Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Present Day

Mr. Smith wants me in Atlanta by the day after tomorrow and the last thing I need is to have Rachel there with me.

I head downstairs to find she has set up a mini office in the dining room. Her laptop sits on one end while file boxes are scattered down the length of the table.

“Where’s Ryan?” I ask in place of a greeting.

She doesn’t look up as she organizes a set of files next to her computer. “He ran to pick up food.”

I watch her long enough to unnerve her. She stops what she’s doing and finally gives me her full attention, dropping down in the chair at the end of the table. “We have to be in Atlanta by nine a.m. Friday, so we need to leave here on Thursday,” she says. “I’ve looked at flights and there’s a direct one at four thirty that afternoon. We can get a couple of rooms in one of those hotels near the airport. Let’s plan to spend today and tomorrow going over everything so we’re prepared.”

I sit in the chair next to her, pushing the papers out of my way so I can lean on the table. “I’ll meet you in Atlanta by eight thirty on Friday morning, but there are some things I need to do first. Alone.”

She’s shaking her head before I finish my sentence. “I’m responsible for you. If you don’t show, it’s my ass. And while I’m sure you can easily—and happily—disappear, I live here. My whole life is here.”

“I wouldn’t do that to Ryan,” I answer quietly.

She rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t even know your real name.”

Rachel wants to get a rise out of me and she’s pretty close to succeeding. “It’s not up for discussion. I could ditch you anytime I want and you’d never see it coming. But I’m being nice by telling you I will meet you in Atlanta on Friday. Just tell me where to be.”

We’re staring at each other, waiting for the other to break. The back door opening alerts us to Ryan’s arrival with the food, and I need this settled before he’s in the middle of it.

“I know it may not mean much to you, but I give you my word. I will be there. And when I give my word, I don’t break it. Ever.”

She lets out a rugged breath. “You don’t think we need to spend any time going over your case.”

I do need to prepare, but it needs to be with Devon, not Rachel. “I do not.”

Ryan peeks his head into the dining room. His gaze darts from me to Rachel and back again. “All good in here?” he asks.

“All good,” Rachel says.

“Of course,” I answer.

“Y’all come eat,” he says, and we follow him back into the kitchen.

I pull out plates and utensils while Ryan sets the food out buffet style on the island. “I got a few different things because I didn’t know what everyone wanted.”

In the song and dance of getting the meal ready to eat, Rachel watches Ryan and me closely. Watches how we move around the room, how we are always conscious of where the other one is. She is weary of me, and I’m sure it’s hard for her to witness, knowing what she does.

I’m scooping a huge serving of chicken parm on my plate when I finally remember Ryan was supposed to have gone to the Bernards’ house today. “Was Mrs. Bernard upset you weren’t there today?”

He takes a long pull from his beer before he answers me. “I called her and told her I had something come up and wouldn’t be able to make it.”

I take the seat next to him at the kitchen table. “His funeral will be this week, so I think you should definitely be here for that instead of going with me to Atlanta.”

“I already told the Bernards I won’t be there because I’ve got an out-of-town emergency.”

I’m shaking my head. “You really need to be there. Rachel and I can handle things in Atlanta.”

He drops his fork on his plate and the sound echoes through the kitchen. “Pretty sure I can decide where I need to be.”

We’re giving Rachel a good show, so I decide to table this conversation until we’re in the privacy of our bedroom. She already knows I plan to leave this house alone. I look up at her and say, “I assume you’re okay missing the funeral as well?”

“Yep,” she says, making that p really pop. “Last time I talked to James was about two years ago, when he called begging for money. I gave it to him on the condition he would get some help. I even had a spot lined up for him in a rehab facility. He ghosted me as soon as he got the cash. I was one of the few from our group who didn’t see him when he got to town a couple of weeks ago.”

Ryan grunts. “Yeah, I have about ten stories like that.”

The rest of the meal is filled with meaningless chitchat, and soon enough we retreat to our bedroom and Rachel to the spare downstairs.

