Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Present Day

I’m up before the sun.

It took me forever to fall asleep last night, and when I finally did, I was restless. Ryan always sleeps hardest in that last hour before he wakes for the day, so this is the best opportunity to look for the papers he had when he came back from meeting George.

Ryan’s grip on me has lessened during the night so it’s easy to slip out of the bed without waking him. Crawling across the floor, I make my way to his bags. He’s got the duffel with all his clothes, shoes, and toiletries, and a laptop bag for his work stuff. I’ve been through this bag a number of times, dug through the files on his computer, and checked his internet history, but other than the things I’ve already found for Mr. Smith, he’s careful about what he leaves lying around.

Now I’m realizing it’s because he knew I’d be looking. I only found what he wanted me to. So stupid.

But those papers George gave him should be here somewhere unless he read them and then threw them out with the pizza boxes.

The air unit under the window kicks back on and drowns out the sounds of his bag being unzipped. The laptop comes out first since it takes up the most room. There’s a yellow legal pad he takes notes on while he talks to clients and a spiral-bound prospectus on some mutual fund I’ve heard him push on a few of the calls he’s taken since we hit the road.

A stack of papers are tucked away in the inside pocket. I go through them, sheet by sheet, most of them relating to the financial services business, and I’m preparing myself for the possibility that they aren’t here, until the edges curl up on the last few sheets in the pile as if its muscle memory has kicked in.

These were the ones that were rolled up.

Spreading them back open, it doesn’t take me long to recognize what this is.

Alarm bells slam through my head.

This is the last batch of information I left for Mr. Smith. Devon had slipped it to me in that People magazine, and I had gone through it to decide what I wanted to turn over. The small handwritten note in blue ink in the bottom corner of the last page, where I tell him I will check the box again the next day, lets me know this is the original, not a copy, since all I had in my purse was a blue ink pen.

This shouldn’t be here.

I turn around and take in Ryan’s sleeping form and the puzzle in my head starts to rearrange. Even if I consider that Ryan is higher up the ladder than I am, he shouldn’t have this. Not the originals like this. Not delivered to him by George. Not when it sounds like George picked them up from the mailbox and brought them directly here, to him.

The idea that Mr. Smith wanted this business for himself seemed like the most likely scenario, but what if it’s more than that? There is no danger of me screwing up the hostile takeover of a business he already owns. No reason to keep me on a job that’s not a job at all.

My mind races, tripping over theories and speculations and suspicions, while the air conditioner purrs and Ryan sleeps.

The meeting between Ryan and George yesterday confirmed a couple of things. George knows where we are because Ryan told him. And the way they interacted with each other spoke to a closeness that only forms over time.

I have been trying to put a face to Mr. Smith for years. Turning to look at Ryan three feet away, it’s hard to believe he could be the boss I’ve grown to despise.

No. No, that’s not right. He’s too young. Timeline doesn’t match up.

As I shove everything back in the bag the exact way I found it, I mentally scroll through every conversation with Mr. Smith.

The first time I talked to him was eight years ago. Ryan was still at LSU and has no connection to North Carolina.

Mr. Smith handed me off to Matt, who I dealt with solely over the next two years. I didn’t speak to Mr. Smith again until after the Andrew Marshall job six years ago.

Six years ago.

Ryan’s grandmother fell ill with cancer six years ago. Ryan stepped in to handle the trucking business—both the legal and illegal side—for his grandfather, so he could stay home to care for his wife, and eventually took over the business fully after he died not long after.

Was that all he took over?

No.

No.

Ryan is going to Atlanta with me where I’ll talk to a bunch of cops. Would he open himself up like that?

And then I’m back at the Bernards’ house in my mind. Seeing that small room where we answered every question asked of us. Where that detective learned Evie Porter was from Brookwood, Alabama. Because Ryan told them. “Evie moved here from Brookwood, Alabama, a few months ago. She didn’t know James.”

No, no, no.

