Chapter Twenty

Cliff

I can’t believe Zac helped us. I fully expected him to decide he knew what was better for her and to actually haul her into jail. And he’d be kind of right; she’d be safe there. Safe from the rapists, the news crews, the paparazzi.

But it would be another kind of death for her to sit and wait. And the people after her would only wait too. The second she got out, they’d be on her and she’d be attacked.

But Zac had loaded her up, and I went and got in my truck and drove without direction like Zac told me to do. I’d waited for further instruction, trusting my friend not to betray me.

Nobody even bothered to follow me. I’d driven to the store, picked up snacks and drinks as well as a few other odds and ends; nothing too serious. Nothing that might give anyone ideas about what my plans might be next.

And then a text from Zac came through.

It simply said: The usual.

And I knew instantly. Knew my friend was going to help me, to protect Addie. I knew they’d drive and circle and throw anyone off their tails. They’d take a roundabout direction and drop her off in the place where I always handed off the bail jumpers I’d caught.

I’d gotten back in my truck and drove carefully, watching the rearview. Being followed now would spell disaster. But no familiar cars settled in behind me. And by the time I’d pulled off the main road, I was sure I was alone.

It took everything I had to be slow, to be meticulous and methodical. Because out there somewhere is Addie. I doubt they’d tell her everything, in case she did get caught. The less she knows, the safer we’d both be.

But I’m not stupid. I go slow. I make sure I don’t make mistakes. I drive out there and park as close to the only real hiding spot as I can. I open the back door of the truck and wait to make sure no one followed me.

I scan the road again and again, waiting to make sure no one followed me or happens along.

But no one does.

So I walk back toward where the two hedges meet and prepare myself. She’s going to be on edge. She’s going to spring. She’s going to attack and be ready to fight for her life.

***

And now, with her ready to go, I double-check and make sure we’re alone. We are, and I reach back into the brush and wave a hand at her in a come-hither motion.

She bolts for the back of the truck. With her in, I close the door and get in the cab. The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the parking lot, my heart slamming in my chest. But it looks like we got off scot-free.

I drive, a destination in mind.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

She says nothing for a few moments, and I worry about her. “I think so,” she says finally, her voice tiny. And I know the weight of everything is crushing her. She’s stressed and scared, and I don’t blame her.

I can’t even begin to imagine the fear she must be feeling. It must feel like the whole world wants to see her suffer… or make her suffer.

It’s horrifying.

Nobody should have to live with this kind of thing.

I think about the cabin. Zac has to know that’s where we’ll go, but he’s the only one who even knows about the place. And while I’m sure he’s not the one who squealed, there’s not a chance in hell that anyone else would ever guess this place in a million years.

The cabin isn’t in my name. It’s not even in my parents’ names. It’s still in my great-great-grandpa’s name. It was his home. He’d built it himself by hand, and it’s been passed down and passed down as a wedding gift through the generations.

It’s right on the private lake with its own dock and everything.

It’s a safe haven. And I know my parents won’t mind if I use it to keep Addie safe. Hell, they’ll likely come out and make sure we’re okay and everything is good.

It’s a weird feeling. I’ve never brought a woman home before. My mother has never met a woman in my life, because none of them have ever been serious.

So she’s going to know something is up. And while I’m not sure if she’ll fall for any bullshit story I could cook up, I know that I’m not sure she should know the whole truth. Not because I don’t trust her implicitly—I do—but because it’s not really my story to tell. If Addie wants her to know, then Addie can be the one to tell her.

It’s not my secret.

I will, however, find a way to tell Addie’s parents. They need to come see her. She’s going to need all the love and support she can get. Because even right now I can hear her soft sniffs and I know she’s crying again.

And my heart breaks. Because there’s nothing I can say that will make her feel better. I’m not going to lie and say it’ll all be all right; I don’t know that it will be.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I say, and I hear her quiet down a little.

“But where are we going to go?” she asks, her voice breaking and sounding so very small in the back seat. “We can’t go home.”

Home.

She called my place home.

But I can’t get derailed now. I need to comfort her. “I’ve got a place where you’ll be safe,” I say, hating the possibility that she might not be. I don’t want to let her trust down, but I need to make sure she knows I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.

“Thank you,” she says. I hear trust in her voice, and a new strength. As if all she needed was that little bit of support, that tiny affirmation that everything will work out just fine.

I just hope I’m not giving her false hope.

As I pull the truck onto the highway, I hear her start singing along with the radio and can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She’s obviously feeling stronger, safer, better.

Maybe I can comfort people. Maybe I can do more things than I give myself credit for. I’m not going to stretch and say I’m a people person by any means, but maybe I’m not total garbage at calming people down.

I crack the windows and let in the chilly air. The scent of salt begins to ease up as we drive away from the Puget Sound. I feel a little bad because I know how happy Addie was to be near the Sound. But the lake is beautiful. She’ll love it there, I’m sure.

“Cliff?” she says, and I roll up the windows so we can talk without the loud rush of air drowning us out.

“Yeah?” I ask, waiting for her to respond.

“Who do you think tipped everyone off?” she asks, and I think about it. I’d already wondered who it could be, but I’d drawn a blank.

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “But no one knows where we’re going next. Zac knows of the place, but he’s it,” I say.

“He didn’t do it,” she says, her voice so very sure I wonder if she knows something I don’t. But it makes sense. If Zac turned her in, why turn around and help her? Why let us get away? What would be the end game there? But who else really knew? Dakin?

Maybe someone else had seen her. Someone might have IDed her when she went out on the balcony or something. There are eyes everywhere. “Well, we’ll be safe where we’re going,” I say, wanting her to feel safe.

I’ll figure out who turned her in. And I’ll fucking kill them. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel, and the torn flesh pulls satisfyingly.

But that nagging sense of unease grows. Did Arlo figure out who I am and track me down? No, that’s not possible. Arlo is too stupid to do everything it would take to hunt me down.

But who else knew? There has to be someone else.

That feeling of unease only grows. I’m missing something. Something important. How can I promise her safety if I can’t even figure out who fingered her? Somebody out there knows way too much for comfort.

And as the miles slip away, I find myself no closer to answers. I only dredge up more questions. And the darkness in me begins to consume every bit of light and hope I possess.

Somebody knew where she was. Which means somebody knows I am protecting her.