“Gwen –”
“In you and I don’t want to come up for air.”
“Fuck. Baby –”
I heard the phone jostle then a man told me, “Do it. Text.”
Then I got dead air.
My head hit the steering wheel but I didn’t feel it or see it. My eyes were still closed and tears were streaming down my face.
Baby.
That was burned on my brain too.
Baby.
“Oh God,” I whispered, opened my eyes and stared at my thighs. “If I pull this off, Ginger, please, please forgive me.”
My breath hitched and it did it painfully, burning my throat.
Baby, do not do this shit.
Another sob tore from my throat.
Do not do it, Gwen.
My hands went to the steering wheel and held on.
Do not do it…
My fingers were curled around the steering wheel but I didn’t feel the wheel, I felt fingers curled around mine, my hand was little and they engulfed mine. In my mind, I looked up and saw Meredith with her wedding veil over her face smiling down at me.
Her fingers squeezed mine, warm and tight.
I felt my tears wet on my jeans.
Shit. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t turn over my sister, my Dad and Meredith’s daughter for my man. I couldn’t do it.
I let the steering wheel go and covered my face with my hands as the sobs burned up my throat, so powerful, they shook my shoulders.
“Baby,” I cried into my hands that picture in the Polaroid all I could see against my closed eyelids. “Oh God, baby,” I whispered as my shoulders heaved.
The passenger door flew open, my back shot straight, my head turned and through my tears I stared in stunned shock as Ginger jumped into the passenger seat.
“What the –?” I breathed.
“Drive!” she shouted.
“What?” I asked.
“Drive, bitch, drive!” she screamed.
I blinked then straightened, turned the key in the ignition and shot from the curb.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Commando Woman Lesson One
“Not my gig, Gwennie, but those shoes are hot,” Ginger said through a mouth full of Mustard’s Last Stand, Vienna beef, Chicago style, chili-cheese hotdog.
Mustard’s Last Stand had always been Ginger’s favorite and that was where she wanted to go after escaping her protective custody safe house when she saw my car on the street with me sitting in it having a mental collapse. So I headed to University Boulevard, bought her a chili-cheese dog and then we drove to the Target parking lot on Colorado Boulevard so she could eat it. The whole time to and from, Ginger checked for a tail and declared we didn’t have one.
I figured she would know so at least that was a relief.
She had her dog in one hand, the Polaroid of me and Hawk in the other one and she was studying it.
“Ginger, we need a plan,” I told her. “And I think the best plan we have is taking you straight to the police station. You can say you got a craving for Mustard’s and I’ll say I was just in the neighborhood having my annual nervous breakdown.”
Her eyes slid to me and, again with her mouth full, she asked, “Are you high?”
Okay, clearly that wasn’t a choice.
“How about I rent you a car, get you some money, we go to my house and get you some clothes and then you drive to Canada,” I suggested.
“Gwen, your clothes…” she trailed off and shook her head.
“Okay, then we’ll go to the nearest biker babe and stripper shops and we’ll stock you up.”
She glared at me then she stated, “It’s cold in Canada.”
“It’s cold here,” I reminded her.
“Yes, for a few months, it’s cold there all the time.”
“It is not.”
“It is too.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m not going to Canada,” she snapped, took another bite and shoved the photo in my purse.
“Don’t hurt my Polaroid!” I cried, my hand darting out to it to make sure she didn’t bend or scratch it. I pulled it out and inspected it, taking in a huge breath through my nostrils when I saw it was fine and then taking in another one when I saw the picture of Hawk laughing.
Fuck.
“Gwennie,” Ginger whispered and I carefully slid the picture safe into my purse and looked at her.
“How about we go to Dad? Dad’ll have an idea.”
“I can’t go to Mom and Dad. I shouldn’t be here with you and they’ve got your old man. This shit needs contained. It isn’t spreading any further.”
Wow. It seemed like Ginger had spent her time in protective custody reflecting.
Interesting.
“We’re going to Tack,” she announced and I stared at her.
“Ginger, honey, I hate to remind you of this but you owe the Chaos MC over two million dollars.”
“Yeah, well, my partners on that job were Fresh and Skeet and they got their stupid jackasses caught kidnapping you before they were able to move that shit. It was hot. Tack and his boys were all over it. We couldn’t move it until it got cold, not custom built cars and a bike, no way and none of his shit either. That stuff surfaced, it would lead back to them, no one knew they were in on it and they’d be fucked. Fresh and Skeet share a brain cell so neither of them could open a safe even though they told me they could. I don’t know how to do that shit so all of it is sittin’ in one of Skeet’s sister’s storage units on Evans.”
This was good news.
“This is good news,” I told her.
She shoved in the last bite of dog and then crumpled the messy wrapper and napkin, speaking again with mouth full. “I give you the location, you call it in to Tack, he sends boys out, they find that shit, I’m cool with Tack. Then we meet with him and you text Roarke. You tell them Tack is makin’ the switch.” I sucked in breath as she swallowed but before I could say anything, she kept talking. “If he can take my back after the switch is made, good. If he can’t…” she trailed off and shrugged.
I stared at her.
Then I asked, “Are you nuts?”
“No, Gwen, I’m not nuts. You aren’t gettin’ anywhere near Roarke.”
“Neither are you!” I fired back and her body jerked toward me.
“Call Tack, set up the deal,” she ordered.
“No, Ginger, I like the Canada plan,” I returned. “If you won’t do the police station plan, we should explore the Canada plan.”
“Bitch, they got your old man,” she reminded me and my throat started burning again as tears stung my eyes.
“I know,” I whispered, “and they’re not going to get you.”
“They got your old man,” she repeated.
“Stop it, Ginger, I know, okay? And they are not going to get you.”
She slipped her hand in my purse and then the Polaroid was in my face. “Gwen, for fuck’s sake, they’ve got –”
I snatched the picture from her and screamed, “I know!”
Then I closed my eyes tight and looked away.
Ginger was silent as I struggled with tears.
Then I heard her whisper, “Gwennie, call Tack.”
“No,” I whispered back.
Then she did something she hadn’t done in years. So long, I forgot she used to do it but she did it all the time when we were young. She just added a new, sweet, sister nuance.
I felt her hand curl around my neck and then I felt her forehead against the side of my hair as she sang a silly, nonsensical song she made up when she was three, “Gwennie, Gwennie, hennie, fennie, Gwennie, Gwennie, lennie, bennie, love my sissy… Gwennie.”