Page 32 of His Promise

She shrugs. “Seemed like there’d be a lot of work here.”

I don’t say anything for several seconds, and she squirms. “What?” she asks.

“You realize that makes you sound like a prostitute.”

“I don’t care what it makes me sound like. What the hell do you want me to say?”

“The truth, Abi.”

Her face reddens and she looks away. She’s hiding something, and it’s pathetic how easy it is to spot.

“That is the truth,” she says, still not looking at me.

“You did not bring a seven-year-old boy to Las Vegas Nevada so that you could work at a club or as a server.”

“I don’t care what you or your family thinks about me as a parent.”

“Look at me.”

Abi sits still, a sad sheen covering her eyes. I wait for her to look at me, and when she does, I glance around the diner to ensure no one is listening. I meet her gaze and lean toward her. “My cousin is going to be looking into you, and he’s going to figure out whatever the hell it is you’re trying to hide. Fiancés lie to each other about who they are all the time, so spin me whatever bullshit you want. But if you want there to be even a slight chance that I’ll help you, then—”

“I don’t need you to worry about my past, just…” Her voice trails off and she closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. “Just get me out of this mess so I can get me and my son out of this city.”

I nod, and before I can say anything, the hairs on the back of my neck raise. I glance through the diner’s windows and spot a car across the street. I don’t remember it being there when Abi showed up.

Are they followingher?

“Come on,” I say, standing and pulling my wallet out. I toss a few bills on the table and take Abi’s hand as she stands.

“Where are we going?”

Ignoring her question, I pull her into me and wrap possessive hands around her waist to point her toward the door.

She gasps and puts her hands over mine. She must remember the charade we’re pulling because she relaxes and her hands turn from prying to caressing. She smoothes her hands over mine and crooks her neck to look back at me with a smile.

The smell of her shampoo fills my nostrils and I take a deep inhale. For a few moments I forget we’re acting.

“Colter?” The worry in Abi’s voice brings me back to the present.

I give my head a shake and step to her side, my hand moving to the small of her back to urge her forward.

“We’re leaving,” I say, matter of fact.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Quiet.”

We get to my car and I open the passenger door for her, fighting the urge to look through the window of the other car. As I walk around the car to the driver’s side I manage to catch the make of the vehicle without looking suspicious. It’s a Nissan. Not the Gruco’s tastes as far as I’m aware. I almost think I’m being paranoid as I pull us from the curb, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, but sure enough, when we’re down the street the car’s headlights turn on.

“Colter…”

It isn’t until we’re several blocks away that Abi’s voice reminds me she’s in the car. I glance over at her tense form, her fingernails digging crescent moons into her thighs. The orange hue of a street light illuminates her ghostly white face.

I turn a corner and peer into the rearview mirror again, watching as the Nissan turns behind us.

“We’re being followed,” I explain.

The air in the car seems to be sucked out, and I glance at Abi once more. She isn’t turning in her seat to get a look at the car like I expect. She’s just staring out the windshield, frozen.

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