2. Sick Joke

CHAPTER 2

Sick Joke

NATE

M other and daughter clutched each other in the back seat of the rental car, sitting low, barely high enough to see out the windows. The fear radiated from them like heat waves. Whatever it was that brought them to this point, I didn’t ask—yet.

Cap’s order was simple: get the hell out of Illinois and take these two to some safe house in St. Louis. At a stop light, I opened the glove box. Sure enough, inside was a sealed manila envelope labeled: Plan B.

I’d ask Marina questions, like who would we find at this safe house? But talking and asking meant getting too involved, and that wasn’t my job here. I was only the delivery boy, bringing my cargo in the back seat to the next point of their journey.

Hopefully, Plan B wouldn’t be necessary.

Crazy thoughts ran through my head for the five-hour drive, always on the lookout behind me to ensure we weren’t followed. Cap could be hurt or worse, dead somewhere, and here I was babysitting. I had to fight every urge to turn around and find him and be there for him, like he was for me on that nearly fatal day in the desert. But I followed orders and stayed the course.

When the GPS had me a few minutes from the supposed safe house address, in the heart of St. Louis, the seedy surroundings added to the feeling of doom. Didn’t matter if the sun was starting to peek through the clouds, threatening a fresh new day. Fuck. The darkness of the situation put me on edge from the second Marina stepped onto that elevator.

“Hey, we’re getting close,” I called to the back where the women stirred from their sleep, while I gripped the steering wheel tight.

“Okay, baby. Wake up. We’re here,” Marina said to the girl, catching my gaze in the rearview mirror. I wished she hadn’t. The brief moment I held her brown eyes with mine, a female so determined yet shadowed by vulnerability, screwed with my head.

I almost missed the next turn. I slammed on the brakes, jerking us all to a halt on the slim street, crowded with parked cars on one side, and backed the car up and turned. Up ahead a few blocks, flashing lights from cop cars and fire trucks lit up the street. Crews stood with hoses pointed through the windows, where they were dousing the last flickers of flames from an old building. The one the GPS pointed us to.

“Fuck! Your safe house has been compromised. Hold on.” I flipped a u-turn and drove away from there as fast as I could.

“No. My God.” Marina’s voice hitched up a few notches and her hand flew to her mouth.

“Do you have any way to contact the people you were supposed to meet? Any idea who they were?”

“No. They were supposed to be there.”

“My guess is, they’re probably dead or scattered to hide.”

“Mom? What now?” I glanced at the girl, wide awake, her words and young face laced with worry. She shouldn’t be here, but in school, day-dreaming about the boy next door, and if he’ll ask her to the homecoming dance. Not running for her life.

For all the shit I gave it, growing up in Kissing Springs was at least a normal childhood. One filled with many fond memories. From what I gathered, Cap’s life with a hard-ass SEAL for a father wasn’t the greatest, moving from to naval station to station around the world. He’d often asked me about my hometown while drinking after work or playing cards, like he wished my life was his.

“Now? We drive as far away from here as we can and hope no one saw us. You ready to tell me yet what’s going on? Who are you running from?” I glared at Marina in the rearview mirror.

She shook her head defiantly, her hair whipping with it.

I scoffed, but it was to be expected. She didn’t trust me yet. “Then we need a Plan B.”

I drove east out of St. Louis for some time, avoiding the highway. Once I found a small town with a car lot, I abandoned the rental. I had five hundred cash on me—I hated banks—and that was plenty to purchase something far less noticeable than the red luxury sedan.

Marina wasn’t impressed, scowling at the dingy, old F-150 truck. It’s light blue exterior rusted in some places, but with a running V8 engine, it should get us where we need to go next.

“You expect us to travel in this thing?” She pointed with a look of disdain. I figured, from the looks of her, Marina’s life to this point had likely been one of luxury. Her red nails matched her red toenails, visible since her feet were in a strappy pair of black sandals with about a three-inch heel.

“Yep. This thing is tough, and ready to go. And so are we. Hop in.” I ordered gruffly.

“I’m starving.” The teenager whined. “Could we stop somewhere for avocado toast?”

“Yes. Take us to eat. I need a double espresso if you expect me to function today.”

I winced at them. “Look around, princesses. You see a fancy coffee place in this podunk town? We could have people on our tail closing in on us and you want to stop for a fancy coffee and bird food. No. Get in the truck.”

They reluctantly followed my order, the glare from Marina making me wish I hadn’t opened my mouth at all. Once inside the cab of the truck with the single seat across the interior, I realized they may be right; this vehicle was the wrong choice. While her daughter sat at the window, Marina sat next to me, but tried not to let our bodies touch. It didn’t matter; the nearness of her, the sight of her thighs in tight jeans—fuck, the scent of her expensive perfume—woke up a certain part of me.

Mission, dude. Focus on the mission. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, gritting my teeth. Get them someplace safe. Figure out what the hell to do with them. Read Cap's orders.

Suddenly sniffles reached my ears. I snapped my head to the girl, catching her swiping at tears rolling down her face. My shoulders fell, scolding myself for being such a fucking asshole. This couldn’t be easy for them.

In the next small town, I pulled into a diner and gas station. “We’ll stop quick for a bite. I’m not sure they know what avocados are here, but you could probably get a stack of flapjacks.”

“Yes. My favorite.” The girl brightened and grinned at me like I was her savior. I like her. She’d be the first to trust me between the two of them, I was certain of it. Then again, being young, she had yet to gain a jaded heart.

While they went to the restroom, I sat in a booth. With a deep breath, I ripped open the envelope marked Plan B.

If you’re reading this, then all hell has broken loose. The only person these women have to watch over them is you.

It took a few minutes to speed tread through Cap’s orders to realize his plan sucked and panic struck. As I read, and reread, trying to make every word sink in, I could hardly believe it.

“The old man must have lost his fucking mind,” I muttered.

According to the papers, Cap intended to help the woman and her daughter escape from the clutches of Bottesta. The fact I was holding this folder meant the plan went awry and either him or dangerous people were out there looking for them. Now Cap counted on me to take care of them.

I skimmed through the rest of the papers quickly, thumbing through a series of fake docs of all kinds—a forged marriage certificate making Marina my wife? IDs where she took my last name? According to more papers, I had adopted the daughter? Oh, and a five thousand in cash for the “newlyweds.”

What. The. Fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke Cap played on me?