Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EMMA

W hen the door to the safe room opens, Jacob is standing there with a grim, almost scary look on his face. Rusty backs up and starts whining, sensing his aura. He's exuding dark energy.

"Is everything okay?" I say, rising from the bed where I've been sitting for two hours, chewing my fingernails, waiting, praying, and wondering.

"I handled it," he says, then turns and walks away, leaving the door open.

I follow him up the stairs and out of the hidden basement, Rusty walking cautiously at my side. He marches into the kitchen and sits at the table, running a hand through his hair, staring off into space like he's reliving whatever just happened.

I sit next to him, cautiously taking his hand. I think he's going to push me away, but then he squeezes on, but he's still not looking at me.

"What happened?" I whisper.

"There's a Cartel man in Pilgrim's Peak. He hired two Americans to kill us. One of the men was sick like Rafael, so I took him out."

"Took him… You don't mean the cops, do you?"

He turns to me, staring bleakly. "No, Emma, I don't mean the goddamn cops. This is the man you want. This is all of me. I'm a killer."

"Do you think I care? " I snap. "If he did what you said he did?—"

"Oh, he did," Jacob growls. "I know for a fact. He got away with it several times, too."

"Jesus," I whisper. "Then don't look at me like you think I will judge you."

"You're a middle-class girl who lives a normal life, Emma," he says darkly. "You're not made to be with a killer like me."

"You're just saying that because you know we can't be together. You know it would break Dad's heart."

"Then hate me for it," he snarls, tightening his hold on my hand. "Tell me I'm too crazy for you. Tell me I've done too many dark things. Tell me I'm too complicated for your life. Give me a reason to…" he trails off, panting huskily. "Believe you don't want this. Not as badly as I do."

"I want it more ," I say, my voice getting louder, passion making my body thump like the wind hammered the cabin before. "That man deserved what you did. When I was a kid, I always wondered what your job was. But do you know what I never had to wonder about? If you were a good person. I knew you were—always."

He stands up, pulls me to my feet, and leans down. Then I push my hand against his chest so hard I almost send him sprawling across the kitchen. I know it's shock, not the physical impact. Behind him, in the window, I can see Dad walking in snowshoes over the top layer of snow, wearing a backpack. I know it's Dad, just from his posture and his outline. Suddenly, my insides get tight, like my body is trying to reject what I did with his best friend.

Jacob turns, spots him, too, and then glances at me. He nods. I watch in real time as he forces his emotions down, turning just in time for Dad to push the door open. Dad stands sheepishly in the doorway.

"Uh, hey."

He looks guilty, like he's expecting me to freak out on him. From his point of view, that's probably exactly what he thinks. However, the guilt in me is crushing way too much, making me feel like filth. Instead, I rush over to him, giving him a fierce hug.

"Dad, I'm so glad you're okay."

"Sorry, kiddo." He rubs his hand up and down my back. "I know I shouldn't have left like that. I didn't know there was going to be a blizzard."

"It came on fast," Jacob says, his voice level. I wonder if Dad can tell how much he's stifling.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I left?" Dad says.

"You obviously don't want to tell me. At least, that's the impression I got from our phone call earlier."

"I thought you were saving your real interrogation for when I returned."

I look up at him. He's got panic in his eyes. I've only ever seen him like this once before: when he told me he and Mom were getting a divorce. He swallows and takes my shoulders in his hands. "I'm going to tell you the truth soon, okay? I just… need time. Can you give me that? I'll tell you when this is over and we're safe."

"Dad, you're scaring me," I whisper, and even that feels like I'm pushing it too far and have no right to say that. How can I tell him he's scaring me and say it as if he should care after what I did last night?

"It's nothing to be scared of. Nothing like that."

Is it something to do with work? With the Cartel? Even during the divorce when I was a kid, Dad was always upfront with me. He always treated me with respect and honesty. If he had acted like this before the betrayal, I would've demanded to know. Now, I just nod.

"Okay, Dad."

He tilts his head, seeming surprised, but lets it go.

"How've things been here?" Dad asks, looking at Jacob.

"There's been movement," Jacob says.

"Wait, movement as in, uh, contact?"

"It's okay, Dad," I tell him. "I already know. Does anybody want coffee?"

I start brewing some as Dad and Jacob sit at the table. Jacob tells Dad that there's a Cartel man in Pilgrim's Peak. "He's the one who hired the American goons," Jacob explains. "He doesn't know he's been made yet."

"So, what are you going to do?" Dad asks.

"I've got a few ideas. I need to see if some things fit together first."

"So you don't want to tell us until everything's in place," Dad says.

"These are dangerous, ruthless bastards. If it comes down to the wire, I need to limit the leaks, limit the danger."

"I get it," Dad sighs darkly. "Until I can do something, there's no point."

"The only thing that matters is keeping you both safe."

"I thought you were going to chew my goddamn head off," Dad says as I place the mugs of coffee down. "For leaving like that."

"You had your reasons," Jacob says.

"Wait a second," I cut in. "Do you know why Dad left?"

Jacob looks at me, his lips flattening. "Uh…"

"Yes," Dad says quickly. "Sorry. I don't want to make you lie, Jacob. I told him, Emma. I asked him not to tell you. I'm making such a mess of this. I just…" He grips the table, trembling. "I don't know what to do."

Suddenly, I'm on my feet. I won't let the tears form in my eyes. I feel them trying to bead and make me weak and pathetic, but I fight them off. Dad thinks I'm almost crying because he lied, but it's Jacob, knowing what a messed-up position we're in—lies upon lies upon lies.

"I just need some rest," I say. Truthfully, I need to run and get as far from this guilt and confusion as I can.

When I leave the room, Rusty walks at my side as if he thinks I need the company. I go into the bedroom and close the door behind me, sitting on the bed and pressing my hands on my knees. My heart is hammering hard like it's attempting to hurt my chest. My mind bursts with a slideshow of the past day, from the sex to the safe room and now this .

Rusty whines and leaps into my lap, almost like he's forgotten his size. He rubs against me like he's telling me it will all be okay. I run my hands through his fur, fresh from yesterday's shower.

"What should I do, boy?" I whisper, imagining a scenario where I put on my big girl pants, march out there, and scream at Dad about what we did and what I want to do again.

"I wish we were still trapped."

Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes and think of last night, the wind outside, the howling, letting us sink closer together and letting the guilt wash away. We were able to shut it all down and turn it off. Now, that's not an option. What are we supposed to do, then? Forget how we feel? Pretend we don't want each other?

Jacob says we'll handle this when this is over, but what does that even mean? How can we sort this out? What can we do? Whenever I try to think of the future, I only see disaster. If the Cartel doesn't get us, the guilt will finish the job.