Griffin, page 9
But seriously, what were the chances?
We needed irrefutable proof, not just similarities in height and build or a gut feeling. And while I waited for Zero to dig, to get answers, I tried not to dwell on it too much.
This kind of coincidence, a fluke, raises all kinds of questions about Cora. Was she working with him? Was meeting Cora at the bar a setup, something I stupidly walked into?
When Cora spotted him waltzing out of a shop on the street in this nowhere town, one of our questions was answered. Zero no longer had to dig.
My target is the same guy chasing Cora.
Smith.
Suddenly, everything over the past twenty-four hours comes into question.
Angel.
The drugs.
Cora.
Her mother.
Her brother.
How does it all fit together?
In some ways, it’s simple—all coming down to the drugs and money. Smith uses the drugs to control the humans he traffics. He’s got suppliers all over the eastern United States. Is Angel his supplier or a drug runner for someone else?
But how the fuck did he find us here of all places? Although he doesn’t seem to be looking for us. Is it a coincidence?
Cora’s voice, soft and insistent, pulls me back. “Griffin.”
“Yeah.” I straighten, inching back to put much-needed distance between us, to clear my head.
She clutches at my jacket, burying her head into my chest. “What should we do?”
The gap between us vanishes as I wrap an arm around her small frame. She's safe. I won't let him get to her. Can I promise that? Yeah, I’d risk it all to protect her.
But what if this—her fear—is an act?
No. I don’t know Cora well, but from the little I do, she isn’t a con artist. Nothing about her feels fake or calculating. Yet the fact that Smith, the guy I’m hunting, is the same guy hunting her doesn’t sit well with me.
“You’re okay.” My hand smooths down the back of her head.
The haircut will throw him off, but I don't want him to get a good look at her face, or mine for that matter. And this is my chance to turn the tables and follow him.
“Can you see him?”
She watches him, peeking out from behind my body. “He’s getting into a black car a few cars ahead of where we parked. There’s another man coming from another direction and also getting in. Shit, that’s the guy who was with him at the frat house.”
Fuck, talk about a close call. Either one of them could have seen us at any point when we parked, walked down the street, or went into the store.
I stare at the brick above her head for a few beats, playing out our next move. “All right, we’re going to follow them.”
“What if they see me?”
Two of my fingers slide under her chin, tipping her head up to meet my eyes. “Hey, do you trust me?”
Hesitation flashes in her gaze, and as much as I should be insulted, I’m not. We’re strangers, forced together by circumstance, and her life’s on the line. To stay alive she needs to question things, question everyone, including me.
“Yes.” She doesn’t hold my gaze.
“Okay, I won’t let that happen.” I take her hand and bend to pick up the bag of groceries. “Let’s go, and keep your head down.”
She nods and we hustle along the sidewalk, cutting across the street to the truck. The black car slows at the stop sign, and we get in and follow from a distance, trying not to get too close, but it isn’t easy. The road is quiet and there’s nothing but our two vehicles for miles.
She fidgets in her seat. “What are we going to do when they stop?”
“Don’t know yet.” We have bigger problems than that, but I don’t say so.
I make a quick call to Zero and offer only the barest of details, stating we’re tailing the killer.
This guy showing up here, especially now that Cora’s phone and the tracking devices are gone, nags at me.
Zero confirms my thoughts a second later. “Fuck, the package. Did you check the package?”
“Cora, your backpack. Get the package. Open it up.”
“What?” Even in her confusion, she pulls the bag onto her lap.
“Hurry, check for a tracking device.”
She stills in pulling at the strings of the bag, and her eyes widen as the implications hit her. She’s quick to check the drugs first, then money. Sure enough. A tracker’s hidden in the stack of cash.
I describe the small device to Zero while Cora double checks the drugs and all of the contents of her bag. There isn’t much and it’s all fine. Then I instruct Cora to snap the tracker in two and throw it out the window.
“Fucking Christ, I’m an idiot.” I slam my hand on the wheel.
Technology isn’t my strong suit. I may have been born in the age, but I don’t remember the first two decades of my life and haven’t been drawn to technology like so many.
It’s a necessary evil, but I don’t like computers, the Internet, and fuck social media. That’s why Zero and I are a good team. I’m the expert on the ground, excellent at strategizing, combat, and getting the shit done.
The tracker in the package explains a lot, and as if stumbling along the same path, Cora’s troubled gaze lands on me.
“That’s how he found me at my house, and at the frat party…the killer was looking for Angel, or at least he thought it was her, because he knew the package was in the house…” She flicks her eyes to the road, voice now distant. “He was looking at his phone… And then he turned up outside The Mill.”
My thoughts match hers, and I fucking missed it. Why didn’t I think of it when I found the tracker on my truck at the barn?
My blunder makes me wonder if I’ve been wrong about other things too, other suspicions.
Zero clears his throat. “This is on me. I fucked up. I should’ve had you check the package right away. The only saving grace is this particular tracker is an older model, and with spotty cell and Internet service in the small towns and rural areas, Smith would’ve only been able to pick up the signal on the interstate.”
