Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(41)

“Where’d you learn that, baby?” I murmur.

Her calm expression is my only answer.

Even a shitty motel would feel like a luxury at this point, but that’s too risky now. I force myself to drive the extra hundred miles.

It’s night by the time we reach Nate’s place. The gate leading into the long driveway is unlocked, which tells me Stone got my message and let Nate know we were coming. I turn in. Dr. Nate is set up in an old farmhouse with different barns, pens, and outbuildings scattered around. He’s a large-animal veterinarian. Cows, horses, pigs. And guys like me.

As soon as we hit the gravel, Abby pushes herself off my thigh, looking around, dazed. And agitated. Her hands go to her face, her arms, her movements still jerky and uncoordinated.

“You’re okay,” I say, doing everything I can to keep from touching her. It wouldn’t calm her, me touching her right now.

She’s looking out the window. You can’t see shit except the porch light up ahead. I know what she’s doing—assessing the place, maybe thinking about making a run for it. I take her by the arm so I don’t have to hurt her wrists any worse. She yanks back, nearly ramming herself into the door of the car.

“Don’t,” I say wearily. “Just don’t.”

“Where are we?” Her voice is slurred, but at least she’s awake.

“Visiting a friend.”

“Where?”

“Michigan.”

A shocked breath goes out of her, like I took her to Mars or something. “How long have we been driving?”

“A long time.”

Her eyes dart to the dashboard clock. The beater I stole from the motel has an old-fashioned clock with actual hands, and it says 10:52. “Yeah, it’s right,” I add. We’re near enough to the porch now to see bugs buzzing around the light. A light inside flips on too.

Nate won’t like me bringing her here, but he won’t do anything about it. Because we go way back. There are some bonds you can’t break.

“I need you to do something for me.” I hand her the strip of cloth I dug out of the backseat some hours ago. “I can’t let you see this guy.”

“I already saw your other friend.”

“Do you want me to kill you? I’m clearly still caring what you see and what you don’t see. Right? Maybe that should tell you something.”

“Or maybe you just like messing with my head. I’m not stupid. I know you can’t keep me with you forever, and I know you can’t let me go.”

Frustration surges through me. Because she’s right. Because that’s what my crew is going to say. Because I need some water and some food and some goddamn sleep.

“Here’s your choice right now—you spend the next few hours in the trunk of this car, or you put on the blindfold and come in with me.”

She throws the cloth at my face. “I’ll take the trunk.”

“Really? So you’re not hungry? Not thirsty? Not in the mood for a nice, cold glass of lemonade?”

She swallows. Salivating. Deliberating, when we both know what she’ll do. She sticks out her hand.

I give her the blindfold. “And you definitely don’t want to make me chase you again.”

“Fine.” She puts it on. I go around and open the passenger door and guide her out and up the three steps to the big wraparound porch and up to Nate’s front door, which swings open.

“The f*ck?” Nate mutters under his breath, glaring as we walk in.

“Don’t mind me,” Abby says.

“No talking,” I growl.

Nate widens his eyes.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. Then I shake Abby a little, partly to get her attention and partly in punishment. She’s got a mouth on her. “You need to use the bathroom?”

She shakes her head, but I do have to go. I need to shower while someone else watches her, since I can’t trust her by herself.

My body demanded rest several hours ago. I ignored it. Now it’s forcibly shutting down on me. I’ve lost whatever thin hold I had on politeness or patience. I guide Abby into Nate’s kitchen and push her into a chair. Stay, I tell her with a squeeze of her shoulders.

Her soft sigh promises that she will. Never can believe her.

I set my hand on her forehead. “Does she seem feverish to you?”

“I’m fine,” she says, jerking her head away.

Nate scrubs his hand over his short, kinky hair, eyeing me unhappily.

“See what you think,” I urge him. “Go on.”

He sighs and presses his hand to her forehead. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She doesn’t answer. “Aches or pains?”

“Besides the obvious?”

He turns an accusing glance at me. “I’d imagine she’s just overwrought.”

“I need a few minutes. She hasn’t eaten for… She needs to at least drink.” Then I turn to her. She sits primly. Even blindfolded and with that cut on her cheek, she takes my breath away. “If you run, he’ll shoot you. He’s not nice like me.”

Her lips firm.

I exchange glances with Nate, who isn’t amused. He’s a good guy—or he tries to be. That’s what makes him different. But the past…that’s the part we have in common. And you can’t escape your past. Not Nate. Not me. Not even Abby.