CHAPTER 7
DREW
Lola’s terrified scream had taken me by surprise. It wasn’t like I had snuck up on her anything. The moment I was able to drag my eyes off the beautiful vision I had finally admitted I missed, it was to find someone standing at the end of a long hallway with a gun aimed at her. If she hadn’t ducked when I told her . . . my body shivered at the thought. There was no room for ‘what ifs’ in life. She was alive, but she was a target. Keeping my head clear and following the mission was my priority. Lola would live because there was no other suitable option. Not a damned hair on her head would be harmed.
My eyes scanned every inch of the crowd around me, and I kept close to the shop fronts that lined this busy street, keeping our backs somewhat covered. The thick crowds would work to our advantage. While I knew I had hit the son-of-a-bitch who had dared point a gun at Lola, I wasn’t sure if it had been a kill shot. I might have only scratched him which wouldn’t keep him down for long; he could be looking for us right now. That thought spurred me on, and I reached back and grabbed Lola’s elbow, pulling her along more quickly. She didn’t protest, letting me drag her around Chiang Mai like some sort of Neanderthal. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to be gentle right now; I needed to keep her alive. I also needed to get her on a bus to Bangkok. Dillon had given me the location of a safe house in this country, a small one-bedroom apartment above a restaurant in Bangkok. It was in the middle of the city, surrounded by busy vendors who traded all night long with a good clear view of the street, front and back. It would be the perfect place to lay low for a night while Dillon organized our flight back to the US.
Catching sight of a man surging through the crowd, I automatically pushed Lola back into a small alley, pressing her back against the brick wall behind us. Reaching into my jacket, I allowed my hand to wrap around the butt of my Glock as I watched the people milling around the street. The man had been Caucasian, too tall, too wide, military buzz cut not unlike my own, with eyes far too intense. He appeared to be alone and in a hurry, and that in itself sent alarm bells ringing. I found my target on the opposite side of the road. Catching a glimpse of him between a float, I knew he was the one after us. Red blossomed in a deadly spray on the sleeve of his blue t-shirt, blood.
When his harried gaze moved over the celebrating villagers and tourists, he almost missed us . . . almost. He locked onto me like a fox might do its prey, and I turned, pushing Lola ahead of me and down the narrow alleyway. She didn’t argue or ask questions; she simply obeyed my unspoken command and moved. When we were safe, when we could pause and rest, I’d praise her for allowing my brutish behavior without complaint.
I’d been to Thailand several times over the years, but I had never been to Chiang Mai. Even so, I’d had several hours between Claymont and my destination to study its geography and maps. I’d planned for every scenario and had mapped all ways in and out of the small town. There was no room for error, and there’d be none, because I knew exactly where I was going. Two blocks north, there was a small shopping mall, and if I cut through there, the bus station was only two streets away. Between now and then, I needed to lose the guy following us.
Turning down another tight alleyway, I took the opportunity to glance over my shoulder. Seeing nobody behind us, I grabbed Lola’s elbow and pulled her through a screen door and into the back of what I assumed was a restaurant. Lola let out a small yelp at the unexpected detour, but otherwise kept quiet and jogged to keep up with me. The kitchen was empty as I pulled her around the prep area and stopped abruptly when a young Thai man pushed his way through a swinging door. He too came to a halt, his hands laden down with empty plates.
“Sorry, we took a wrong turn somewhere,” I said in his language as I forced our way past him.
Thai was one of four languages I spoke, and even though it had been a long time since I had used this particular language, I didn’t have any trouble recalling it.
Slipping seamlessly around the busy tables, my fingers slipped from Lola’s arm to her hand. We’d been getting harried looks from strangers, and the way I was manhandling her would likely draw unwanted attention. Lacing my fingers with hers, I gave her hand a gentle squeeze hoping to convey that I had this, that everything was okay. When she squeezed my hand back, I almost turned and hugged her. I was so proud of my little mouse; she was handling this shit better than most. Doing a quick sweep of the street in front of us, I tugged her out of the restaurant. The town seemed to be in the midst of some sort of celebration, and the parade had already moved through this area, the crowds weren’t as thick as they had been back in the city center. It made moving easier, but it also made us a more obvious target.
We backtracked a block and headed east, instead of west, which was the direction I really needed to go. The hair on the back of my neck didn’t prickle, and I knew we had thrown our follower, for now.
