saved your ass several times—after putting in all that work, I’m not letting you die now. Got it?”
“I want to turn myself in.”
“They’ll put you in jail.”
“I can clear my name.”
“This guilt isn’t a good look on you,” Reid told her. “And I’m really tired of it, because it means you’re labeling me the bad guy. Like I’m the goddamned criminal.”
“You break the law—”
“And so did you, Grier.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say.”
“You’re clinging to the law because you think you’re not honoring your sister’s memory and that you won’t be any better than the person who shot her.”
“The law’s important.”
“So’s helping people, no matter how many laws you have to break to do it. And I’ll keep you safe—I will—but I won’t be made to feel guilty for what I do. And whatever happened between us won’t happen again. That should make everything easier on both of us.”
Chapter Ten
Grier couldn’t tell if Reid was serious or not, but she’d pushed him away enough, so why should she be surprised when he took several steps back?
And he was right about her needing protection. WITSEC wouldn’t take her, not with the active investigation and so much proof against her. They might want to try to turn her against the men she was supposedly in cahoots with, but she’d put herself in the line of fire of the men again.
They’d effectively put her in the crosshairs and the trigger was cocked and ready.
All of that, and she couldn’t even save her witness.
She hadn’t realized she’d said that last part out loud, only did when Reid told her, “Benji didn’t want saving. You can’t help people who don’t want it.”
“I can try.”
“You did.” His eyes snapped with anger, his accent thickened. “You can’t look at every failure and put it on your own shoulders. You almost died. Other people did. Because of Benji directly.”
“If you were in his position—”
“I wouldn’t hurt innocent people—not on purpose, Grier.” He stood and said, “We’re leaving. I’ll pack up. Put on some shoes.”
“Who’s coming to get us?”
“No one. We’re still on our own.”
His voice was cold but his eyes weren’t. There was still hope. There was always hope and she kept that thought close as she tried to bend down and tie her sneakers.
She hadn’t meant to groan out loud with pain. But Reid was next to her in seconds, helping her straighten up, telling her to breathe.
Tying her sneakers for her. When he finished, he looked up at her, asked, “After you retired, would you have called?”
She nodded. “Those were the only circumstances I’d allow myself to. I know it sounds stupid.”
“Having a hard line in the sand is never stupid if you believe it.”
“How did you get all these vehicles?”
“Kell. Even though he’s pissed at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I don’t like getting in the way of you and your friends.”
“He’ll come around.”
“Would he have told you to come?”
“He probably would’ve come instead of me.”
“Why were you home?”
“I had some broken ribs to heal.”
“Ah, Reid.”
“Come on.” He helped her up and out and down the hallway into their escape vehicle.
“At least you get to lie down,” Reid called to her from the driver’s seat as she lay on the stretcher in the back and tried not to get carsick from his driving.
“I can’t believe how many illegal things I’ve done in the past couple of days.”
“And it’s not even noon on day three,” he reminded her, and she groaned. “Have another happy pill.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You need one. Or else I do,” he muttered, and they drove in silence for a while. She was pretty sure they passed roadblocks but the ambulance was waved through unsearched.
They were lucky. The police had every right to pull them over and search.
She felt hunted. Now she knew what criminals and her witnesses felt like, and it was far worse than she’d ever imagined.
*
No one was coming to help him. Jack supposed it was better this way. His past had been carefully constructed, flawlessly so, and if he had to do some jail time to keep it that way, he had little choice.
He looked at his cellmate, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. The reality was that Jack had to knock him unconscious after escaping the main room and a near beating by a mob of inmates. God knew what the corrections officers told the inmates Jack had done—and he didn’t want to know.
He should’ve never been put into
the general population. But he’d survived twenty-four hours, and if he had to, he’d make another day. He leaned against the bunk, refusing to lie down and was glad he didn’t when he saw two guards coming down the hall. He braced himself for another fight, to be dragged away, but when they got to his cell, one of them said, “You’re being released. And you must be goddamned special, because we never do this in the middle of the goddamned night.”
