I remind myself that I did what I could. I’m choosing myself, savingmein this horrible mess of violence, greed, and power.
I guess I never imagined saving myself might mean leaving someone else bleeding on the side of the road.
When the tears finally begin to subside, numbness settles over me.
“Drive, Trinity. Just drive.” I swallow down hiccups and scrub at my tear-stained face.
It’s over. This is the right thing to do.
But no matter how many times I repeat those words in my mind, I don’t believe them.
My fingers squeeze the leather of the steering wheel so intensely, my knuckles ache. A headache pounds in my head, and my hair whips around my face from the dry air coming through the broken back windshield.
Nearly twenty minutes pass before I start to tune in to my surroundings again. Exit signs appear on my right, advertising a few gas stations and?—
A pay phone.
Thank God.
I get off the highway as soon as I can, scanning the sunken, single-story businesses packed near the exit.
There.
The payphone booth sits off to the side of a gas station in much better shape than the last one I visited.
No sign of bikers either. It’s daylight, so there shouldn’t be too many weirdos out.
With my gunned-out vehicle and bloodied shirt, I think I’m the oddest thing around.
I accelerate into a parking space, nearly barreling over the curb in my hurry. I slam my foot on the brakes, throw the SUV into park, and almost climb out with the key still in the ignition.
When I open the armrest, spare change twinkles up at me from the depths. Finally, some good luck.
I snatch as many silver pieces into my palm as possible and head for the booth, still paranoid that Brody’s going to jump out from somewhere.
An invisible fist squeezes my chest.Brody…
The image of his body, lying in the dust as his blood stains the sand red…
My mind recalls the way he calmed me after a panic attack, the way he later saved me at the gas station.
I shudder and shut myself inside the phone booth. I can’t think about any of that.
When I pull the receiver off the cradle, a glorious, healthy dial tone greets my ear. Shoving the quarters into the slot with shaking fingers, I lift my other hand to the keypad and freeze.
If the Russians really did intercept my message to Finn, then calling his cell would only recreate the problem I just barely survived.
But if I can’t call Finn’s phone, then who do I reach out to?
I don’t know Cian’s or Rory’s or even my cousin Darren’s numbers, or anyone else’s in New York.
The only numbers I know by heart are Liam’s, Finn’s, and my father’s?—
Wait.Dad.He’s dead, but his phone…
Finn mentioned he was still searching Dad’s phone in his efforts to figure out who lured him to his death.
It’s the only chance I’ve got.