The air was muggy and warm. Perspiration slid down my temple, and I brushed it away on the sleeve of my jacket. It was too hot for the heavy clothing, but I needed it to disguise the weapons I was carrying. All the while, Lola remained silent. Her face was pale, but her cheeks were flushed from exertion. Sweat beaded on her brow, and I knew both of us needed hydration. As soon as we reached the bus terminal, I would take care of her. After everything she had been through, the fact she was still running pissed me off. The woman deserved a fucking break; she deserved to be taken care of. She deserved a home she didn’t have to run from.
Eventually, we wound our way back in the direction we needed to go, losing ourselves amongst the heavy crowds of the parade once more before ducking down a side street. The bus terminal was little more than a store front, and I quickly purchased two tickets, feeling far too vulnerable in the open space. After buying two bottles of water and a couple of chocolate bars from the vendor right beside the ticket booth, I led Lola down another alleyway and to the back of the bus station. From here, I could see the area the bus would pull in to and depart from, only a short walk from the shaded overhang I positioned us under.
“Water,” I encouraged Lola, pushing the bottle into her hand.
She didn’t argue and drank deeply while I did the same. As discreetly as possible, I watched her, looking for signs of shock. Her pupils were dilated and her breathing was labored, but I think it had more to do with the running than shock. She looked so different from the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was longer, almost to her waist, and it was much lighter, with a reddish tinge under the sunlight. She had lost weight, and she’d already been too thin when she left. The dark circles under her eyes indicated exhaustion. Even so, she was beautiful. Ben Crane hadn’t broken her and the proof was the fact that one year later, she was still standing, still breathing, holding an inner strength that belied her tiny frame. She was so small compared to my hulking mass, and her skin was a few shades lighter. Her petite nose tipped up at the point, and her bottom lip was slightly fuller than her top. The woman was so tiny, like a delicate little mouse.
“What?” she asked, and then rolled her eyes. “I have something on my face, don’t I?”
It drew the corner of my mouth into a small smile, and I shook my head.
“No, you’re good.” The red in her cheeks deepened, and she glanced away with embarrassment. “Are you okay with me calling you Lola? I mean, your birth name is Lily. Would you prefer I call you Lily?”
“No, Lola is good. I prefer Lola.”
“Good,” I confessed as my gaze took in the street, our backs pressed into the rough brick of the building behind us.
There were a few people around, but otherwise, it was relatively quiet. The bus was due in fifteen minutes. That’s all we had to wait; fifteen minutes then we would be on our way to Bangkok.
“Why?” Lola’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Why what?” I wondered as I continued to watch the street.
“Why is that good?”
“Lola suits you,” I answered honestly.
“Oh.” She went quiet for a short time before her sweet voice broke the silence. “Why do you call me mouse? Is it because I have big ears?”
“What?” I balked, my gaze swinging around to settle on her gorgeous face. Her solemn eyes and the slight crease between her brow told me she wasn’t joking. “There is nothing wrong with your ears. They're perfect, like the rest of you.” The pink in her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t look away. Embarrassment wasn’t something I felt often, but right now, I wanted to climb into a hole. Rubbing the back of my neck I looked away. “You’re small and sweet and . . . delicate. Like a mouse.”
Giving her a sideways glance, I searched for her reaction. The nickname had been plucked out of thin air one day when I’d been watching her in Bouquets. The way she scurried around buckets of flowers doing her job and her fine features reminded me of a little mouse. It wasn’t meant to be derogatory, but if it bothered her, I’d never call her mouse again.
She seemed to think about what I’d said for a long time before taking another drink from her bottle of water.
“You going to horde all that chocolate to yourself?” she asked
The corner of my mouth threatened to curl into another grin, and I dug out one of the bars and handed it over.
“You should know, I really, really like chocolate. The thought of my life without chocolate is like a life without air.”
“Duly noted,” I said, trying to suppress my smile, filing that nugget of information away. My mouse had a sweet tooth.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Stop yourself from smiling.”
I shrugged, having never really noticed I did it. “Habit, I guess. Haven’t had a whole lot to smile about in my life. My face got comfortable frowning.”
“You do know it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile?”
Anndddd I was holding back that damn smile again. “Well, I guess since I’ve got so many muscles, I’ve perfected the art of frowning.”
“I like your smile,” she confessed after a quiet moment.
“I like yours, too,” I mumbled.
A bus turned onto the street, and even though I was alert and ready to go, my shoulders pressed back a fraction more as I shifted my feet. The man following us would be getting desperate, and if he was any good, this would definitely be one of the first places he’d look for us.
“Okay, Mouse, there is a small queue of people ready to board. We’ll go last, right before those doors close, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice lacked confidence, but she stuffed the uneaten half of the chocolate bar into her back pocket and took a subtle step towards me.