My muscles loosen somewhat. “That explains why they never found us at Hazel’s.”
“Yeah. Griffin—” Zero delivers an awkward pause and I jump in to interrupt before he apologizes, or at least that’s what I think he’s about to do.
“Let’s move on.”
The shock of hearing those words out of his mouth for definitely the first and likely last time might send me into cardiac arrest. Besides, while technology isn’t my field of expertise, I know enough about trackers and how they work that I should have thought of it sooner. I’m just as much to blame as he is.
He remains silent, and I push the conversation further away from the blame game. “Can you get someone on us?”
Now that we’ve killed the package tracker and hopefully turned the tables so we’re one step ahead, we don’t want to lose Smith now.
“Yeah. I’ve got the direction you’re headed in. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I end the call.
In our line of work, we have people willing to do easy work, like watch someone from a distance, no contact, and ask no questions for the almighty dollar. This is what we need now.
We drive for a little over thirty minutes to the outskirts of Roanoke, Virginia, where the car finally pulls into a motel.
Cora was silent for most of the drive and now pops a candy into her mouth, then turning to me, asks, “Tic Tac?”
“Sure.” I shift, jeans tightening at the thought of our kiss. Focus, Griffin.
I drive past the building and double back on a cross street, settling into a parking lot with a clear view of the motel. I text Zero the motel address, though he has my coordinates, and he texts the details of the car I’m supposed to look for.
She peers out the window. “Why don't we call the cops?”
The local police aren't part of my plan for Smith. Turning him in right now would be a waste of time and would blow our cover. Her eyewitness account of a murder is huge, but Smith has a good chance of dodging the charges or jail time.
Any good lawyer could argue she was mistaken or weaken her credibility by pointing out her connection to Angel or her family life. No, Cora’s account is better used with more evidence, building a bigger, stronger case against him.
“You can call them if you want. I won’t stop you, but I also won’t stick around.”
“You’d leave? Why?” She studies me as I watch Smith and the other guy enter a room. “Are you running from the police?”
I smirk, not offended by her assumption. My tongue slides the melting mint between my teeth, and my dick twitches. I can’t get her out of my head.
“No. I’m not.” I chuckle. “You should think long and hard before calling in the police. Are you prepared for witness protection, Tic Tac?”
My teeth grind together, and I internally curse at my stupidity. Why’d I let the nickname slip out?
Cora scrunches her nose and takes the small box from the dash. “Tic Tac? You want one?”
“Sure.” I exhale, relieved she missed my meaning, and pop a mint into my mouth. These are addicting.
I drop the box onto the seat and close my eyes, hand gliding along the steering wheel, gripping and releasing. I crush the mint between my teeth as if it were that easy to squash the memory of kissing Cora.
“Are you prepared for witness protection if it comes to that?” I open my eyes. “To change your name? Your life? Never talk to your family and friends again?”
Smith’s one connected bastard, and he won’t go down without a fight. As I spell it out for her, I wonder if witness protection might be better. It isn’t for me to judge, but in her life now, she’s surrounded by lowlifes and trouble. A fresh start might be what she needs.
“I just want to get back to my brother. I can't keep running, and I can’t keep depending on you to protect me.” She glances at me, and I force my gaze to stay fixed ahead. “But you’re right, I’m not ready to upend my life like that.”
A black Hyundai Rio slips into the spot beside me. Whoever Zero called is here and will watch the motel. Without so much as a glance in their direction, I reverse the truck and drive toward the highway. Our adventure is done for the night.
“That’s it? We’re just leaving?”
“What else do you want to do?” It comes out more challenging than I intend. Her question is a valid one, especially since she isn’t aware of the person watching the motel.
“I-I-I don’t know.” One arm slides around her middle.
“Someone’s watching the motel. We’re good.” Locating Smith has put our operation back in play.
“Who’s watching? And then what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She lets out a grumble but doesn’t push for more. We arrive at our destination, back the way we came, and I text Zero that we’ve arrived. Once the food and other loose items from the truck are packed in our bags, I stuff the mints in the pocket of my jeans, and we set out.
Dusk is in full swing, the night and its chill close behind.
Cora takes the flashlight from me. “How far do we have to walk?”
"Thirty, forty minutes, could be less.”
She groans but keeps pace with me as we move quickly through the woods and hills. As the light fades fast, the temperature drops, and our breaths now plume from our mouths in white clouds.
A small cabin, wood worn and aged, is tucked well away from civilization, not easily visible even once there is a fire going. As we near, I point out the low-tech alarm system. Trip wire and scraps of metal skirt the perimeter as do well-hidden booby traps.
I haven’t stayed here in nearly a year, and when I unlock the front door, the interior smells of animal, most probably mice or another kind of vermin, and a musty, earthy undertone.
“What is this place?” The flashlight, tucked under her arm so she can blow into her cold hands, shines into the square room. Dust particles skip along the yellow beams of light.
“Somewhere for us to crash for the night.” I toss the baseball hat onto the table and rub my cold hands together. “We’re safe here.”
“Is this your place?”