Standing in the middle of our room, I blow out a long, slow breath. Center myself. “I need to take care of a few things alone,” I say to Ryan as he turns down our bed, not noticing that someone made it up for us. His expression sharpens, but I push on. “I’m meeting Rachel in Atlanta. You’re welcome to meet me there too.”

Ryan watches me as he strips down and climbs into bed. “I don’t want to talk anymore today.” He holds the covers back, inviting me to slip in the bed with him.

I should push, but I’m done with talking, too, so I kill the lights and join him.

---

I’m at the kitchen table, my notebook out in front of me, when Rachel wanders in. I pull out the two sheets I was writing on, fold them until they are small enough to fit in the back pocket of my jeans, then put the notebook in my backpack before moving to the coffee pot so I can fill my travel mug.

“Where are the cups?” Rachel asks.

I nod toward the cabinet over the pot. She ambles over to grab one. “Are you leaving this morning?”

Glancing at the clock, I answer, “Within the hour.” I scroll through Instagram on my phone and stop when I get to the latest post from Food Network that shows Bobby Flay in front of a grill with his trademark shit-eating grin. I comment: Beat Bobby Flay is my #1 fav show!! 45 mins to beat him is impossible! #EveryGoodRecipeIsWrittenDown

Normally, I would give Devon more than forty-five minutes to meet me at the first spot on the predetermined list, but after yesterday, I’m sure he’s refreshing his feed every few minutes like I am. And the hashtag won’t make sense to anyone but Devon, but I need him to know I have something to give him so he can tell me where to leave it.

Rachel adds a packet of sugar and some creamer to her coffee, then turns to me while she stirs it in. “Does Ryan know?”

“He does,” I say as I continue to scroll, refreshing my own feed. It only takes a couple of minutes for him to post a comment on Spotify’s latest post: See you soon by Coldplay is underrated #TwinkiesAreToo

Guess I’m looking for the Twinkies when I get to the meeting spot.

I close out of the app, then book it upstairs to pack. I throw some clothes in a bag and move to the bathroom to gather my toiletries. When I come back into the bedroom, Ryan has his own bag sitting on the bed, open and half full.

“Do you think I’ll need a suit?” he asks.

I dump the stuff in my arms into my bag before moving to the closet for my shoes. “I need to do this alone.” I can’t look at him.

“I understand you think you need to do this alone, but you’re not alone anymore.” His gaze catches mine from across the bed. “I’m coming with you.”

I match his stare. “But you would miss work on Thursday and I know how important the appointments on Thursday are for you.” I’m pushing right now to see what I can shake loose.

His head tilts to the side, his eyes narrowing. “I’m willing to tell you my secrets if you’re willing to tell me yours.” His voice is deep and a bit unsettling. “You go first.” There’s a glimpse of the guy who ruled that warehouse yard.

I just cross my arms and look at him.

Ryan throws his hands in the air when I don’t take him up on his offer. “I’m not asking any questions. I don’t scare easily. And I really don’t want you doing whatever it is that you think you need to do alone.” We continue to stare at one another until he finally adds, “Plus, my skill set may come in handy in a pinch.” And there’s that smile. The one that makes him utterly charming.

And as much as I thought smiling was impossible right now, I give him one right back. “And what skill set is that?”

He shrugs and continues packing. “Take me along and find out.”

I’m torn on what to do about Ryan. Mr. Smith decided this was the job to put me in while we played this macabre game, and I need to know why.

Mr. Smith will expect me to go alone. Until this point, I wanted to be 100 percent predictable, and now I need to be the exact opposite. Plus, Ryan’s arguing pretty hard to come along even though he’ll miss James’s funeral and a week of work. Very curious.

Forcing out a deep breath, I make a show of giving in. “I make all the decisions. If I need to slip off to handle something by myself, there is no argument from you. Not a single word.”

He nods. “Don’t even think about ditching me along the way,” he says with a smirk. “I can see it all over your face.”

We both know that option is always on the table.

---

Rachel is pissed Ryan is going with me but she isn’t.

I load our bags into the back of my 4Runner, while closer to the house Ryan is squaring off with Rachel in a heated conversation. I shut the back hatch and turn toward the street, committing it to memory. I will miss it more than I want to admit.