And then Monday morning in the garage. Where Ryan lingered. And I ignored the 911 message from Devon. Because Ryan wasn’t ready to let me go. I remember thinking, Had I not lingered with Ryan in the garage, I would have seen Devon’s text as soon as I received it. Those few minutes may have cost me a clean getaway.

But wait. No. Mr. Smith responded to Mitch on that forum after we left Oxford. Ryan was driving. I think back on the moment I saw the message come across. I was in the passenger seat of my car. Ryan had just filled it up with gas and gone inside for more snacks. He was in the store while I was watching the conversation between Mr. Smith and Mitch.

The memory of the moment between Ryan and George boots up and I watch it again through a different lens. The familiarity is still there, same as I would have with George. But it’s Ryan making the decisions. George deferring to him. George delivering the papers to him.

This job was a test. Testing my loyalty.

And shit, Ryan would have known immediately that I’d altered the information on his business before I turned it over. He has direct proof I wasn’t doing the job I was sent to do. And I was worried about him losing his business to Mr. Smith.

I knew I would be watched closely.

What better way to watch me than when I’m sharing the same space?

No.

Not going there. Not yet.

While it’s easy to jump to conclusions, it’s also very dangerous to make assumptions.

I crawl back to my side of the bed and snatch my phone off the nightstand and pull up Instagram.

Scrolling through my feed, I stop on the Skimm’s post recapping the five biggest news stories of the day and comment: That is breaking news! Too hot for me to handle! #OnTheRoadAgain #PartyOfOne

It’s a good chance Devon won’t see this for a couple of hours, but I need him to know I’m out of here and leaving Ryan behind.

Once my comment loads, I grab my purse and keys, abandoning everything else. I had already planned to stop at Goodwill on my way out of town to get what I need going forward, so I’ll just have to add a few more items to my shopping list.

The click of the motel door opening echoes through the room, but luckily Ryan doesn’t stir. I’m in my car and pulling out of the parking lot within minutes. As soon as I hit the interstate, I dump the phone I’ve been using as Evie Porter in Lake Forbing, and thanks to the little black box from Devon, if there is a tracer in my car, it’s not providing any information. Before, I wanted Mr. Smith to know where I was going, but not anymore.

Once I’ve been on the road about two hours, I stop to buy a prepaid phone and call Devon.

“Hey,” I say, when it connects.

“What happened?” he asks.

I fill him in and we’re both silent a few minutes. “You know what I’m thinking,” I finally say, not wanting to voice out loud who I think Ryan really is.

“You know I’m thinking it too,” he replies. “But no assumptions . . .”

“We only deal in facts,” I say before he can. This has been our mantra.

I’m still in the parking lot of the store where I bought this phone, pacing the length of my car again and again. I tell myself it’s because I’m stiff, but it’s fear that’s driving me.

“I’m back in Lake Forbing,” Devon says. “I’ll take care of my part, you take care of yours.” Before I can end the call, he says, “I’m close on the message board. Keep that phone so if I need you I can get you since I’m guessing you don’t have access to your Instagram account. The risk is low enough.”

I’m not sure what parameters Devon uses to gauge the risk versus reward in these situations, but I trust him enough that I don’t question his reasoning.

“Okay.” I pause a moment, then add, “If it looks like things are not going to end like we hope tomorrow morning, haul ass. Drop what you’re doing and disappear.”

“L, you know I’m not abandoning you.”

“Between Mr. Smith and the cops, we both know the chances of me walking away from this are slim. And there are other people to consider. Heather, for one, will need you.”

“Same goes for you,” he says. “It’s never too late to bail. Just get up and start moving.”

“I’ll check in when I’m done today,” I say, then end the call. This entire conversation felt so much like a good-bye that I couldn’t bring myself to actually say it.

---

It’s midafternoon when I pass the welcome to eden sign. It was a long drive with only a stop to buy the burner phone to call Devon, and in Winston-Salem to buy some clothes at Goodwill.

