Rules of Survival(24)

“And your explanation would be?”

“They were real cops.” He let his head fall between his knees. A horn blared, followed by rushing wind as traffic moved along. “I just assaulted a federal officer.”

And he said I was dramatic? “You did not. The badge was fake. And they were going to kill you. What kind of cop would be okay with that? Let’s say—for argument’s sake—that they were cops, how did they know to find us there?” I rolled my eyes. “They weren’t cops. They were Jaffe’s men.”

Shaun opened his mouth—then closed it again. He couldn’t deny the obvious. Patrick had been the only one who knew where we were headed. The only explanation was that he’d told Jaffe—be it intentional or accidental.

The light from the streetlamp cast half of Shaun’s face in shadow. There was an odd beauty about it. The contrast between light and dark. So much like the contrast I’d seen in his personality. Moments of great kindness competing with glimpses of rage. I found myself wanting to know more about him. His past and his struggles. The situation he’d run from. Rules, I reminded myself. That would go against the rules.

He cocked his brow, unaware of the treasonous thoughts rampaging through my head. “Why would Jaffe send guys posing as FBI? That makes no sense.”

I batted away a small moth that kept trying to land on my burger and pushed the remaining curiosity I had about Shaun from my mind. “Maybe to keep up the charade? You keep telling me that Patrick is a good guy—”

“He is,” Shaun insisted, picking his head up. His eyes met mine with challenge and, at that moment, I envied Patrick. Shaun was fiercely loyal and unfailingly devoted. I’d had that kind of connection with Mom and it was gone now. Seeing it reflected in someone else only made the pain more prominent, reminding me of what I’d lost and leaving me hollow.

“So maybe this Jaffe guy thinks so, too. Patrick calls to check in with his boss. Tells him he’s heading down to such and such to snap me up. Jaffe makes sure his guys get there first—but just in case they should cross paths with Patrick—or they fail—he sends them in disguise.”

His mouth fell open. “That is the most convoluted thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it? You keep saying you’re not going to fork me over if there’s a chance he’ll hurt me. Maybe Jaffe knows that. He needs to come off smelling like a rose.”

“You’re reaching,” he said.

And maybe I was. He was right—not that I’d admit it—the whole thing was convoluted, but I still felt it deep in my gut. Those had been Jaffe’s men. Something big was going on here. I just needed to figure out what it was before it got me killed. Or Shaun. He was a pain in the ass, but was starting to grow on me. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him, but deep down, I believed he was a good guy. “We tried it your way, now we try it mine.”

He narrowed his eyes and pushed aside his untouched burger. The moth had given up on mine and settled on his. “What does that mean?”

“It means we still need these stupid cuffs off, and your friend can’t be trusted.”

“I’m not going to say this again, so listen carefully,” he growled, fisting the white paper bag. The moth flew away. “Pat had nothing to do with those people showing up at the lot. I don’t care if they were Jaffe’s men, real cops, or whatever.”

“All I’m going to say is that we told Patrick where we were going. Those guys showed up and tried to bag me.” I lifted our joined hands. He still wasn’t getting it. “You need to approach this situation a little differently now. If they snag me, what do you think they’re going to do with you? Pat you on the head and send you along with cookies? You heard that guy at the junkyard. Kill him. That’s what he said. You’re the him, in case you missed it.”

“You still have no cold, hard proof that those guys are connected to Jaffe. This could be something entirely different.”

Spend your life running from something—even if at the time you have no idea what it is—and you kind of develop a sixth sense for it. It’s instinct. But Shaun wasn’t an act-on-instinct kind of guy. He needed facts and evidence.

That’s why I would give it to him.

“Fine. Then help me get proof.” I bent close so I could look him in the eye. “I’ll make you a deal. You help me find out what really happened to my mom—which I believe will prove that this Jaffe guy is the one who had her killed—and I’ll go willingly to the police. You guys can collect your cash and be done with me.”

He glared at me, suspicious. “All of a sudden you don’t mind being turned in?”

There was a rock in his left hand. The muscles in his arm flexed as he absently played with it, squeezing the thing like it was one of those stress balls you found in the drugstores. We’d been chained together nearly an entire day now, and this was the first time I’d really taken a good look at him.

The ghost of a thin scar ran from his ear, up across to his forehead, and disappeared into his hairline. It fit, I decided. Gave his face character and depth. Personality. His left eyebrow sat just a hair higher than the right. No. Not higher. Thicker. Like the right had been shaved at some point. A closer inspection revealed another scar, like the skin above it had been damaged somehow.

Apparently my scrutiny was a bit too intense. He waved a hand back and forth in front of my face. “See something you like?”