“Pretty much.”
I pushed myself onto one elbow.“I figured staying in a motorcycle club would be more exciting.”
His eyebrow lifted.“Haven’t you had enough excitement the last couple days?”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“A day of sitting around and maybe looking at papers should sound good to you,” he said.
I waved him toward the door.“You may be right.Go make coffee before I agree with anything else.”
“Yes, ma’am.”He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
I stared at the ceiling.
Doing nothing did sound boring.Painfully boring, but the thought of spending another quiet day with Wheels nearby sent a little thrill through me that was completely inappropriate considering the circumstances.
I sighed.“Nope.”I threw the covers back and immediately regretted moving that fast.The room tilted, and I had to sit on the edge of the mattress with my head in my hands for a full minute.
I needed to stop thinking about Wheels.I needed to start thinking about how I was going to get out of this mess.Running was still an option.
Not a good one, maybe not even a smart one, but it still sat in the back of my mind, packed and ready like my backpack by the door.I could disappear.I could leave Madison behind.I could take the second set of copies, get in my car, and drive until I hit a state where no one knew my name.
Except The Ledger had already found my apartment.
They knew where I lived.They knew what to take.They knew how to move without leaving a trace.
Running might buy time, but it wouldn’t make me safe.
The Saints were the only thing standing between me and them right now.
The thought should’ve scared me.Instead, it felt like the truth.I rubbed my hands over my face.“I am never drinking again.”My voice sounded like gravel.
I stood slowly, grabbed clean clothes from the small pile I’d tossed on the dresser last night, and shuffled toward the door.The hallway was quiet when I stepped out, but I still looked both ways out of habit.
The bathroom across the hall was empty.Thank God.
I slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned both hands on the sink while staring at myself in the mirror.Yikes.
My blonde hair was a disaster.My eyes were puffy.My cheeks were pale except for the faint pink mark on one side of my face where I’d apparently slept with the pillow trying to become part of me.“Looking good, Goldie,” I muttered.
I used the bathroom, then washed my face with cold water until I felt slightly less dead.Brushing my teeth helped even more.By the time I dragged a comb through my hair and twisted it into a messy knot at the back of my head, I almost looked human.
Back in my room, I pulled on jeans and a plain white T-shirt.Sneakers went on my feet.
I looked down at myself and almost didn’t recognize me.
Jeans.T-shirt.Sneakers.
Not slacks.Not a pencil skirt.Not a blouse tucked neatly into something high-waisted and boring.Not heels clicking against City Hall floors.Not a blazer hanging over the back of my chair while I checked permits and pretended everything made sense.
This version of me looked different.
More casual.More normal.More like the woman I was when no one was expecting me to be professional, polished, or careful.
I could get used to that.Which was dangerous, because I couldn’t get used to any of this.
I grabbed my phone, shoved it into my back pocket, and headed downstairs.
