Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(11)

I dig through my available clothes, glancing out the upstairs window as Troy makes another round in his perimeter walk. I slip into skinny jeans and a blouse, shove some cash and my ID in my pocket, and make my way down the stairs. Peering between the front blinds, I catch him climbing back into his SUV and shutting the door.

It’s go time.

I’m breaking out.

Clearly, Troy doesn’t expect me to make this kind of move, because when I slip out the back door and haul ass across the grass to the dirt road that runs behind the back of the lot, I don’t hear him yelling. I duck behind a tree with a trunk double the width of my body and wait, my lungs heaving, for the shouts to come.

They don’t.

I wait another twenty seconds, counting slowly in my head, before I peek around the tree. Still nothing. I make another break for it, sprinting on my ballet flats to pause behind a shed at the back of the next yard.

All I can hope now is that I’m going in the right direction.





Twenty minutes later, I’m sure I’m lost. It’s almost full dark and this country road isn’t lit. I’m about to give up and turn back when I hear the thump of music in the distance and the glow of neon lights.

Thank you, universe.

I come around the side of the building to the front entrance and find Pints and Pins is written in large scrolling letters across the yellow block-and-sheet-metal building. I thought Holly called it Brews and Balls? But how many bowling alleys can there really be in Gold Haven, Kentucky?

Inside is a cacophony of sound as the crash of balls into pins, loud laughter, and blaring music engulf me. No one looks twice as I head toward the bar and grab a table—or so I think.

The harried waitress in her yellow-and-blue uniform takes my order—a cheeseburger, fries, and soda water with lime. I’m laying off the booze tonight, and probably forever if I were smart.

I’m congratulating myself on fitting in so well when a tall, broad-shouldered man in a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt takes a seat in the chair across from me without invitation. He lowers a frosty mug of beer to the chipped blue Formica table between us.

“She said I might see you here.” His deep voice carries only a trace of an accent.

“Excuse me?”

“Holly.”

I stare blankly at him, shock pooling in my belly while I consider how to respond. He knows who I am. Do I lie? Pretend he’s crazy?

No, if he knows Holly, then chances are he could google my picture in a hot second and it would be very clear that I’m lying. I’ve had too many lies in my life lately to want to go down that route.

I embrace the truth instead as his brilliant blue eyes scan my appearance. “Did she tell you to call her when I staged a jailbreak?”

He laughs, and the deep, rich sound drowns out the rest of the noise in the bar. “Not exactly. She told me to keep an eye out for you and take you home if I found you walking the streets. She didn’t expect you’d want to be babysat for too long.”

The waitress brings my soda water and lime. After thanking her, I raise my glass in a toast to the man across the table from me.

“Cheers to not being babysat. I’m twenty-six years old and capable of looking after myself.”

His chuckle has my gaze cutting to his blue eyes, which dance with humor when he says, “So I hear. You’ve done a bang-up job.”

“Don’t patronize me.” My words are snappish, at best.

“And don’t throw fancy words at me. I’m a simple country boy.”

“Sure you are,” I mumble.

“And apparently one with very bad manners.” He reaches a hand across the table. “Logan Brantley, at your service, Ms. Karas.”

I take his offered hand, and mine is surrounded by his much larger palm.

“Please call me Greer.”

“Sure thing. Now, Greer, does your babysitter have any idea you’re out enjoying Gold Haven’s finest entertainment this evening?”

I swing my head toward the entrance out of instinct. Has Troy discovered my absence yet? I don’t see the bull-like man storming through the doors, so I’m going to take that to mean my escape is still a successful secret.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Well, damn, I guess you better enjoy it while you can.”

“That’s the plan. And find a phone so I can reach my best friend before she freaks out about where I am and loses her mind. She thought I’d be back in New York yesterday. And I would have been if Creighton hadn’t wanted to keep me out of the way.”

Logan produces an older model iPhone from his pocket. “It might not be the latest and greatest, but it’ll get the job done.” He slides it across the table toward me.

Glancing at him with surprise winding through me, I snatch up the phone and immediately open the messaging app. Banner’s number is one of the few I have memorized, mostly because she had the number chosen specifically for her when we were fifteen. 212-669-6969. I tap in the number and work out a quick message.



It’s G!! I’m alive!! I’m in Gold Haven, KY. They’ve got a security guy sitting on Holly’s gran’s house who thinks he’s GI Joe. Basically, I’m being held hostage by boredom, so I sneaked out to have some real human interaction. This isn’t my phone, but if you message me back in the next hour or so, I should still be with the guy.