Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

Marlowe was out the van's door before its wheels stopped rolling. Slapping her chest, she screamed at the liar pointing the gun at her. "You want a piece of me, Sariah? Well, here I am. Come get me, you bitch!"

Her mother, Mona, thought she'd tricked Marlowe, and because Mona seemed to know where Marlowe had been the last three years, Marlowe let her talk. But the only things out of her mouth were lies. All lies. She and Marlowe's dad weren't back together. Mona and C huck —whoever he was—hadn't cleaned up their acts like Mona kept saying. They didn't have jobs, and they hadn't been looking for her for months, or hired a private-eye to find her. Because—oh, by the way—Marlowe's deceased father's name was Mike. Not Chuck!

She never should've given Mona the time of day. Should've slammed the door in her face as soon as she saw who was on Asher's porch. The only reason Marlowe didn't was the shock of seeing her.

Mona had nearly pulled her off Asher's porch in her hurry to get away. "You don't understand. We have to go now. Your father's hurt. He needs you." In essence, she'd tried to use the oldest mothering ploy in the book. She thought she'd given Marlowe what every abused, neglected, little girl yearned to hear—that her father needed her. Would've worked if Marlowe didn't already know Mike was dead.

Because Asher didn't need more drama in his life, Marlowe had left with Mona. He needed to trust Marlowe to take care of this. If she could. But there was more going on than just her mother's incessant lies. Because there stood Sariah, a smug smile on her ugly face and looking like the cat who'd just eaten a canary. Alive. The liar who'd betrayed Marlowe to the Taliban and who was somehow connected to Jamah and Tippetts. Who was keeping Chuck—whoever he was—until she got what she wanted from Mona. Which must be me…

"You came," sneered the lying witch.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Marlowe snapped, pushing any hope of rescue out of her mind. She'd really fucked up this time. Asher wasn't coming. He couldn't get out of bed, and he didn't know where she was. What she wouldn't give to have one of those fancy high-tech earpieces in her ear. She'd tell him she loved him one last time. She'd tell him she was sorry for leaving him behind. She'd tell him she was a fool for leaving with her mother without talking to him first.

Damn. She'd never learn.

Sariah jerked her gun at the helo. "Get in."

"What about my mom? I can't leave her. I won't!" Because something was wrong with Mona if she couldn't remember Mike, and deep down, Marlowe still loved her mom.

"You won't?" The gun turned on Mona. "Fine, then I'll just—"

"No! Okay, okay. I'm going." Marlowe looked back at her mom.

The tears and anguish on her face almost looked real. "You were always the strong one. I can't save your dad, but you can, I know you can."

Yup, more bullshit. Marlowe wasn't saving her dad. She was saving some loser named Chuck. She'd been used. Had been brought here to die by the woman who should've loved her, at least a little. But obviously never did.

Blue, red, and yellow lights flashed at the scene of two accidents across the field. Looked like other people were having a bad day, too. A helicopter hovered like a big black mosquito over the accident. It looked like the ones that had whisked her women to safety and freedom. Them. Not her. Not today.

Was she really going to do this? Did it matter if Chuck Whoever-He-Was died? He was nothing to her. Did she have a choice?

How many more creeps were in Sariah's helicopter? Marlowe couldn't tell. Only knew she'd never see Asher again once she climbed aboard, and her heart was breaking. She'd finally found her reason to live, and she was losing him. Worse, she could be pregnant, with a little baby boy who would look just like his daddy.

Marlowe was caught again. No choice and no way out. Should she sacrifice herself and her child to save a man she'd never met, or protect the perfect child who might be growing in her belly and let that stranger die? Almost sounded like she had a choice, but she knew better.

Was she strong? Truly strong? Marlowe clenched her fists and prepared to find out.