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He wished he was, but he couldn’t tell her that. “You’re not going to wimp out on me now are you?”
“Never.” She sprinted to the edge and sailed over, cleared the open space between buildings like a pro.
She touched down on the other side and stumbled forward a few steps before drawing herself up to her full height. She turned and gave him a thumbs up, like she did this as often as he did.
He nearly reeled back from the realization. Drea had never done this—ever—until he’d pushed her to this point. He’d dragged her along on this crazy chase without stopping to make a plan or figure out if this really was the best course of action. He’d fucked this up, and now she was running for her life from Diamond Tommy and the cops. He could have taken her to the cops despite Tommy’s warning. He could have gotten her on the first flight to a tropical island free from threat of extradition. But he hadn’t. He’d failed her. All her options were gone because of him.
Tires squealed to a stop in front of the building. Cops or Diamond Tommy’s goons? He didn’t even bother to look. Either way, they needed to get the fuck out of Dodge and to the safe house. There he’d figure out how to get her out of this mess and get the hell out of Drea’s life before he fucked it up even more. She deserved more than a fucked up junkie’s kid who couldn’t keep his own shit straight.
Cam pushed his legs until this thighs burned with the effort, sprinted across the roof, and jumped into the sky. He’d done a million different jumps in a million different locations, but he’d hated every single one more than Indiana Jones loathed snakes. After what seemed like an eternity, his feet hit the gravel of the other rooftop, and he slid to a stop.
In the distance, a dot grew until he could make out the body of a white helicopter with WHBC 4 painted on it in dark blue.
“We have company.” He pointed to the news chopper closing in on their position fast.
She backed up to the farthest edge of the roof and curled her arms into a running position. “If we make it through this, I’m going to kill you.”
“Get in line.” He backpedaled until his heels hit the roof’s edge.
She flipped him off, then took off at a run and leaped over the gap between buildings. He followed three steps behind. They repeated it one more time before latching onto the fire escape at the last building and swinging over the edge.
They scaled down the fire escape in record time. All that stood between them and the tree line was a trash-strewn abandoned lot.
Police sirens sounded at the other end of the block.
Their time was up.
“It’s now or never,” he said. “We need to get to the trees.”
She moved to run, but he grabbed her arm.
“What is it?” she said.
“Whatever happens, don’t stop. All that matters is you getting out of this mess I made for you. I promise, after that you won’t have to worry about me again.”
She gave him a quizzical look, but there wasn’t time for discussion. He nudged her forward and they took off, stomping on fast food bags and hurdling empty boxes as they crossed the lot.
A few steps ahead of him, Drea disappeared into the thick trees on the edge of Central Square. Tires squealed behind them, but he didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He’d spent too many years dodging the police to mistake the sound for anything but the arrival of cops. He made it to the trees just as the first uniformed officer hollered for him to halt.
But that wasn’t what made him stop. As bad as the sound behind him was, he could see something much worse ahead of him.
Diamond Tommy’s head goon, Isaiah Knight, with one heavily tattooed forearm locked around Drea’s throat.
Chapter Fifteen
“There are no rules in makeup. If there were, I’d break them anyway.” - Jaclyn Hill
Cam read the situation in a heartbeat. Cops behind him, psycho in front of him, and Drea caught in the middle. A calculating coldness swept up from his toes and turned the world crystal clear. His mission—his only mission—was to get Drea out of Knight’s grasp any way he could. They’d figure the rest out later.
He didn’t move, not a single inch. He couldn’t—not yet—and it was killing him not to barrel through the brush to her side. Knight would snap her neck before Cam took a single step. He couldn’t just act this time. He had to plan or Drea would pay the price.
For her part, Drea stood stock still, her gaze steady and her tell-tale jittery thumb tucked inside her curled fingers. Considering all the shit she’d been through,
he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d lost it right then and there. But she didn’t. The stubborn woman probably didn’t want to give Knight the satisfaction of knowing he’d riled her. He loved that about her.
He loved her.
The realization landed like a direct hit from a fifty-caliber machine gun straight to the chest, and he’d be damned if he was going to let anything come between them now, especially not a thug with shitty taste in tattoos. He’d do whatever it took to make her safe. Whatever. It. Took.