My eyes drink in the town I once called home. Memories flood in so fast that I almost drown in them. The fast-food restaurant where I hung out with friends and the fabric store where Mama and I spent hours poring over new arrivals every week are still there, but those buildings have been ravaged by time and neglect. I turn on the road that runs in front of my high school, and it’s almost physically impossible to breathe when I see the worn path through the grass between the side door and the parking lot that I traveled a thousand times.

The last time I was here feels like a lifetime ago.

It also feels like yesterday.

But as familiar as everything is, I am still a stranger here. There’s no one I would call up and visit.

One last turn and I’m on my old street. I pull into the trailer park and get out without cutting the engine. I study each one of the single-wide mobile homes crammed into this space, comparing what they used to look like to now and remembering who called each of them home. I save the middle one on the left side for last.

I cringe when I think about how embarrassed Mama would be for anyone to see it in this condition. Even though it wasn’t much to look at when it was ours, she always made sure it was neat and clean and the narrow beds near the steps had flowers planted in them. Now they’re full of weeds, and there’s a blue tarp covering some damage to the roof and a broken-down truck up on blocks next to the door.

It hurts to remember the girl I once was. The one who called this place home. That girl was happy here. Really happy. Even when Mama got sick, that young, naive girl thought she could take care of her. Thought she could save her from dying.

But that little girl learned a lot in that trailer. She learned that no matter how hard you try, sometimes it’s not enough. She learned the only person you could trust, the only person you could truly rely on, was yourself.

A woman peeking out from behind a curtain in the trailer closest to me reminds me I didn’t drive all this way for a walk down memory lane.

There is one reason I came back to Eden.

Once I’m in my car, I turn around and hit the main road again, stopping at Sheetz to refuel and do a quick wardrobe change in the bathroom. Then it takes only a few minutes to get to the newer area of town, where the businesses sit in a long row behind plate-glass windows.

I park near Dr. Brown’s office at the far end of the strip and make my way to the door.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks when I approach the counter.

“Yes, property management sent me over. We’re checking the breakers in all the units. There was an electrical problem in the pet store last night, but thankfully someone was there to get it under control before it started a fire. Shouldn’t take but a couple of minutes.” I was lucky enough to find a uniform shirt and a pair of khakis at Goodwill that I could make work so I look the part.

“Oh!” she says, motioning me to pass through. “Of course, let me know if you need anything.”

I give her a big smile then head toward the back of the office. Luckily, all the employees are with patients in the exam rooms so I go unnoticed as I slip inside the mechanical room. I bypass the electrical box, going straight for the main server and inserting the drive from my bag then running through the keystrokes Devon wrote down, guaranteeing the files are uploaded.

I’m out of the room in five minutes. Moving back to the reception area, I nod to the girl at the desk. “You’re all good, enjoy your day.”

I’m leaving Eden for the last time ten minutes later.

Calling Devon, I say, “It’s done,” the moment he answers.

“Sending you a screenshot,” he says. “The Coach Mitch gamble paid off. We know who Smith is now.”

My heart rate skyrockets and I pull over on the side of the road as I wait for the image to load. And there he is. Even though the screen is tiny, his familiar face is all I can see. I stare at it longer than I should.

Finally, I put the phone back to my ear. “We deal in facts now,” I say.

“Yes, we do.” He pauses then says, “This doesn’t have to change anything, L.”

I swallow hard. “I know. Make the calls. I want to get through the cops first. Then I’ll worry about the bank. If I can’t shake the cops, the rest of it doesn’t matter, so they are the priority right now.”

“Okay. Remember what I said. It is never too late to bail. Just start walking.”

I’m nodding even though he can’t see me. “And you’re handling things in Lake Forbing?”

“Already done. Got in the house without a problem. I’ll tip the police off first thing in the morning,” he says. “And the next river you pass, toss that phone in. Don’t have it on you when you meet with the cops.”

“Will do. I’ll grab another one when I get to Atlanta so next time you hear from me should be after I’m done with those detectives. And if I can’t call, you’ll know . . .”

“Nope, no doomsday talk just yet. I’ll wait to hear from you.” And then Devon ends the call.

I stare at his image a few more minutes before deleting it.