“Right,” I said with a huff, then spun to face him. “Wait—do you mean they haven’t been here long because they were just passing through or because they died?”
Jude glanced over his shoulder. “Yes.”
Yes? Yes what? They died or they were just passing through or—oh.
He meant both.
Jude turned away as he dried his hands on a towel. I racked my brain, trying to unpack what his deal was, but he was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
But being prepared—that was the one thing he took great pride in.
The truck being ready to go. The go bag with the phone and a few necessities. The cabin. The cellar. He had thought of everything.
Everything except being here longer than usual.
I clicked my tongue in obvious dismay. “Not gonna lie, I thought you’d be more prepared than that. I thought you’d want a happy hostage.”
“People who come here aren’t hostages.” Jude couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.
Ha. I was getting to him.
“Then what am I?”
Sharp eyes landed on mine, but I didn’t cower. “A pain in my ass,” he groused.
I smirked.Jackpot.
I just needed to get inside his head. I needed to figure out what his intentions were. If what he said was true and John Valentine was coming after him for disobeying orders and going on the run, was he just keeping me alive in order to use me as a bargaining chip when the time came?
But if that was true, why would he save Joel?
Had he really saved Joel? Or was Joel the ace up Jude’s sleeve?
And what was Jude’s last name? Maybe that bothered me most of all.
19
AMELIA
Saturday, May 24 | 12:10 p.m.
“What’s your name?”
Jude looked rather startled. “What?”
“Your name,” I pressed. “What is it?”
His brows furrowed. “Why?”
I huffed. “Because I’m bored out of my mind and you didn’t think to have a safe house with things to do. And unlike you, GI Joe, I don’t chop wood and do push-ups for fun.”
Jude crossed his arms. “What do you do for fun? You know—besides count cards at casinos.”
“No, no, no.I’masking the questions here. You’ve stalked me enough, thank you very much. It’s my turn.”
He blinked, let out a long sigh, and then sat on the couch. “The point of stalking is to do it when the mark isn’t privy to it. What you’re doing is called interrogation.” He gave me a judgmental once-over. “Poorly, I might add.”
I groaned at the ceiling. “Ugh, just tell me your name so I can stop speculating wildly. Jude Smith? Jude Donaldson? Jude Jones? Jude Order?”
