“Unless the driver just had too much to drink and was texting and Luc—Rio’s just making it all up,” Casey pointed out. “Which he’s done pretty much our entire so-called relationship.”
“You do know how to pick ’em,” Ella agreed dryly.
“I have things to do today,” Casey said. “Sitting at home with the shades pulled down is not on my list. Also? If someone’s after me, shouldn’t I be somewhere other than here, where all the Jon-hating, nasty-ass, drug syndicate murderers with their ugly murder faces expect me to be?”
“That is a good point,” Ella said. “How about we check you into a hotel, where I know I can keep you safe? Just until we figure out what’s going on with your brother.”
“I have to get Jon’s car back to him in San Diego,” Casey said. “Why don’t we drive down, drop it off, then find a nice hotel with rooms that overlook the beach?” That way she’d be close—in case Jon needed her. She’d also be close to Rio-not-Luc Rosetti, but so what. She could avoid him easily enough.
Now, if only she could avoid desperately missing the man she’d thought he’d been, she’d be all set.
If the shoe fits...
Oh, god, his eyes, when she’d said that.
Rio made it all the way into San Diego before Casey’s brother finally got back to him. In a text. Need help.
Jesus, Jon. Seriously? Rio responded by calling the man—but it went straight to his voicemail.
Can’t talk right now. In the thick of it. Just texts. Can you meet me?
Not a single freaking please in that four sentence message. Rio hit the brakes of Tasha’s neon yellow VW and pulled off into the parking lot of a building supply company so he could text back. I’m pretty sure the drug syndicate you pissed off tried to kill your sister last night.
WTF? I was just texting w her, she didn’t mention that.
Someone tried to run her over, Rio typed.
Is she ok?
Yes. Skinned knee. Rio’s phone beeped. Someone was trying to call him, but it was a number he didn’t know. 360 area code. Where the hell was that? He had no clue, so he let it go to voicemail as another text from Jon swooshed in.
Are YOU ok?
No, he was devastated and nursing a horribly broken heart, but Jon didn’t need to know that. Yes.
Is she safe? Jon asked. She just told me she’s gonna drop off my car in a few hours.
Jesus. Really?
Ella’s with her, Jon’s texts continued. She said you left for San Diego a few hours ago. Are you here yet?
Rio wanted to say no. Except texting wasn’t good enough. He needed to talk to Jon, to try to figure out exactly how much danger Casey was in. Where are you? he asked Jon.
The man’s response was an address. According to Rio’s GPS, it was not too far from where Rio was, idling here in this parking lot, not too far from Jon’s apartment, either.
Text me from the rear parking lot, Jon’s message appeared on Rio’s phone screen. I’ll explain when you get here. It won’t take long, I promise.
One more text whooshed in: Please.
Jesus.
Shaking his head, Rio texted back, Be there in a few.
Ella came back into the bedroom as Casey was finishing packing. What did one need when going to a hotel to hide from people who were maybe—maybe—trying to kill her? Probably not a bathing suit. It was unlikely that Ella was going to let her anywhere out in the open—pool or beach—but Casey packed one anyway.
“Rosetti didn’t pick up,” Ella said, “so I left a message. Same with Jon. And Chief Taylor out there likewise left a message for Becker—his team’s senior chief—and for Rosetti, too, so we’re kinda all still on hold.”
“Let’s just go,” Casey implored her. “I’ll be safe enough while we’re on the road.” Ella had already insisted that she drive Jon’s car while Casey drove Ella’s giant, tricked out, extremely secure SUV. Ella had also demanded that they stay close together on the road, right up to the drop off—a strict convoy, no exceptions, no stops along the way.
