“I don’t want anyone else in here. Bad enough I don’t know where a damn thing is anymore. The police will just make it worse. It’s a secure building. You didn’t see any signs of forced entry.”
“What can I do?” he asks. Between Louie jumping him and this mess, the poor kid is beside himself.
“Clear paths. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, couch. Just shove things out of the way so I can get around. And find me a damn duffle bag.”
“Where are we going?” Evianna’s voice cracks, and I wrap my arm around her waist. She’s shaking, and I curse under my breath. I don’t want to go anywhere. If I were alone, I’d stay here. In the dark. With my pistol.
“Hotel.”
“They’ll be able to find us,” she whispers. “We can’t use credit cards, can’t show our driver’s licenses…”
“Unless whomever they sent here is extremely good, that won’t be a problem. But I need your help, darlin’.” Pulling her closer, I bury my face in her hair and lower my voice. “When Vasquez is done in the bedroom, I’ll show you.”
As if on cue, he passes by us. “There’s a path to the bed and to the closet. And a duffel bag on the pillow.”
“I’ll…help you pack,” Evianna says. After she’s shut the bedroom door, she turns to me. “What can I do?”
“Come here.” I don’t trust myself to take more than a step or two in any direction, and my entire body is one raw nerve. Her warmth settles me, and her soft curves take my thoughts off the mess and onto what I’d hoped would happen in this room tonight. But now…we have to get somewhere safe.
“Dax? You’re scaring me.”
Fuck. Get your shit together. “Sit down for a minute. I need to move the nightstand.” The small oak set of drawers slides easily on the carpet until it hits pieces of something—my broken lamp from the sound. But after I clear enough space—or what I hope is enough—I sink to my knees. “Does anything look out of place here?”
“No. Hell, there isn’t even any dust. Your housekeeper is amazing.”
“This part’s all me.” Curling my fingers around the baseboard, I yank it off the wall with a quiet snap. The plastic bag is still in place, and carefully, I ease it from the little hidey-hole and lay it in Evianna’s lap. “Open it. Pull out the packet with three paperclips.”
“What is this?”
“Something I hoped I’d never need.” After I put the baseboard back into place and feel around so I can position the nightstand on the duct tape Xs on the floor, I ease up next to her. “I don’t trust very many people, Evianna. Ford and Wren are the only other people who know about that bag in your hands.”
“This is… Oh my God. Passport, government-issued ID, credit cards…a Dunkin’ Donuts card? Oliver Russell? This is…fake…right?” Despite her voice being only a soft whisper, there’s still a tremble to her tone.
“That bag has six different identities. Oliver’s just one of them. He has a clean social security number, a good credit score, bank accounts, and a job working for the Boston Public Library.”
“Holy shit.”
“Every member of Second Sight has a handful of fake IDs. But these…Second Sight’s relocation expert doesn’t know about them. I had a friend—one of Ryker’s guys, a former Navy SEAL—get these together for me a few years ago.”
“This is all…my fault.” Evianna sniffles once, and her voice muffles. “Your place…having to use one of these IDs…if I’d never come to you, none of this would have happened.”
Sliding my fingers into her hair, I pull her close and crush my lips to hers until she melts against me. “Shhh, darlin’. None of this is on you. And if you hadn’t come to me—”
“He would have killed me last night,” she whispers.
Taking the packet with Oliver Russell’s identity, I tuck it into my jacket pocket. “Put the bag in the bottom of the duffel, then help me piece together some clothes that match? I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.”
Ronan drives us to the Fairmont. They’re known for their discretion, and Oliver has a computerized history here, even though I’ve never used this ID before. Evianna hasn’t said a word since we left my apartment, nor has she let go of my hand.
“Where do you want me, boss?” Ronan asks when he pulls up to the curb.
“Call Wren. Have her hack into the security cameras here and monitor the feeds for any sign of Louie or Kyle. Then get yourself a room at the Westin across the street. Clean credit cards only. Keep your phone on and stay awake. We’ll check in by eight tomorrow morning.”
Adjusting the ball cap to shield my eyes, I get out of the back seat and wait for Evianna to take my arm. To anyone on the street, I hope I look like I can see. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Uh huh.”
She’s not, but she’s holding it together well enough. “Just remember your cover and we’ll be fine, Sierra.” I don’t have a fake ID for her, but for the hotel’s records, she’s now my wife, Sierra Russell.