Slipping into the driver’s seat, I wait for Ryan. When he hears the engine turn over, he looks at me over his shoulder. Rachel reaches for him when he moves toward the car. She knows things about me that he does not, things she can’t tell him since I’m protected by client-attorney privilege, and she’s frantic to stop him from coming with me.

He’s not having it.

Ryan slips into the passenger seat, then rolls down the window as Rachel approaches his side. He wanted us to take his Tahoe, but this is my show, and if I do decide to leave him somewhere along the way, I’m going to need my own car.

Rachel gives me a look I don’t particularly like, then focuses on him. “I’m not joking, Ryan. No later than eight thirty on Friday morning in Atlanta. I’m working on the detectives meeting us in a location other than the precinct, so as soon as that is finalized, I’ll let you know where.”

“You’ve mentioned all of this a number of times,” he answers. His head drops back against the headrest, his gaze fixed on the windshield. Her hands grip the open window as if she’s physically trying to stop us from driving away.

I fidget around in my seat, ready to go. I don’t do good-byes. At all.

Ryan must feel my unease because he gives me a nod and I put the car in reverse, letting off the brake enough that Rachel has to pull her hands free and take a step back. “I’ll call you,” he says to her as we start inching backward. “And don’t be surprised if you have to pick me up after she’s abandoned me somewhere.”

She clearly doesn’t think his joke is funny.

Once the window is rolled up and we’re on the street in front of his house, he asks, “Do you need me to book a hotel in Atlanta? I mean, I assume that’s where we’re heading.”

“I’ve got it handled,” I answer.

I pull out of the neighborhood onto one of the busy streets that runs through town, then turn in to a gas station. “Can you fill us up while I go in for a few snacks for the road?”

He’s out of the car before I finish the question.

“Get me a Coke and some chips. BBQ flavor,” he says just before I step inside the store.

I walk down the snack aisle, grabbing a couple of different bags of chips and a package of peanut butter M&Ms, and I spot Devon filling up a cup at the fountain machine. I pull the folded-up paper from my back pocket and slide it under the Twinkies. While I’m checking out at the register, he has moved to the snack aisle to retrieve the handwritten letter that will catch him up on what happened yesterday and give the details of the plan I came up with. It’s not the best form of communication, but it’s old-school enough that I know it can’t be hacked. If everything goes the way it should, I will see him in person soon.

When I get back to the car, I slide into the passenger seat.

Ryan looks at me through the open driver’s-side window, where he’s still pumping gas. “I’m guessing you want me to drive now?”

“Yes, please,” I answer before taking a swig of my Diet Dr Pepper.

“You’ll have to tell me where we’re going if I’m driving,” he says once he’s back in the car.

“Get on the interstate and head east.”

We drive for a while without a word between us. The car is quiet. No music playing. No conversation. Only directions when needed.

The land flattens out as we head into the Mississippi Delta, where there’s nothing but row crops for miles and miles. We’re off the main interstate now, bumping along the back roads through the small towns that pop up every hour or so. The kind of towns where the speed limit drops from fifty-five to thirty-five with little warning, so the driver isn’t prepared for the speed traps that generate the revenue that supports them.

We stop for gas again, and Ryan insists on paying for it. I insist he do it with cash. He pulls out a bulging wallet filled with twenties as if he is more prepared for this trip than I gave him credit for, and I remind myself that he’s as shady as I am.

“I’m sorry you’ll miss James’s funeral,” I say once we’re back on the road.

He lets out a deep sigh. “Me too.” I don’t think he’s going to say anything else until he adds, “I spent years helping James . . . saving James. I gave him money, clothes, a place to stay. Put him in rehab more than once. I was a crutch for him. He knew I’d be there. He knew I’d save him. So why bother getting your shit together if there’s always someone saving you?”

A few minutes pass before I say, “I don’t need saving.”

His head jerks in my direction. He looks at me while I stare straight ahead, then his attention focuses back on the road. “I know that. There are things you may need, but saving isn’t one of them.”

This makes me want to ask questions. So many questions. But he made it clear—he’d show me his but I have to show mine first. So instead of questions, I say, “In two miles, you need to take a left.”