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“You think I’m going to lie for you?” She wasn’t sure she was supposed to do that. More now than before she’d surrendered to what God wanted to do with her life. She’d given up, given Him control. Turned things over. If she was going to let Him lead her, then it wouldn’t be to tell a lie—even to a bad guy. She wasn’t sure if it was okay to lie to save a life.
She needed a pen and paper so she could write down all these questions.
“When he asks if we stopped?”
Kenna sighed. “I’ll tell him you needed to pee. Maybe you had to go, even if you didn’t.” It was still iffy, but maybe better than the outright lie. “You’re the one who put me in this position. Are you going to threaten my friends to get me to cooperate? Because I’m getting a little sick of that happening.”
“Poor you.”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “There is nothing similar about our situations.”
“No? You saw those feds back there. You think they’re going to report that they murdered the guys Navarro hired to make it look like a shipment came in? Or that they were hoping to score a payout from it?”
He didn’t know what those men had planned, though. So how could he surmise anything?
He continued, “They’ve got Kart in their pocket, and they didn’t run that like a legit operation.”
“We don’t even know who they were.” She’d gotten the feeling they weren’t feds, even if they were pretending to be.
“I know they’re coming up on us.” Ramon glanced at the side mirrors. “So you’d better prepare.” He motioned with one hand. “There’s a rifle behind the seat. You can roll the window down if they start shooting. Hit them back, try to slow them down so we have a chance a making town.”
“That’s it? You donate to the church, then you’re back to murder?”
“It’s not murder if they’re trying to kill you.”
Kenna pressed her lips together, not wanting to get into an argument. Wind rocked the truck. She reached for the rifle so she’d have control of it rather than Ramon. Who knew what he’d use it for. She was done being threatened.
God, help me.
She needed His help to do and say the right thing here. Lives were at stake, and rather than it being the victim in whatever case she was working, instead it was her friends. People she considered family.
She glanced at Ramon. He really thought he could play both sides? “You’re working your way up onto a high horse of your own, I think.”
He barked a laugh.
“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”
“So we’re not that different, you and I?”
“Never said we were different. A lot of your story and mine have correlations.” She watched the side mirror, the rifle across her knees now. An older weapon she hoped was the kind someone had taken care of. “But you could have proven your innocence. You could have made it so your story was heard.” She never would’ve given up the fight. “Instead you chose this?”
“I get to do good here. Do what I can, and maybe one day I’ll prove what Cecilia Warren did to me.”
Kenna flinched. Her roommate from Quantico. That’s who had done this to Ramon? That was unbelievable. They might not have kept in touch, but she would never have imagined Cecilia doing something like that.
Before she could say as much aloud, Ramon said, “I’m here, and I get to earn redemption on my terms.”
She frowned. “Does that work? Proving yourself. Proving you’re worthy. I didn’t think redemption was something that could be earned.” She’d listened to enough sermons to know grace was a free gift. Which had nothing to do with trying to persuade God she was worthy of anything.
“How do I know I have it if it’s not based on my actions?” Ramon shook his head. “That’s messed up. Anyone could just ask for forgiveness, and whatever they’ve done means nothing.” He thumped a hand on his chest. “Imake the world a better place.”
She had been doing the same thing. Believing the same thing since she left the FBI—because she’d been essentially forced out. Like losing everything was her fault somehow. But who could carry on under the weight of that much guilt? Or the weight of who they were. She knew she didn’t measure up and that there were parts of her that never would deserve redemption no matter what good she did. So maybe it was easier to swallow that she had to be given grace.
“We all want to make the world a better place,” she said. “Or I trust that most people do. But it doesn’t get you anything in return. No one even knows you made that donation back there except the priest. And he’s not going to let slip that you’re the one funding whatever they use the money for.”
“Relocating victims. They set up a house. Once in a while, when I can, I ‘sell’ him a group, so his cover is listed as a client. He gets them to a safe place where they can heal.”
She blinked. “Not one at a time?”
