Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(66)

I throw up again, and when there is nothing left in my stomach, I make a vow to ignore any more stumbled-upon files.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss.



That evening Haven and I are upstairs in her bedroom talking. I don’t mention the file I found. I prefer to forget what I saw, as well as the things I read. Besides, Haven is happy today. She’s talking about acting. And, frankly, I’m thrilled she still has the desire to pursue her dream, despite everything that’s happened to her.

“If I do decide to return to Oakwood,” she says out of the blue, “I plan to avoid Professor Walsh.”

“Oh, him…” I roll my eyes. “Yes, please do.”

I’m worried Haven might still like the jackass professor, until she says, “Hey, I’m done with him, Essa. No joke.”

“Please, Haven,” I say in a pleading tone. “Promise me you are.”

“I promise,” she assures me, and then she quietly adds, “I’m into someone else now, anyway.”

I raise a brow. “Rick?”

Smiling surreptitiously, she says, “What do you think?”

“Ooh,” I squeal, “I knew it.” And then I add, “I’m happy for you, Hav.”

Just then, coincidentally, Rick hollers up the stairs. He says he wants us to meet him in the den as soon as possible. He’s been in and out a lot today, doing Lord knows what. The one time I did run into him, shortly before dinner—which he skipped—he appeared to be greatly concerned about something.

Crap, I hope he didn’t figure out that I stumbled upon the Quinton Barnes file. That’s my concern as Haven and I leave her room and start down the stairs.

“If he hadn’t skipped dinner,” Haven snips on our way, “he could have told us then whatever it is that’s so urgent now.”

I glance over at her. She may be crushing on Rick, yes, but she is royally ticked that he missed the dinner she made earlier.

“I wonder what he wants to talk about,” I muse.

She shrugs. “I have no idea.”

When we reach the den, the door is closed. I raise my hand to knock, but Haven pushes the door open and walks right in. “Guess we’re about to find out,” she tosses flippantly over her shoulder.

Damn, she’s really pissed at him. I can’t help but smile. I’m glad to see she’s showing some fire.

My smile quickly fades, though, when Rick peers up from where he’s pecking away at a keyboard behind the desk. He appears to be far from amused at our barging in. “Girls,” he says in greeting, nodding his head once.

“Rick,” Haven replies curtly.

He ignores Haven’s attitude and gestures to two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Haven asks as she’s sitting down. Her flippant attitude suddenly turns to concern when she sees Rick’s grim expression.

As I sit down in the chair next to her, I add worriedly, “Is everything all right?”

Rick sighs and says, “Maybe.”

“Wait”—my heart races—“Farren is okay, right?”

Haven pales but remains silent. I don’t think she can even fathom a world without her brother.

But, thankfully, Rick assures us, “Yes, ladies, Farren is fine.”

Haven and I breathe out simultaneous sighs of relief. When we glance at each other, our expressions say, “Thank God.”

“Actually,” Rick continues, “Farren is not only fine. He’s on his way back to the safe house.”

“Did he, uh…” I stammer, not quite knowing how to phrase the question on my mind. “Is Eric, um…?”

Rick raises an eyebrow. “Dead, Essa?”

I nod, and he replies, “No, Farren was unable to locate him. And there’s no more time to search. Farren needs to return to the safe house as soon as possible.”

Haven chimes in. “Why? What’s going on?”

I see the panic in her face. She doesn’t want to end up back in the hands of Eric or his minions. Rick, noticing her discomfort, gently says to her, “Haven, I’ll make sure you’re safe, no matter what happens, okay?”

Nodding, she whispers, “Okay. Thank you.”

She’s really come to rely on Rick, and that’s good and all. But we still don’t know what’s happening. Whatever it is, it’s something big enough to compel Farren to return without accomplishing his task of killing Eric.

Instead of giving us any answers, however, Rick rolls his chair back and slides open the top desk drawer. He takes out two .38s. Pushing one across the desk to me, he says, “Farren told me you can handle one of these. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then, take it. Keep it with you at all times.”

I tentatively pick up the gun. “Even in the house?”

“Yes,” he replies, “even in the house. Outside, as well. Keep it with you everywhere you go.”

He slides the other .38 in Haven’s direction. “I don’t know how to shoot this thing,” she says, eyeing the firearm like it’s a snake about to spring at her.

“That’s okay. I’m going to give you a quick lesson tomorrow morning,” Rick informs her.