Bending forward, I lower my voice to a hushed whisper. “That’s what I’m afraid of, but if that’s the case, I’m not sure what our next step should be. If I get the feds involved, I take the chance of pissing the Russians off and forcing their hand to act prematurely and hastily. And if by some chance killing her isn’t their end game, that they truly are planning on letting her go after she takes care of Vincent, then I’ve put her, me, all of us in unnecessary danger. Plus, it’s not like I know exactly where she is, other than some remote, heavily wooded place a couple hours from Truckee.”
“I’m sure with the technology the FBI has they could use some kind of thermal lenses or something to search the area,” she contends, obviously choosing the route of me telling the authorities what I know.
“Maybe . . . probably . . . I’m not sure what the fuck to do.” I check my phone again. Still nothing. Growling, I drag my tense fingers through my overgrown hair. “Right now, though, my biggest concern revolves around where Easton is and why he hasn’t texted or called back. What in the hell was that note? He knew how important it was for him to stay at my house. You told him you were on your way to pick me up at the airport, right?”
Jae nods as she slumps back on the vinyl-covered bench. “I texted him with the code word we’d discussed, so yeah; as long as he had his phone on him, he should’ve known.”
I blow out a frustrated sigh and tap my fingers on the tabletop, feeling like a caged animal inside. The woman I love more than life itself is being held hostage by one mafia family, while preparing herself to murder the leader of another. My brother is MIA, probably getting himself involved in shit that will lead to problems for all of us. And other than the friend sitting across from me now, and possibly my housekeeper and personal assistant, I trust no one. I have no clue what I should do next, but I have to do something.
“I guess I’m going to get you to take me back home,” I say after the two of us sit in silence for several minutes. “If we get caught, we get caught. I can’t spend the night in this diner, and I know you need to get home too. I’m going to pull up the satellite view of Google maps around Truckee and see if I can narrow down her location. At least it’s something—”
“Don’t use your computer,” she cuts me off, holding her hand up in the air. “Not unless you want them to know what you’re searching. We can stop by my place and you can use mine. Plus, that buys us a little more time to try to locate Easton too.”
I knew I liked this woman. “Good point and good plan.” Digging my wallet out of my back pocket, I toss a twenty on the table, which should be more than enough to cover the two coffees and a tip. “Let’s go.”
We make our way out of the restaurant and across the pavement to her SUV, and just as I open the passenger-side door to climb in, a very familiar bright red sports car zooms wildly into the parking lot with a blacked-out Tahoe right on its tail. Not even bothering to park in an actual spot, Easton jumps out of his car and rushes over to us, frantic and frazzled.
“What? What happened? Where were you?” I demand as Jae and Lance join us. My heart is thudding uncontrollably in my chest, because I know by the wretched look in his eyes whatever he’s about to say is going to bad.
Struggling to find his voice, he attempts to speak a couple of times before the words finally spill out. “I-I swear I wouldn’t have left, but . . . but I got a call from the Listers. It . . . it . . . it’s Emerson. She’s dead.”
THE MOANING AND HISSING OF the hot water heater outside the cabin, just on the other side of the thin bedroom wall, wakes me up just as it’s done every morning since I started sleeping in this room. The poor thing sounds like it’s on its last leg, and if it wasn’t for the fact I really enjoy taking hot showers, I’d probably take Raze’s gun out there and put it out of its misery once and for all. But as I roll over in the bed onto my back and stare at the white popcorn ceiling, I remind myself this nightmare is almost over.
Cabin fever. I suffer from it in the most literal form. And if I wasn’t already planning on killing someone soon, I’d definitely be contemplating it after being cooped up in this cabin for the last two plus weeks. Even though I enjoy Raze’s company for the most part, and I’ve accepted the fact that not all men who live the ruthless mob lifestyle are heartless monsters like Ish and Vincent, I’m ready to return to my life . . . to Madden.
After having him here several nights ago—touching him, holding him, kissing him, loving him—I now know without a shadow of a doubt where my place is in life: By his side. He offers me physical exhilaration, emotional security, and an overall happiness I never knew possible. And after all I’ve been through in the past few years, I deserve it and am willing to do whatever it takes to get it back.
With a loud sigh that’s for no one’s sake but my own, I toss the covers to the side and slip on a fleece hoodie over the tank top I slept in, along with one of my two pairs of sweatpants I alternate in between. Once I’m nice and warm and properly covered, I venture out into the main living area of the cabin only to stop dead in my tracks at the scene awaiting me.
Raze—who has been dressed in head-to-toe black since the day I first saw him—is wearing fitted Wranglers, a plaid flannel on top of a white thermal, and tattered brown work boots as he waits for the coffee maker to finish brewing the morning pot of joe. I’m not sure whether to gawk at him, never having realized how handsome he is when he doesn’t look like a trained assassin, or to crack up laughing at the Russian lumberjack.
Sensing my presence, he twists his neck to look over at where I’m frozen mid-step and pinches his eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s with the outfit? Are you going to chop down trees today?” I tease, resuming my stride to join him in the kitchen.
He glances down at his clothes, as if he doesn’t know they’re nothing like what he usually has on, then looks back up at me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t be chopping down any trees, kotyonok, but I’m happy you like the outfit. I have to go in town for some things this morning to prepare for our big day, which is rapidly approaching.” His tone grows more serious as the amusement rapidly disappears from his face, and my stomach tightens in a hard knot as I grab my own mug.
“I got the call last night after you were already asleep,” he continues after a short pause, holding my gaze with fierce intensity. “Three days. I’ve got a lot to do between now and then, but in three days, this will all be over . . . one way or another.”
It’s the news I’ve been waiting for. Finally. There’s an end date. Light at the end of the tunnel. But something feels off. Very off.
“This is a good thing, right?” I ask, hoping the unsettled churning in my gut is just a reaction to the realization that in just a few days, I will point a gun at a man and pull the trigger. And honestly, I doubt I’ll feel much remorse at all. “We can go back to our old lives and put this all behind us.”
He hesitates for only a split-second, but it’s a split-second I don’t miss. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he nods and fills his thermos then steps to the side to allow me to do the same. “Yes, put this all behind us,” he repeats my words, but when he says them, the feel of dark foreboding hangs on each syllable.
I don’t respond as my mind goes into overdrive, suddenly fretting about every possible outcome that can occur at the end of three days. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve become way too comfortable in this fake sense of normalcy Raze and I have created here, and perhaps I’ve put too much trust in this man who I only think I know.