Jack bit back a retort and let them lead him to the processing room, where he got his clothes and wallet back.
“We were told to keep your badge and gun. We turned them over to the marshal’s office. You can call them about getting them back,” the guard told him with a sneer. “You got really lucky.”
Jack clenched his jaw and stared him down. Finally, they had no choice but to release him, but not without a few vicious shoves for emphasis on just how unhappy they were. The last one caught him against the door and gashed his forehead open. He ripped off the bottom of his shirt and pressed it against it as he walked through the heavy gates.
There was a dark-haired man waiting for him, leaning against a black truck. He was watching Jack as if he knew him and Jack supposed this was Dylan. The man was as good as his word, since he’d gotten Jack sprung. Legal or not.
Jack walked up to him and the guy said, “I’m Dylan. Get in.”
He pushed off and went to the driver’s side. Jack got in and the truck took off into the late afternoon traffic.
“You look like hell. Didn’t they put you in solitary?”
“There was a mix-up.” A purposeful one, but Jack didn’t give his cover up for anyone.
“We fixed your bank accounts, but you’re still going to be under suspicion until we fix a few other things.”
“How’s Grier?”
“She’s fine—with Reid.” He pointed to the backseat. “There’s the first-aid kit. If it needs stitches, I’ll do it.”
“I can do it myself,” Jack said, and the words came out more sharply than intended. But Dylan wasn’t offended, just asked, “Can you do it in a moving vehicle?”
“Yeah.”
“When this is over, you and I have a lot to talk about,” Dylan said, and Jack couldn’t do anything but agree.
Chapter Eleven
Hours later, in the dark, Reid parked the ambulance and then helped Grier out through the front. He had his bag over his shoulder as they walked through the lot until they stopped at an SUV. He helped her into the passenger’s side and he drove away, stopping after another half an hour at a McDonald’s.
It was just before sunrise. When he came back with bags of food, she lowered the seat back halfway. He drove and she curled on her side, facing him, propped her head on her arm and bit into the McMuffin. She liked crappy road food. A lot. And this grease somehow made everything a little better.
“Are you going to share where we’re going?”
“I’d rather keep your knowledge of my illegal acts as small as possible.”
“Sure, now you want that.” She rifled the bag. “Are you going to eat your hash brown?”
As she spoke the last word, she was already biting into it.
“I was going to.”
“Too late.”
For a while, there was silence and then he rifled through the bag and handed her the paper. “I found it on one of the tables. I thought about not showing you, but you have a right to know.”
She took it from him and saw she was splashed across the news. “Shit. My parents …”
She could picture them now. They’d never approved of her job. After her sister’s murder, they thought she’d come to her senses. Come back into the socialite fold. But law enforcement, not socialite, had been her calling.
And now her scandal was on the front page. A common criminal. The worst part—she had no way of knowing if her parents actually believed any of it.
When she’d first met Reid, they’d talked about her sister’s murder, how Grier didn’t really live up to certain expectations her family had in regards to career and social life.
“If only you’d married,” they’d say about this, “you wouldn’t be working.”
She didn’t know how to answer that—because they were right. And now she’d be forced to leave them behind. “This is probably killing them.”
“I’m sorry. I wish it was safe to get in touch with them,” Reid told her.
“Can’t Dylan? Or Teddie? Can’t someone just get word to them that I’m safe?”
“You know as well as I do that puts them at risk.”
“Like they’re not already.”
“The good thing is that they’ll have law enforcement swarming their house, looking for traces of you. None of the guys from the league will come anywhere near you.”
“How am I ever going to clear my name?”
“We’re working on it. Right now, you concentrate on healing and staying out of sight.”
She finally relented to a happy pill and slept the rest of the way. When Reid woke her, they were in a dark parking garage.
“It’s private. We’re cool here.”
Still, she ducked her head as she went by the cameras. Reid helped her along, because she was unsteady, and she forced herself not to shake off his arm. Then he knocked on a back door with four short raps. Seconds later, there was a buzz and he turned the doorknob and ushered her inside.
“Can you tell me where we are now?”
“New Orleans.”
