Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(56)

“It went well,” he replies as he puts on his seat belt. “Dawson is still hung up on the rogue story, which is a positive for us. I think I was able to convince him that I’m no longer a threat.” Farren lowers his gaze to the gun in my lap. “I’m glad you didn’t have to use that, Essa. But I’m happy you listened to me and had it available. Just in case.”

He takes the gun from me and slips it under his own seat.

I say softly, “I would’ve used it, Farren, if it meant saving you. I’d have been scared, yeah, but I would’ve done it.”

Farren places the Ferrari in reverse and slowly backs away from the limo, keeping his eyes on the unmoving car until we reach the gates.

“I don’t doubt it, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Soon enough we’re back on the road, on our way to where Rick has Haven.

“Will Haven be safe from here on out?” I inquire.

Farren nods. “She should be.”

“And me?” I say, voice shaky. “Will I be okay when I get back to school?”

Emerald eyes slide my way. “Are you thinking about taking summer classes, after all?”

“No,” I reply. “I still plan on spending the summer in New York City with you and Haven.”

“Good,” he says, sounding relieved.

That prompts me to divulge more. “I’m not really sure what I want anymore.”

This time with Farren is changing me…in the best kind of way. I’m learning who I am and what I want to do with my life, and, as I’ve known all along, it sure as hell isn’t something business-related.

“What are you saying?” he asks softly.

I take a breath. “I’ve been thinking about transferring somewhere different. Oakwood’s program is good, but there are far better schools out there for journalism.”

“Do you think your parents will go for that?” Farren wants to know.

I hear in his voice that he’s trying to gauge just how serious I am about changing schools.

“There’s always financial aid.” I laugh.

Farren chuckles as he places his hand on mine. “The colleges in New York have good financial-aid packages.” He pauses, then adds with a grin, “Plenty of good journalism programs to choose from, too.”

I interlock our fingers. “Are you suggesting I move to New York City?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

My heart beats hopeful beats, and then it soars when he responds, “If that’s what you really want to do, Essalin, you won’t get any argument from me.”

It’s not an out-and-out request for me to move, but it means something coming from Farren. If there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that Farren Shaw is careful with his words.

He smiles over at me, and I whisper, “I’ll give it some serious thought, then.”

I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. Our eyes meet briefly before his gaze returns to the road.

In that fleeting glance, though, there is something in Farren’s eyes that belies his earlier words, his declaration of “I don’t come with promises.”

In his eyes is a promise of sorts—a promise of more.



As we travel the interstate, I watch as the mile markers whiz by. It’s mesmerizing, and before long I start to doze off. I sleep fitfully, though, curled up on the leather seat. When I wake at one point, bleary-eyed, we are driving through a thunderstorm. Sheets of rain pelt the car. Lulled by the sound, I fall back asleep. And by the next time I wake, it’s getting dark. Or maybe the sky is slate-colored due to the storm.

“Where are we?” I ask sleepily.

Farren reaches over and rubs my shoulder. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you when we get to the safe house.”

I close my eyes. I rest.

I’m awakened sometime later, when one of the burner phones rings. It’s not mine, of course, so I resume sleeping.

And that is when I have the strangest dream.

Or is it real?

I dream that it’s Rick who is calling. Farren is asking him about Haven.

After a beat, Farren says, “Good, I’m glad she’s doing better.” And then, “I estimate we’ll be there in another hour.”

Earlier, when I was sleeping soundly, Farren must have talked to Rick and told him of his meeting with Dawson. I assume this because, after a long pause, Farren says into the phone, “Yeah, Dawson is a potential problem. I sense he knows I’m more than just some guy who went rogue.”

Wait, what? Farren told me Dawson still believed the rogue story and bought that Farren was giving it up.

Confusing me even more, Farren then says, “No, no, he made no mention of Barnes. But I think he suspects he’s involved. Dawson is starting to put two and two together.”

Rick says something, to which Farren murmurs, “No, not at all. She still has no clue who Barnes really is…and I intend to keep it that way.”

What? Does Farren mean me or Haven? Maybe Farren is referring to us both? So what does Haven not know? Or, more importantly, what do I not know?

One thing is for sure; I am fully awake now. This is no dream. I continue to feign sleep, though, so I can listen.

Farren chuckles humorlessly. “Rick, there’s no way Dawson knows who Quinton Barnes really is. He has no clue of my connection to him in general, let alone…” His voice trails off, and I feel Farren’s eyes on me, assessing if I’m really asleep like I’m pretending to be.