Sunday morning
Is this what it feels like to be on the run? It’s nearly two in the morning, and the only signs of life on I-35 are a convoy of semis, a couple of night-owl drivers who are probably chugging gas station coffee to stay alert, and me—paranoid, exhausted, and trying not to look like someone who just dumped a barely conscious FBI agent at a hotel like he was last night’s leftovers.
Athena directed me to go straight home and pack a bag—“But don’t make it look like you’re running away.” So, obviously, I panic-packed and overanalyzed whether taking a duffel bag or carry-on looked less like a person running away. Or if taking my lucky hoodie, extra cash, and six pairs of underwear for a two-day trip screamed “normal weekend” or “witness protection starter kit.”
I strategically left my bed unmade, marked my calendar with a dentist appointment I don’t have for Monday, and left a half-eaten granola bar on the counter, hoping it looked like I just stepped out for a quick trip andnotbecause I was afraid I’d end up in an unmarked van.
My stomach grumbles. I made the wise decision to stop at Buc-ee’s and grab my favorite pecan praline coffee and the family-size bag of peanut butter M&M’s to keep me company on the drive to my aunt anduncle’s ranch. The caffeine and sugar are definitely not helping me with my nerves.
I clench the wheel, checking my mirrors again. The route to Cypress Creek is second nature, but I’ve still switched roads, made unnecessary turns, and doubled back twice to check for a tail. No one has followed me. At least, not that I can see. Every set of headlights in my rearview feels like a possible threat, but unless Ramirez or the FBI has resorted to using rusted-out Camrys or lifted trucks with bumper stickers about fishing, I’m probably okay. For now.
My cell phone rings through the car speakers, and Ijump. Nope, definitely not okay. Totally fine though. Super chill.
I answer. “Hello.”
“Hey, how are you doing?” Athena’s voice is as calm as ever—which is easy to be when you’re notthe one whose face is about to be plastered all over the news for discarding an FBI agent at a hotel. I’m sure he’s okay. Right? If he’s unharmed, then it’s a lesser charge, right?
“Oh, you know, just an ordinary Saturday night—kidnapping an FBI agent, spying on crime bosses, wondering if peanut butter M&M’s were the right choice for my last meal.”
“First, you’re funny when you’re dramatic. Second, is there a better last meal than chocolate and peanut butter?”
I can’t argue with that logic.
But am I really being dramatic?
“I kidnapped an FBI agent and left him nearly unconscious on a hotel chair.” I track a suspicious-looking minivan that’s been keeping pace with me for a few miles. “Pretty sure I’m not being dramatic enough—oh, wait, Lorenzo Ramirez might know I’ve been spying on him.”
“You didn’t kidnap an FBI agent. We pulled the video footage, and he got into your car all on his own.”
I slow down and breathe easier when the van cruises past me. “Will that hold up in court?”
“You watch way too many crime shows.”
“I watch enough to know that circumstantial evidence can get you twenty to life in an orange jumpsuit, and orange isnotin my color palette.”
“Cybil, I need you to take a breath and listen to what I’m going to tell you.”
The shift in her tone causes me to straighten in my seat. “I’m listening.”
“And breathing?”
“I’d be dead if I wasn’t.”
Silence.
“Yes.” I blow out an exhale that’s loud enough for her to hear. “I’m breathing.”
“Good, because what I’m about to tell you might make you panic a tiny little bit.”
“We’ve really got to work on your calming techniques.”
“When we were checking to see how the FBI agent got into your car, we spotted your boyfriend, Craig Miller.”
I wrinkle my nose. “He’s not my—never mind. What was he doing?”
“You said he pulled the fire alarm, giving you a chance to get away from Rook, but if he’s working for Rook and they suspect you, why would he let you go?”
I’ve been trying to work that out too. My brain wants to explain it as nothing more than coincidence, but my heart is holding out for the more romantic notion that he did it to protect me because he has feelings for me.
