Page 73 of Hidden With You

ChapterTwenty-Four

“You’re sure this is going to work?” Jasper asks. We are sitting in the back of a cargo van, and I’m rearranging my shirt, trying to get it to not be so incredibly uncomfortable. “I already asked you that,” I remind him. “And you were right when you told me it would. I know my stepfather. He smells money, and he’ll be here in an instant.”

“This makes me nervous,” he says.

“That’s because you love me.” I bend forward and give him a kiss. “It’s good that you’re nervous. But I promise you, this is a plan worthy of a Martin King novel.”

He laughs. “That’s what I’m worried about. Usually truth is stranger than fiction. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with now that we’re mixing both.”

“All we’re doing is making tar paper.”

“A sticky trap for your stepfather. I just don’t like that you are the glue.”

We’ve been working on this plan for days, almost twenty-four/seven, our only breaks being late at night when we climb into bed together. It feels right and perfect having him beside me. It’s not even about the sex, though that is a major perk; it’s the way it feels, knowing that he’s there and that he loves me.

We haven’t talked about what we’ll do after this operation, when we’re no longer working round-the-clock and staying in the same house is no longer a boon for the operation.

Thankfully, my smart watch beeps before I get too lost in the weeds about our personal life.

I glance down to read the message from Brandon, one of the guys Matthew Holt recommended for this operation. Then I look up and flash a winning smile at Jasper. “Well,” I say, “I guess it’s time for my close-up.”

I start to move toward the side door of the van, but he takes my wrist and pulls me back. The kiss is long and deep, and I melt into it, only pulling away when my watch buzzes again.

“Thanks to you, I probably have to reapply my lipstick.”

He laughs, then kisses me again. “You’re beautiful. Now go out there and don’t get dead.”

“That’s the plan. Sort of.”

He rolls his eyes, then moves to stay out of sight as I open the door and step down. I see Brandon about a block away, bobbing in a sea of tourists.

I’ve gotten out on Hollywood Boulevard, right along the Walk of Stars. I glance around to see if anyone has noticed me, but I don’t see anything.

As far as I can tell, there’s nothing at all unusual about me being here. And why should there be? Folks come to Hollywood Boulevard all the time.

I adjust my purse on my shoulder and start to stroll. I’m dressed in a loose skirt with a peasant-style top. It’s white and flowy, but the undergarment is constricting as hell. I don’t have a weapon on me, but theoretically, I have a whole battalion of undercover agents keeping an eye on me. I haven’t spotted one of them.

I hope that’s because they’re good.

As far as we know, my stepfather is out of town with my mother, but I’m not going to feel safe ever until I know that he’s gone. I felt uncomfortable enough when I believed he was a plain old asshole. Now that I know how diabolical he is, I want the man behind bars. Or dead. Either way works for me.

What’s been an even worse pill to swallow is the intel that shows my mother wasn’t just riding along as the sidepiece. She’s been actively involved in all aspects of his operation. It’s disconcerting, but also confirms my conviction that, biology aside, that woman is not my mother.

I hum a little bit, singing a happy tune as I think of their impending demise, and I walk down the street, scoping out the sites. As a general rule, I wouldn’t come to Hollywood Boulevard. It’s far too touristy. But it suits my purposes today, and it seemed like a better place for this particular project than Rodeo Drive or the Third Street Promenade.

Another block, and I’m still doing my window shopping. I glance at my watch, wondering if I have a message. There isn’t one.

I turn around to look back and see if the van and Jasper are still in place. They are. I frown, wondering what’s gone wrong.

When I turn back around to continue my walk, there’s a man in front of me. He’s wearing a black ball cap and dark sunglasses. He also has a gun aimed right at my chest.

I stumble backward, my heart pounding. “Oh God,” I say. “Oh, God, what are you doing? Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

“Your purse, bitch,” he yells, and in my peripheral vision, I notice several tourists gawking. I want to call for help, but I can’t. I just can’t.

I pass him my purse, and he grabs it out of my hand.

Then he laughs, a cold, chilling laugh.

Next thing I know, he’s pulled the trigger. I feel the shock of pain as the bullet impacts my chest.

I stumble, then fall. As I do, I see a man in jeans and a blue T-shirt tackle my assailant.

Down they go, and at the same time that my attacker hits the ground, my entire world goes dark.