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I looked up sharply as the puzzle pieces slammed together in my brain. ‘That’s your jacket Dornan’s wearing? In front of you? Parading around like you’re not even here?’
John nodded, cupping my chin with his hand and pulling my face to his. ‘That would be the one,’ he murmured against my lips, kissing me again. ‘So we’ll have to go somewhere warm, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I agreed, grabbing onto his wrists for dear life as he held my face in his palms.
‘Now,’ he said, grinning, ‘tell me where I need to find this money.’
I couldn’t help but grin back. I’d always been a planner. A saver of options for rainy days and escape plans. Thank Christ. Life on the run was going to be so much easier when we were millionaires.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARIANA
We rode back to LA, a motley procession of motorcycles and the occasional car. I wasn’t lucky enough to be a passenger in air-conditioned comfort, unless you counted the air blasting past my skull at a hundred miles an hour. No, I got the same four-hour ride on the back of Dornan’s motorcycle that I’d endured on the way to San Diego, my entire body numb from the waist down by the time we rattled into Santa Monica.
Dornan deposited me at the gate to my apartment complex. ‘Pack your shit,’ he said, his sunglasses showing me my own reflection. I didn’t look good. I looked sick with stress and anxiety.
‘Pack my shit?’ I echoed. ‘What do you mean?’
He looked at me like I was an idiot. ‘Pack your shit because I’m coming back tonight with my pickup and we’re taking your stuff to my house.’
I snorted. ‘I’m not living with those fucking savages.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Dornan snapped. ‘They’re not savages.’
‘Honey,’ I said, placing my hand on Dornan’s shoulderas I spoke in the sweetest, most sickly sarcastic voice I could muster, ‘your sons told me last night that they’d like to feed you sleeping tablets and then, quote, take me “for a spin”. I don’t think they were talking about taking me for a motorcycle ride.’
Dornan didn’t say anything.
‘That’s what I thought,’ I said, turning on my heel and walking towards my apartment.
‘We got a meeting tomorrow,’ Dornan called to me. I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. ‘Tomorrow? What for?’
Dornan shrugged. ‘Something about Sunday being a holiday in Italy,’ he shrugged. ‘My father’s going away on business, so we’re meeting tomorrow.’
Shit.
‘And the club’s meeting as well?’
Dornan peered at me with what seemed like suspicion. ‘Yeah. Why?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘So I can mentally prepare myself to see those boys of yours again. You should teach them how to treat a lady with respect.’
Dornan revved his engine loudly. ‘If I have spare time, I’m going to use it disrespecting you in that bedroom up there, not teaching them shit.’
What a stand-up father. I fought the urge to respond with something sharp and condescending. Instead, I stood and watched as Dornan took off down Santa Monica Boulevard, not taking my eyes off him until he’d disappeared.
As I was turning to head upstairs to my apartment, something made me look back to the road.
A black Escalade was parked on the corner. No big deal, right? Common car, especially in LA. Except the window was down, and the guy at the wheel was staring right at me. He was wearing dark tinted sunglasses, and had one of those earpieces attached to a cord that disappeared under his shirt collar. He was FBI, plain as day, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.They’re watching me, I realised, sickened.Lindsay’s making sure I don’t slip away. Maybe he did know me better than I thought. I turned and took the stairs two at a time, bursting into my apartment and slamming the door behind me.
Guillermo was at the breakfast bar, shovelling Cheerios into his mouth. I ignored the drips of milk all over the counter and walked right up to him, my hand outstretched.
‘I need your phone,’ I said, breathless and insistent as my eyes bored into his.
He lowered his spoon slowly, licking milk from his lips. ‘Why do you need my phone?’ he asked slowly, pushing the cereal bowl away as he held my gaze. I didn’t respond. I just looked at him, and sure enough, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his cellphone, placing it in the centre of my palm.
‘You’ve got five minutes,’ he said, his face unreadable. I watched as he walked past me to the front door, opened it, and then closed it silently behind him.
