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Anne couldn’t wait to see her relatives. They knew about Silas and Killian, although she never mentioned the break-in or hospitalization. Nothing more was heard from the man who broke in or Jason, for that matter. So, as far as she was concerned, all was right with the world.
* * *
Killian felt a dull ache in his heart after he watched Anne and Silas disappear at the airport. Another time, he’d get to meet her relatives, but this week was just for her.
He still couldn’t believe how quickly his feelings for her and Silas had intensified.
Although it wasn’t as if the guys didn’t warn him, but he hadn’t believed them. Killian even called his sister to tell her that he found someone. Gina was ecstatic for him and wanted him to bring Anne and Silas to meet her. He would, but not right now.
Out of the blue, Sam offered all the employees trackers for their families’ safety. At first, he thought it was an odd request until he realized that most of his friends’ women had been kidnapped. Finding them would have been a lot easier if they had a tracker.
He hadn’t asked Anne about it because he wasn’t sure how she would feel, but he got one for Silas and tucked it into his backpack. If it kept Silas safe, Anne would be happy. Although it was quite possible this might come back and bite him in the ass.
No one still had any idea why Anne’s house had been broken into. Killian couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse was going to happen, and it weighed heavily on his mind. Not that he was a worrywart, but problems just didn’t disappear.
The issue with Jason had been resolved, at least. Anne hadn’t heard from him since Killian had caught him spying on her in the bushes. And wasn’t that a weird situation?
Killian drove back to the office, wondering how Anne and Silas were making out. He knew Anne set the alarms at the house, but he’d go over and check on things anyhow. The guys were meeting at Dirty Pete’s tonight, and he promised to meet them there—anything to take his mind off missing Anne and Silas.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“What’s your plan now?” asked Bobby. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it. His whiny voice grated on Martin’s ears.
Martin closed his eyes and yawned. They’d been going over a new plan all morning, and Martin was tired. Tired of the back-and-forth getting them nowhere, tired of the insane suggestions Bobby was coming up with, tired of Bobby’s hints for more payment if he helped Martin—just tired of his life and of constantly looking over his shoulder.
Martin opened his eyes and looked around the small cabin. It was an hour away from Black Pointe and situated down a dirt road hidden by overgrown bushes and trees. An ideal location for Bobby, who didn’t get along well with people. Hell, none of them did. Martin just wanted to be left alone, and Jinx—well, Jinx was a loose cannon. He’d rather shoot you than argue.
They were quite the dream team. And wasn’t that a laugh? Even though Jinx was in jail, Martin still had to deal with Bobby.
“I have some ideas I’m working on,” said Martin, breaking the silence. He didn’t want to tell Bobby he got a job at Silas’s school. If Bobby came sniffing around the school, it would blow his plan to hell. And since Bobby and Jinx were such good friends, he didn’t want Jinx to find out, either. He wasn’t sure what Jinx would do or ask for.
“How about another brewski?” asked Bobby, holding up his empty can.
“Sure, why not?”
Martin didn’t have anywhere to go. He didn’t want to sit around his crappy apartment, although Bobby’s place was no better. A one-bedroom, one-bath house, the cabin had a small living room and an even smaller kitchen. The last time it was updated was probably—never.
Previously painted yellow and now faded to dirty white, the walls were covered with unidentified stains.
Bobby had scrounged a beat-up sofa, two worn chairs with lumpy cushions and an ottoman that looked like they had come out of Martin’s great-grandmother’s house. The only redeeming feature was the big-ass TV in the corner.
Bobby didn’t like doing dishes or cooking. In one corner of the kitchen there were bags of garbage stinking it up.
Martin had never looked in the bedroom, never had an urge.
The bathroom was tired, the toilet was growing things, and Martin couldn’t even go in there.
The location was private and perfect for Bobby.
Bobby got up to get the beer.
Martin thought about the next week. He got a job at the school. Now, he was known as Martin Smith. His jail mate’s contact had a sense of humor. Why not use the most popular last name ever?
He’d start the day after school vacation was over. It had been easy enough getting around the background check, especially with his fake ID’s.
The fingerprinting was more complicated. The one thing he learned quickly in life was to have people who owed you. He tracked down his friend—well, not a friend-friend but an acquaintance—and explained his predicament. The guy was happy to help. Besides, he owed Martin big-time. It reminded him of that song “Friends in Low Places,” which he had.
The man had a clean record and was hired. It was a stroke of luck, something he didn’t have much of lately, but they looked very much alike. Martin’s jail mate had a contact at the police station who wouldn’t look too closely. He didn’t plan on being at the school for more than several weeks. If or when the school found out about the deception, he would be long gone.
