Page 17 of Trust

“Philip speaks highly of your work. Nigeria, wasn’t it?” A faint smile appears on his face. “A shame your file went missing. It would be unfortunate if that data happened to resurface.”

He plants his hands on the desk and leans in, trying to match my stare. We both know who’s got the upper hand here, and it isn’t me.

A thick envelope appears from his coat pocket and lands next to the photo. Down payment.

“No permanent damage,” he says. “You can scare her a little if you must. Teach her discipline, respect. Think of it as a reset.”

I tap the photo, thinking. She was raised for spotlights, not responsibility. My kind of jobs don’t involve high-strung rich girls with attitude problems.

“I’ll handle it my way,” I say. “My timing, my terms. Not before she’s eighteen. No one else active.”

“Discretion is everything,” Whitmore says, his tone clipped. “Not at her school. Not her home. And absolutely no scene. Other than that, you have full control.”

That catches my attention. Her home would have been the easiest option. There’s more to it than avoiding scandal.

I take the envelope and secure the photo inside my jacket. “If she bites me, I’m biting back.”

Instead of replying, he hands me a business card tucked between his index and middle finger. A phone number scrawled on the back. A burner I suppose. “Keep me updated.”

I snort. “I’ll text. Radio silence as soon as she’s with me. Call on election day. That’s it.” I don’t need him watching over my shoulder.

“She’ll need clothes. Pack a bag. Store it here. I’ll get it when I need it.”

He looks like it never occurred to him she might need something to wear. Did he think I’d take her shopping?

This job’s already a pain in my neck.

BREAK

Sara – Today

The cold seeping into my bones wakes me, merging with the dull ache in my neck and spine, all caused by this sorry excuse of a mattress. Then it all comes rushing back: the police station, the van, him.

“Shit.” The word is dry in my throat.

Music is still playing, the softer tunes of “Rain” filling the space around me. Does he like Sleep Token?

As if that matters. There’s a more urgent issue to worry about: my bladder is on the verge of bursting, and if he doesn’t pull over right now...

I pound on the wall behind me, trying to get his attention. “Hey! I need to pee!”

No reaction.

I bang harder. “I’m not kidding, asshole!”

Silence.

Clenching my teeth, I wiggle around the mattress, pressing my thighs together to keep control. I’m not going to relieve myself in this place like some animal.

Right as I’m plotting how to DIY a solution out of a sandwich wrapper and an empty bottle, we turn left and stop. The back door creaks open, and there he is, blocking the entire exit with his huge body and sizing me up.

“Trick me and you’ll regret it,” he says flatly before he clears the way and gestures for me to come out.

I clamber out stiffly, squinting into the half-light. Trees, nothing but woods on both sides of the road.

“Here?”

“We’ve got about four more hours to go,” he says. “If you want to wait—”