“Yeah.” I yank open the cellar door on the floor, the rusted hinge creaking.
A shaft of light from my phone leads my way down the steps of the rickety ladder. Once my feet hit the dirt floor, I pull supplies off the shelves. Metal plates and cutlery for dinner, matches for a fire, a kerosene lamp, and a pillow and bedding, both wrapped in plastic.
The cabin is meant for one, and while fully stocked, it’s only with the necessities, and one of us restocks it within a couple of weeks of leaving.
One by one, I deposit the items on the floor of the cabin, shoving them back from the opening, making space for me to climb out.
She stares dumbfounded, and while she doesn’t say it, I can almost hear her ask, “Who the hell are you?”
To avoid that line of questioning and to better understand what she was getting at, I ask, “Who’s James Bond or the two Jacks?” I slap at the dust on my jeans and secure the wooden door into place.
“Uh, are you serious?”
I grab the matches. “Yeah. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t know who they are.”
She barks out a laugh. “They’re fictional spies or vigilantes from books turned into shows or movies.”
“Oh.” I fail to hide my disappointment.
“You mean you’ve really never heard of them?”
“Never. I don’t own a TV, and I don’t go to the movies. Besides, my job doesn’t give me much time for reading or watching movies or shows.” I strike a match and light the lamp.
A golden hue brightens the tiny room, and I flick off my phone’s flashlight. Apart from the cot against one wall, there’s only a wooden table with two chairs, logs piled ceiling high on either side of a small fireplace, and a large basin along another wall. There’s no plumbing or electricity.
Cora’s too busy staring at me, her jaw on the floor at my ignorance of books, TV, and movies, to notice the bare bones. I take the flashlight from her, turn it off, and rest it on the table.
Then I make quick work of a fire. We need to get heat in here or else it’s going to be a long, cold night. At first she watches, then quickly joins in by unpacking the linens to make the bed.
“Can you finish getting settled? I’ll be back soon.” Each of my words drifts on a silvery puff of air.
She worries her bottom lip. “Where are you going?”
“We cook outside. In here gets too smoky. There’s a small firepit. We need kindling to start the fire.”
“I can help.” She drops the comforter, shoving her hands into the sleeves of the sweatshirt.
“No. You need to watch the fire. Put on a log when it needs it and don’t go out.”
“Griffin.” The way she says my name causes me to pause at the door, and I glance at her over my shoulder. “What if that man shows up?”
“He won’t. He’s at the motel. You’re safe.”
“Okay, but what if there’s another tracker that we haven’t considered or found?”
It’s a reasonable question, and her logic hangs between us like a guillotine. But is she asking because she knows something I don’t know?
“Like where?” Instead of scanning the cabin, I watch her every move.
Nothing suggests she’s hiding something or lying.
“I don’t know. We checked the package…” She shudders.
My hands rub her arms to bring warmth and stop her shivering. “You don’t have another phone on you, right? Or something else that could be tracked?”
All day she hasn’t left my sight except for the washroom, twice. It’s possible she called someone, though both times I followed her to the door.
She pulls from my grasp, the frown on her face clearly indicating how much she doesn’t like my questions, or how much it sounds like I don’t trust her.
“No. You can check my backpack. My clothes. I don’t have a phone and I didn’t call anyone.”
“Okay. I believe you.” And I do. She dumped out all the contents of her backpack in the car while we were tailing Smith. “Use the gun if you have to, but you won’t.”
My mouth crushes hers, and I don’t know what possesses me, other than my lust for her, still simmering deep within. It’s quick and hard, though I want to kiss her long and languid and never let her go.
Clinging to my self-control with an iron grip, I manage to only let my mouth linger on hers for a heartbeat before I pull away.
Once outside, I put distance between me and the cabin and call Zero. I didn’t lie to Cora. I will start a fire and need kindling, but first things first.
“Good to hear you’re at the cabin safely. Hazel’s truck is on the way back to her, and there’s another vehicle in the spot for you to use tomorrow. What weren’t you telling me earlier?”
While we both fucked up on the package tracker, we rarely miss things, and Zero picked up during our call in the truck that I was holding something back. Only because Cora was there.
I rake a hand through my hair. “You’re never going to believe this.”
“Go on.”
I recount once again how Cora spotted and identified the man who is not only Finch’s killer, and likely Angel’s or he ordered her kill, and the guy chasing her, but also our target. Smith.
“Holy shit. We’re back in business.” I can almost see Zero’s half smile if I can call it that. It takes a lot for the guy to crack a grin, and I’ve only ever heard him laugh once.
“Yeah, we are.” I give him a full description of Smith’s companion and the make, model, and plate of their car.
“Shit, this explains why he never showed at The Mill.” Fingers clack against a keyboard on Zero’s end.
“We need more on Smith’s connection to Angel.”
“On it. From what I can tell, Angel’s a drug runner and has been in the game for a little over two years, like we figured. It all converges around the time she opens Lux.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, Cora.”
“What about her?”
Crack. A twig snaps close by, and in the dark, I can’t see anything. My phone is a fucking beacon with the phone screen alight.