The bus pulled to a stop, the doors popped open, and the passengers on board disembarked. Lola’s tension was like a thick fog shadowing me. She was fidgeting, and her feet shuffled from side to side. Ignoring her anxiety was the only way I could stay focused. My eyes squinted as I searched the rooftops and open doorways. Eventually, the passengers, lined up on the side of the street, began to board, and as the last person climbed on, I grabbed Lola’s hand and pulled her toward the bus. The driver barely noticed us as I stood to one side and gently pushed Lola up the stairs, handing our tickets to the young Thai woman who stood on the street. We took two empty seats towards the back and waited for the new driver to slide into the seat behind the wheel. Just as I’d claimed the window seat, needing the unobstructed view of the street, the bus doors shifted closed with an audible swish. The familiar figure of the man tailing us stepped out of the alleyway to our left. My body tensed, but I kept still as I watched him, taking in every notable nuance in his behavior. He looked military, not just in appearance but the way he held himself and the way his eyes took in everything. His gaze settled on the bus as it roared to life and slowly drew away from the curb. Our eyes met as we pulled away, and I saw the frustration there, but more importantly, the determination. He didn’t waste time running after the bus, or firing his weapon in public. Instead, he turned and headed back the way he had come, no doubt to find out where our bus was headed. It would take nothing at all to figure out we were on our way to Bangkok, and he, or one of his associates, would be there waiting for us.
Pulling my phone from my jacket pocket, I sent Dillon a quick text message to let him know what was happening. The message was sent in a code the Montgomery team was familiar with. If anyone got their hands on my cell phone, they wouldn’t understand the information I sent.
“We can’t sit here,” I heard Lola whisper from beside me. I glanced at her before checking my phone again.
“We’ll be fine. We're safe for now. We won’t be on here too long.”
“How long?” The tremble in her voice dragged my attention from the message I was typing out. Lola’s knee bounced a steady cadence; her hands were linked together in her lap so tight her knuckles were beginning to turn white.
“Depends, ultimately I want to get us as close to Bangkok as possible.”
Her eyes darted around the bus, agitation clear in her movements.
“We can’t sit here,” she whisper-hissed, casting me a look of irritation entwined with a good dose of desperation.
Over the year I had spent watching Lola, I knew she had some quirky habits. Numbers was one of them. She liked order and tended to group things into even numbers. I’d watched her gathering roses together in bouquets once, and every group consisted of six flowers. Next were lilies and every bouquet held four flowers. Several times I had watched her count out the business cards that sat on Bouquets’ counter, always making sure there was an even number. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed her unusual habit, but my stalker-like tendencies had picked it up fairly quickly.
Numbers . . . I counted the seats before us. We were in row seven. “You need an even number, right?”
The surprise in her startled gaze was followed closely by a blush. She gave me a small nod, and noticing the seats behind us empty, I encouraged her out into the narrow aisle and took the window seat in row eight.
“This better?” I asked once she took her seat again.
“Yeah,” she breathed, her body visibly relaxing.
“You like even numbers and order.” She looked anywhere but at me as she gave another hesitant nod. “I saw your apartment. It was really neat; the things in your cupboards grouped into even numbers, labels all facing forward. Your fridge was a work of art. I’ve never seen anything so clean and orderly.”
She gave me an accusing stare. “You sure had a good poke around my personal space.”
“Rebecca and I packed up the place for you. We figured it was a place you would never return to. We boxed up anything we thought might be of value to you and stored it in the basement of Montgomery Security.”
Lola breathed out a frustrated breath of air, and her eyes focused on the scenery passing us by through the window over my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she finally murmured. “And I like order.”
“No problem.”
“It’s not like I need a straight jacket or anything,” she said after a short silence.
“I never thought you did.”
“I have OCD. I like order . . . and numbers.”
I nodded, not wanting to pry but happy to listen. I wanted to know everything about her, especially the things she battled.
“I was diagnosed when I was fifteen. I used to see a psychologist, and I learned some techniques to quiet the foolishness in my head, but when I get stressed, it gets bad.” Her brow arched. “I guess this would constitute as a stressful event. I like even numbers, but I can survive with odd ones. I just don’t like them. I’ve heard of some people who walk on every second tile because they can’t cope with the odd ones in between. I’ve even heard cases where phone numbers have had to be changed to all even numbers. I’m not that bad; my crazy is subtle.”
Giving her shoulder a nudge, I relaxed back in my seat. “Don’t knock crazy. Some of my favorite people are crazy.”