Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(64)

“Where will you be going, exactly? Where is Eric?”

“Mexico.”

A shiver runs through me. Farren won’t even be in the same country as me.

Misunderstanding the source of my uneasiness, he says, “Don’t worry. You and Haven will be safe with Rick here at the house.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about, Farren. I’m worried for you.” I scoot up and bury my face in his neck. He smells so good, so Farren.

His hand moves to my hair, stroking, soothing. “I told you, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’re, like, lethal,” I state, making him chuckle. “But you’re still just one man.”

“I’m one man that can do a lot of damage, Essa.”

I know Farren is fully capable of taking care of himself, as well as wreaking havoc on anyone who crosses him, but, at this point, I just want all of this to be over. “Haven is safe. I guess I just want to go home,” I say quietly, sharing my thoughts.

“We’ll be out of here soon,” he assures me. Farren seals his words with a sweet kiss, like another promise.

I just hope this is one he can definitely keep.



By evening, Farren is gone. As a result, Rick, Haven, and I eat a subdued dinner. Rick doesn’t talk much, and Haven retires to her bedroom immediately after she’s done eating. Her food is barely touched.

I push my own food around on my plate. I’m not hungry, either.

Rick stands and excuses himself, saying distractedly to me, “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”

Nodding, I proceed to clear dishes from the dining-room table. Afterward, I load the dishwasher and then head to the den myself. I have a few things to ask Mr. Martinez.

The door is open, and when I peek in I see Rick is seated in a plush leather chair. He’s facing a gas fireplace, but there’s no fire. He has a rocks glass in his hand, filled with amber liquor and a single ice cube.

I start to knock, but he senses my presence and turns. He invites me in.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I walk over to where he’s seated. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Gesturing to a chair across from his, he says, “Have a seat, Essa. And for the record, you’re not interrupting anything. I was just having a drink.”

As I take a seat, he asks me if I’d like something to drink, too.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I reply.

I’m not here to drink; I’m here for answers. This is my thought, but I don’t dare make such a bold statement to Farren’s friend. Instead, I say, “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions about Farren.”

Chuckling, he stares down into his rocks glass. After a minute, he looks over at me and says, “Sure, but I can’t promise you any answers.”

“You’ve known each other a long time, right?”

“Over a decade,” he says casually, before taking a drink.

I continue, “When Farren asked you to work with him for this Mr. Barnes, did you have a chance to meet the guy first?”

Now, I’ve got Rick’s full attention. His deep brown eyes assess me. “What has Farren told you of Mr. Barnes?”

“Not much,” I admit, frowning.

He nods, like this is to be expected. He takes another drink, and I again ask the question he evaded. “So, have you ever met Mr. Barnes?”

“I have,” is Rick’s clipped response.

I have so many questions, and I’m not really getting anywhere. Forgoing my careful approach, I blurt out, “Does Barnes have some connection to Farren?”

Rick’s brows shoot up. “Such as…?”

“I don’t know.” I shift uncomfortably. “That’s what I’m asking.”

Rick leans forward in his chair, narrowing the gap between us. “Why?” he asks.

“Why what?” I squeak out, like I don’t know what he’s asking.

He shakes his head and makes a scornful noise. “Why are you so curious about a connection between Farren and Mr. Barnes?”

I shrug. “I guess it just seems like Farren is so committed to helping Mr. Barnes. But I can’t figure out why. I know it’s more than just the money.”

“Do you?” Rick says. “Do you really know that?” He throws back his drink and sits back. “Maybe it is just about the money, Essa. Have you considered that? You obviously know Mr. Barnes pays very, very well.”

Farren doesn’t strike me as being all about the money. Hell, he’s said as much himself.

I bristle and counter with, “No, it’s more than the money. I’m sure there’s something else, something tying Farren to this cause.”

Rick looks less than happy, but, still, I press. “Did Farren know Mr. Barnes’s daughter or something?”

Shaking his head, he states dryly, “I don’t know what you’re asking. But she was sixteen years old, for f*ck’s sake.”

“I know.” I backpedal quickly. “I didn’t mean, like, in any bad way. I just thought”—I swish my hand in the air—“oh, never mind.”

And that’s when Rick leans forward. His eyes hold mine. He’s deadly serious.

Deadly serious when he utters words packing a very big impact: “Essa, leave it alone.”