“Monopoly? Name that tune?” I hate the unknown. And I’m actively shivering now.
“Not interested.”
“Got a name?” I ask as I tense one ass cheek, then the other. My entire body is going numb, and if I don’t work my muscles, I’ll never be able to escape.
“Not one you need to know,” he snaps.
After an eye roll, I can’t help myself. “So you don’t mind if I call you Asshole then? Or Neanderthal?” That earns me a growl, and I keep going. “Irish Death?”
“That’s a beer,” he mutters.
“I know. I’m thirsty. And cold.”
His eyes soften, and he takes a single step forward until whoever’s in Seattle must start talking, because he touches his left ear. “Go ahead, base.” After a moment, he blows out a breath. “Fuck me. Thanks. Do me a favor? Keep this quiet for now.” Another beat, and now he’s the one rolling his eyes. “That’sexactlywhat I mean. Do I have your word?”
I’m dying to ask what he wants ‘kept quiet,’ but he’s already losing patience with me, and I need to stay conscious if I have any hope of getting out of this alive.
He tucks his gun into a shoulder harness under his jacket and stares down at me. I’m a mess. I’ve barely slept since I got to Boston, my black pants and wool sweater are soaked, and the cap hiding my hair is askew. Every few seconds, shivers wrack my body, and I almost wish Asshole would gag me so my teeth wouldn’t chatter so loudly.
Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he approaches. I tense, ready to fight, but he leans down and drapes it around my shoulders. “My name’s Ronan. Ronan Murphy.”
“Zephyr. But you knew that.”
“I know that’s what you go by. You’re tellin’ me it’s your real name?” Ronan pulls out a pocket knife and snaps the zip tie around my ankles.
“Only name I can remember.” What the heck is he doing? He’s got to know I could do some serious damage if he cuts me loose. Do I fight him? Kick and buck and roll? Or trust that if he cares whether I’m warm, maybe he’ll care enough not to send me to my death? In the time it takes me to make a decision, he wraps his hand around my arm and helps me to my feet. “What are we doing here, Ronan?” I ask.
“You’re comin’ with me.” The moment I tense, he holds up his free hand. “I’m not turnin’ you in, Zephyr. Not yet, anyway. We’re goin’ somewhere safe, and you need to tell me why the world thinks you killed Jasper Yoden.”
“And you trust me not to killyouon the way?” I scoff. “What would your boss think?”
Stop it, Zephyr. You’re not doing yourself any favors here.
“He’d kick my arse.” Ronan chuckles as he leads me to the far end of the parking garage. A black, compact sedan waits in the shadows, and Ronan tugs me around to the passenger side, opens the door, and guides me down with his free hand on the top of my head so I don’t whack my skull on the door frame. My arms are trapped behind me, so he has to secure the seatbelt, then pulls out another zip tie and binds my ankles again. “I’m turnin’ on the child locks, so you won’t be able to open the door from the inside. If you scream or make trouble, I’ll toss you in the trunk. Understand?”
I nod. I shouldn’t trust him. Hell, I don’t know anything about him, but he exudes honor like some delicious cologne, and when he starts the car, he turns the heat up to maximum. As I start to thaw, I steal glances at him, and I wonder. Is this the day I stop running? Or did I just make thesecondbiggest mistake of my life?
Chapter Six
Ronan
Now that Zephyr’steeth have stopped making more noise than a whole troop of step dancers, silence fills the car. When I zip tied her wrists, her nail beds were almost blue, and her skin held all the warmth of a block of ice. I can’t trust her, but I won’t let a woman suffer needlessly.
“How long were you out in the rain?” I ask, glancing over at her. She stares straight ahead, but her eyes dart from side to side. Trying to figure out where we’re going?
“Twenty minutes. I wanted some tea. Walked to the Dunkin’ Donuts. Why?” Her wariness bleeds through her tone, and her shoulders hike up.
“Because you were freezin’. Probably hypothermic. Boston winters aren’t mild.”
Zephyr shoots me a look full of disbelief. “No shit. But you were between me and all my stuff on Newbury Street, asshole. I didn’t exactly have time to grab my jacket. Or gloves. Or…anything.”
Between her and her stuff? Newbury Street was a wild guess.
“Where were you hidin’?” I ask.
“In the old comics store. When they went out of business, they left a shitton of inventory behind. One of the first times I’ve holed up anywhere with reading material.”
Zephyr sucks in a sharp breath, like she didn’t mean to tell me any of that, and when I ask her if she’s warmer now, she nods silently and turns to stare out the window. Great. I thought we were making progress.
