LIAM
Eventually, she’s going to need help.
And that day is probably coming sooner than she expects.
Then again, maybe not. I’ve had plenty of time to think things over, watching her, parked in the lot of the fast food joint across the road from the pitiful motel where Aurora chose to hide out. She’s still there, room number five. I’ve watched her go in and out several times over the past two days. This marks her third day on the run, and I have no doubt she’s regretting her choices by now. If she has half a brain, she regretted them within minutes of what she did.
It took less than twenty-four hours to track her down. The beauty of our society is how difficult it’s become to disappear. Unless you have the resources to get on a private plane and never come back, someone’s going to find you. Even then, there will be records.
Aurora certainly doesn’t have those resources. She must be running out of cash—I don’t know how much she had in the first place, but when I placed a call to the motel and asked for rates,it didn’t take much mathematical skill to figure she can’t do this forever. Even at fifty-five dollars a night.
She’ll be getting desperate. Realizing she has no skills and no means of surviving the real world. She thought things were tough before?
The idea makes me laugh the way it has ever since I got over my initial blinding rage. I hope she got her little rebellion out of her system, and that it was worth it. I lost two good men over this and have watched the footage time and again to… what? Get a sense of what’s going on inside her head. I really didn’t think she had it in her. Though she did apologize to Bruno after puncturing his jugular. She also promised to call for help before running. Cold, but clever. She’s willing to do whatever it takes to survive, after all.
I’m watching the gas station across the road from the motel now, waiting for her to emerge. Feasting on gas station cuisine. Am I supposed to believe that’s better than being taken care of in a penthouse? Stubborn, stupid girl. Shortsighted.
Not to mention wasteful. Like the time I’ve wasted watching her. I don’t have to. I could easily assign guards to work in shifts. I sure as hell don’t need to waste hours sitting in a late-model sedan I rented specifically to avoid standing out in this rundown area. So far, she doesn’t seem to have noticed me. If she did, she would more than likely barricade herself in her shabby little room. As if that would keep me away. As if any of this could.
My phone rings, making me growl at the interruption of my thoughts. Nick. He wants an update. They all do.
“Still nothing?” he asks. Right to the point. I’ve always appreciated that about him. Not so much today.
“I told you. I make the decisions on this.”
“When did I tell you what to do?” he asks. “Never. Just because I wouldn’t handle this the way you are doesn’t mean I’m telling you what to do.”
Stop wasting my time.I come damn close to biting my tongue off before I can utter those words, since I know what his response would be. I’ve been wasting my own time, too obsessed with watching Aurora flounder to do anything else, to care about anything else. “You have a reason for calling beyond busting my balls?”
“I got a lead on our guy.”
The back of my neck prickles, and in a twist of perfect timing, the door to the store swings open, and Aurora steps out, squinting when rays of late afternoon sun hit her straight in the face. She’s wearing a sweatshirt she must have bought inside—oversized, lumpy, cheap. That desperate for clothes already. “And?”
“And he was spotted, but must have picked up the tail.” The frustration in his voice is nothing compared to the heat that spreads through me when I think of Donovan escaping again. “Two hours after he was recognized, the safe house my guy tracked him to was emptied and abandoned.”
“The motherfucker has eyes in the back of his head.”
“He knows what he’s doing. He’s like an animal relying on instinct to stay alive.”
Or the luckiest bastard who ever lived. His luck has to run out. His instincts have to lead him the wrong way. The odds are in my favor. But dammit, he was supposed to be long gone by now. The longer he survives, the longer he has to plan a counterattack. And he’s planning. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
While I sit and try to ignore the smell of fryer oil hanging in the air, his daughter dashes across the road with a large plastic cup in one hand and a plastic bag hanging from the other. She’s following a nutritious diet, I see. “How much longer do you plan on staking her out?” Nick sounds wary, though he weighs everyword with the kind of care that comes from years of knowing each other.
“For as long as it takes,” I point out when he sighs. “She’ll be out of cash soon.”
“You don’t think she’s sure by now she made a mistake?”
That’s not what it’s about. I want to tell him so, but the words get lost while I watch her cross the little parking lot. She looks to her left and right, always watchful. “She knows she made a mistake,” I murmur. “I only want to let her sit with it a little bit longer.”
“And then?”
“And then, you’ll know what I decide once I’ve decided.” I don’t like the look of the two men leaning against a rundown truck parked close to the office. Battered, dusty, it’s seen a lot of miles. They could be passing through.
And they’ve spotted her. They stand up straighter, having a quick conversation while they watch her approach. Now, what would two men on their way through, stopping at some no-tell motel, have in mind when they spot a pretty little blonde like the one currently walking their way?
“Gotta go.” I’m already starting the sedan by the time I end the call. She has finally noticed the danger in front of her—her pace slows, like she’s wary, but she’s still approaching them. What else can she do?
There’s a moment before I put the car in drive that I consider leaving her here. Letting her figure out for herself the mistake she made. There’s no one to protect her but me. No one gives a shit about her but me—the man she committed murder to get away from. This would teach her.
