I removed the hoodie and jean jacket and placed them over him. As I did, I noticed a lot of blood near the pocket of his jeans. I patted around, trying to see where he was injured, and discovered his severed finger. I carefully pulled it from his pocket and looked for a safe place for it. In the front, a second cupholder held a glass. I poured the liquid out; a small amount of ice rested in the bottom. I placed Lachlan’s fingerinside, securing the cup back in the holder.Thank God for small miracles.
Teeth chattering, I slid into the driver’s seat. My hands shook as I used the dead Scot’s phone. The late model required a pattern. My shaky thumbprint traced the dots again. Triangle. Square. Tiny square. Rectangle.Bleep.
I pocketed the phone, determined to retry later, but I had to move. Tears fell from my eyes as I drove into the fog.
“C’mon, Tash … stay awake. Look for a payphone even if you don’t know anybody’s dang number.” I groaned, slapping my cheeks to stay warm.
Every shadow looked like Lorenzo. Every turn, I expected him to appear.
The road narrowed. No police station in sight. Cottages and dark apartment buildings slipped past. I was too afraid to stop. The men had hated Lachlan because of his name. They’d known who he was. I couldn’t chance approaching the wrong door for help.
The engine came knocking around three hours later, after I’d wrestled in my mind if Lorenzo had said Louis Gotti. If so, his anger made no sense … Gotti won the match.
“Noooo …” My palm gave the steering wheel an encouraging pat. My eyes zipped past the faded radio clock, which read 1:32 a.m., to the fuel tank.Oh. Empty. That made sense. Although I capped the credit cards Pop gave me, I’d never driven to a gas station. Heck, I only paid attention to the dash when Simona and I drove to Vegas or Palm Springs.
As the engine choked, Lachlan groaned awake. His bloody, scrunchie-tourniqueted hand pawed his skull. “Ugh, this is real?”
“Yeah. Glad you’re back.”
“Where are we, love?”
I dunno.“Noticed a sign for Dundee some time ago. Didn’t know whether to chuck your cellphone out the window—which I keep checking—or drive as fast as I can so Lorenzo couldn’t catch us.”
“Dundee …” he murmured.
“What? They’re famous for the cake your mom sent me the recipe for.”
A laugh barked up his throat. “And crime.”
I laughed softly.
Lachlan draped his forearms over the passenger seat headrest, his head shifting as he glanced around.
“I just, uh, drove quick. I was too afraid to assume the woman who cornered us was also the one who hacked our location for him. Besides, she didn’t make it.” I gulped. “Maybe he has a team?”
“Could be. Jamie mentioned a lass. She helped him and Jordyn with some work. Her name was Ra … Rain.”
“Rain?” My mouth quivered, animosity pouring through me.
“Know her?” he asked, handing me Rory’s sponsor hoodie.
“Keepthe hoodie, Lach.”
“You run cold. Take it. Do you know her?”
I stuffed myself into the hoodie and jean jacket, tense from the crap Lorenzo put me through. “A version of her that died from cancer—his cousin. Not a common name. She has to be…”
“The one you planted that tree for? He gave you a sob story, picked this woman’s name on the fly?”
Silent, I worked my jaw. Lorenzo preyed on my weakness. My love for those who lost their lives to cancer.C’mon, Tash, you’re such an idiot. Okay, so maybe not shouldering the blame for his actions would take time?I punched a hand against the steering wheel, and it blared.
“Let’s keep a low profile.” Lachlan gestured toward the glove compartment. “Check that for food?”
I hadn’t thought of that. I should’ve read the books Simona did. Not cheesy romance.
I snatched out a silver flask, a package of Abernathy biscuits, and a potato chip bag—Haggis and cracked pepper crisps.
“Put them in your pocket, Lassie, and when I say go, we’re gonna run to that motorcycle at the edge of the lot.” His chin jutted to an area half a block away. The store was a triangle shape with glass walls and expanded outward. Some type of twenty-four-hour Walmart? “Natasha, with people entering and exiting, we won’t know the bike’s owner. While I hotwire it, you just look like your usual beautiful … muddy, bloody self.”
