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Logan
Isaiah’s in the driver’s seat of his Mustang. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift. His finger on the steering wheel taps at a constant, persistent rhythm. It’s fast, a bit maddening, and it represents how I feel. Across the parking lot is Abby and she’s talking to Linus.
Never knew I could hate another human being as much as I do him.
“Did you know she’d be here?” I ask.
Isaiah subtly nods. “She’s always here on Friday and Saturday nights. It was her father’s routine and now it’s hers.”
“How far back do you two go?”
“Far.”
Every night since I left Abby alone in her bedroom, Isaiah and I have been out searching for her shooter. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t. When we do, it’s the debate of what to do when we find the bastard—the pros and cons of heading to the police.
That’s my initial choice, but Isaiah’s hesitant and I understand why. Neither of us wants to see Abby caught up in legal issues and winding up in jail.
“If this is safe territory for Abby, then why are we here?” My eyes narrow in on Isaiah. “Unless you think he’s going to try to hurt her again.”
“Never know, but I thought we’d approach things different tonight. If Linus is claiming to be the one who saw the shooter, then maybe the shooter will be after him.”
I nod, following his train of thought. If we tail Linus and the shooter is following him, we’ll discover who we’ve been hunting for.
“Have you thought about my idea?” asks Isaiah.
An intervention. Isaiah thinks we need to tie Abby to a chair and have a full-blown intervention. “Won’t work unless we can find a way to solve her problems.”
Isaiah’s silent for a few beats. Abby walks away from Linus and the two of us grow restless as she disappears from view. It’s been tough, not talking to her since seeing her at the school, not checking in on her, not knowing if this time her job will catch up to her and I won’t see her again.
“She needs money,” Isaiah states as he tracks Linus walking toward an SUV.
“Yeah.” But Isaiah doesn’t know why and he’s guessing I do. “And she also won’t leave if she thinks any of us are in danger.”
“You, Logan. It’s you right now that’s driving her.”
The glare I send him is a silent “Screw you.” Silent because he’s right. Silent because the respect in his eyes while looking over at me tells me that he’ll always be grateful that I went after Abby.
“I don’t think I’m going to the farms down south.” The past four years, me, Ryan, Chris, and whatever other guys we can pull together go and bale hay on the farm Chris’s grandfather owns south of here and then extend our services to neighboring farms. This year, we convinced Isaiah, West, and Noah to come with us, but I can’t leave Louisville knowing Abby’s in danger.
“Can it be pushed off?”
“No. They’ve already cut the hay and it’s dried. We either go now or don’t go at all. You can still go. I’ll keep an eye on Abby.”
Isaiah shakes his head in disagreement. He’s starting out on his own and was looking forward to this week. He was hoping for the nice payday to give him a financial cushion, but he won’t leave Abby behind, either. Not without figuring out who her shooter is.
Isaiah’s eyes dart to his rearview mirror and in a split second his hand is on the gearshift and his foot on the clutch. Before I can ask what the hell is going on a huge son of a bitch, a mountain of a man, stands in front of Isaiah’s car, laying both of his hands on the hood. Don’t have to look back to know someone’s at the rear.
The Mustang’s engine growls, Isaiah shifts into First and as I prepare myself for Isaiah to play the ultimate game of chicken, a slam on my window. Isaiah smacks his hand against the steering wheel and curses.
Eric glares at me through the glass and says three words that cause my blood to grow cold. “I’ve got Abby.”
Abby
It’s only eleven and I’m calling it a night. My shoulder aches, I can’t prevent the stream of yawns that are leaving my mouth, and I’ve sold enough to be profitable.
I hop off my wall and start weaving through the crowd. The number eleven bus will be here soon and that will give me a straight shot home to Grams.
“Heading out?” Linus’s favorite sidekick, Tommy, slips next to me and I barely look at him out of the corner of my eye. I’m pissed because it’s obvious Linus handed him the end of the invisible leash that leads to my neck.
