“There aren’t bears, right?” Amelia asked as she fiddled with the sleeve of her new sweatshirt. It was a hideous bumblebee yellow that, unfortunately, matched the sweatpants, but it was probably more comfortable than the dress.
“There are bears. And not the adorable Hundred Acre Wood kind of bears.”
She cut her eyes at me. “Am I going to be expected to hike?”
That was one thing I was learning about Amelia—she flip-flopped between irritation and acceptance. One minute, she was cooperative, and the next, I thought she was a breath away from tucking and rolling out of a moving vehicle.
“Possibly.”
“Do you have a gun?”
The question was so out of the blue that it startled me.
“No,” I said honestly. “But there are weapons at the safe house.”
“But no guns?”
“There are guns at the safe house. They’re not mine. I’m not the only one who has access to it. I don’t like guns.” I tried tokeep my tone as neutral as possible, but I could tell that Amelia didn’t believe me in the least bit.
“Who else has access to it?” she pressed.
“Cole.”
“Is this ‘Cole’ in the same line of work you are?” she asked with a rather accusatory tone that led me to believe she thought Cole was some kind of Bigfoot-Loch Ness monster lore.
I rolled my eyes. “His name actually is Cole. I’m not making him up.” I thought over my answer. “He works for a private security firm. High-end bodyguard shit. The firm he works for has their own network of safe houses, but it’s always best to have a place that no one else knows about.”
“Why not just put me and my brother in witness protection?” Amelia pressed.
“Because you werebothsupposed to be dead already.”
That shut her up.
“WITSEC creates a paper trail that’sveryeasy to trace. The Marshals aren’t as slick as they think they are.”
I could have shoved her in the direction of the Feds. Ishouldhave shoved her in the direction of the Feds. Valentine never had to know. I could have faked her death and gotten off scot-free.
Because now, it wasn’t just her life on the line. It was mine too.
Amelia swallowed as the reality ofwhoshe was sitting beside sank in.
I wasn’t a good guy. I never pretended to be. The longer I was in this line of work, the more I realized that there are no good guys. There are winners and there are losers. Whoever comes out on top the most paints the picture of what is right and what is wrong. After being caught in the middle long enough, I had come to realize that it was all relative.
Saviors could be monsters just as easily as monsters could put on their suits, don their smiles, and pretend to be the hand extending help.
Until that hand wrapped around your throat and didn’t let go.
16
AMELIA
Friday, May 23 | 11:15 a.m.
My knuckles were bleached white as I held on to the door and the dashboard for dear life. The truck tipped and dipped as Jude rumbled over a trail that he claimed was a road.
Roads had asphalt and line markings.
Roads didn’t have trees on them.