She followed him through a short hallway, stopping in the back room of what was unmistakably a tattoo parlor. Through the opened curtains, she could see two women and a tall man.
“That’s Gunner—he owns the place,” Reid said.
At that, Gunner turned and looked over at them. He looked like some kind of Nordic god. Taller than Reid, with chiseled features, no wonder the young models were hanging on him, despite his sharp tones to them.
He didn’t seem to be enjoying their company much. That actually made her like him better. And when he caught sight of Reid, he dismissed them out the side door quickly, not listening to their slight whining that they wanted to stay and hang out.
“This is Grier. Sorry to ruin their evening,” Reid drawled.
“They don’t want real tattoos and I don’t do that tiny heart on your bikini line shit,” he explained. “I mean, nothing against the bikini line, but there’s just so many more interesting things to do there.”
Reid put up a hand. “Got it, Gunner. Neither of us is in the market for tattoos.”
“I might be,” Grier said, in part to annoy Reid, but as the words came out of her mouth, she realized she might be serious.
Gunner raised a brow and Reid told him, “No bikini line for you.”
“So what, it’s spoken for by you?” Gunner asked.
“Gunner, we just need a goddamned place to stay.” Reid started to pull out money but Gunner shook his head.
“Your money’s no good here,” Gunner said firmly, and Grier thought he was kicking them out. But no, he was motioning for them to go up the stairs. When they did, a door closed and locked behind them.
“For our protection,” Reid explained.
“Why can’t you pay him?”
“Long story. It’s a Gunner thing.”
“How do you know him? Or is that another long story?”
“Long story,” he said.
“Is he ever going to let us out?”
“He will. He’s got to shut the place down and make sure we weren’t followed. Then we’ll be free to walk around the shop.”
Reid put his bag down and texted while she looked around the expansive floor. There was a balcony that overlooked an alleyway that led to a bar. It was quiet but she supposed that come nightfall, it would get rowdy.
Twenty minutes later, the door unlocked, Gunner stuck his head in and said, “We’re clear. I’ve got food.”
She and Reid followed him back downstairs, past the back room into a large kitchen with a big table pushed
to one side. It was all industrial stoves and fridges, and she saw that Gunner was actually cooking for them.
Whatever happened to make Gunner owe Reid had to be some story.
“Hope you like jambalaya,” Gunner said as he placed a steaming bowl in the middle of the table. There were red beans and rice and Andouille sausage and fresh bread. And beer.
“Love,” she offered, and he heaped her a big plateful. As she ate, Reid and Gunner brushed over a few subjects quickly, talking about things she didn’t know or really understand. She didn’t know if that was done purposely or if they knew each other so well they were able to talk in that special kind of shorthand only friends had.
When Reid’s phone rang, he excused himself and she was left alone with Gunner. The tall man had a leg thrown over the chair next to him, sitting easily as though he had fugitives in his place all the time.
Maybe he did. “How long have you been here?”
“A while.” Gunner had a way of evading without seeming like he was doing so. “I like it here.”
“Me too. It seems like it would be easy to get lost here.”
“Planning on it?”
“Maybe.” She could disappear into the masses here. It was transient since Katrina and she wondered if Gunner was also a runaway of some kind. Then again, he seemed very much ingrained in the culture and had a cultlike following with his tattooing, so she supposed someone in hiding wouldn’t do that.
Before she could say anything more, Reid was back and there was dessert—fresh pie and tarts and she was full and sleepy.
“Thanks for this, Gunner. For letting me stay here,” she said after she finished her coffee. “I hope it’s not too much trouble for you.”
“Never is, Grier. Why don’t you go rest? I can clean this up myself.”
“Not arguing,” Reid said.
“Figured you wouldn’t. How’re those ribs, by the way?” he asked innocently.
“You’ve been talking to Kell, haven’t you? Don’t fucking come near me.”
Gunner chuckled as they walked away and she followed Reid up to the second floor. When Reid closed and locked the door to the stairs behind them, he told her, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Dig where you shouldn’t.”
Lonely is the Night Page 7
