Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(104)

But I was an idiot. There is no real escape.

Sam won’t let me go. He’ll never let me go.

“I have big plans for us,” I echo his words in a whisper as I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel, as I absorb the gravity of the situation. Those words are like a heavy steel door closing above me. Trapping me back inside this suffocating cage that is my life.

Somehow I kept the tears at bay while on the phone with Sam, but now that I’m alone they pour freely, burning hot against my cheeks.

Sam knows about Cain.

He has a name, a physical description. Perhaps even a picture, though he didn’t mention it. How long before Sam finds him? If I stay here, I’m putting a target on his chest.

I can’t put Cain in any more danger.

You don’t do that to people you love.

Cranking my Sorento, I pull out onto the street, the lights and stop signs blurred by my tears.

With no destination, I drive.

I know where my selfish heart wants me to go. I don’t even care about the China incident anymore. Given that I just had a loaded gun pointed at my head, it seems trivial. I don’t know why China was on his lap. He says he had a good reason and I believe him.

But I asked Cain to let me go. And he did.

Which makes what I have to do easier.

I feel the freedom I had tasted fading away.

As Jimmy tails me.

I’m surprised that I even caught on. I wouldn’t have, had I not looked in my rearview mirror at that precise second to see a black sedan three cars back make a left-hand turn, the streetlight reflecting off its shiny upgraded hubcaps.

It looked an awful lot like the same car I climbed into earlier tonight. Seven minutes and three turns later, I can’t deny that it is the same car.

I pass by the entrance to my apartment building—quivering at how easily I could have brought Jimmy there, handing him yet another bit of information that could lead him to Cain—and I continue all the way to a twenty-four-hour diner on the other side of Miami.

Far away from everyone I’ve come to love.





chapter thirty-nine


■ ■ ■

CAIN

“Cain?”

The minimal hair that Tanner has left is standing on end as he answers his door, half asleep, the day’s sports highlights blaring through his apartment in the background.

“I need a key to Charlie’s apartment.”

He frowns. “Well . . . er . . . the laws say—”

“Fuck the law, Tanner,” I snap. “Either give me the key or I’ll bust down the door, and then you’ll be dealing with contractors to fix it.”

Grumbling something unintelligible, Tanner reaches up and grabs the giant ring of keys that hangs on the wall beside the door. He reminds me of a jailer in that regard, but I don’t say anything. Thrusting it forward with a scowl, I feel his eyes on my back as I march toward 1-D. Tanner’s a fantastic superintendent.

“Charlie?” I call out as I step into the dark apartment. I’m almost positive she’s not here because her car’s not out front. Still, I know she has a gun and I’d rather not get shot tonight.

Silence responds.

She could be back any minute, so I don’t waste time, heading straight for her bedroom. I don’t expect to find much, seeing as my closet and dresser are overflowing with her clothes and her feminine stuff has invaded my bathroom cabinet. In fact, based on my cursory inspection of her bedroom, the room is empty, except for the sheets on her bed.

And the bottom dresser drawer.

I start rifling through the assortment of workout clothes packed within—shorts, T-shirts, yoga pants—until I come to one . . . two . . . three . . . I pull out five wigs buried beneath. Blond, brunette, short-haired, long-haired. The strands are silky between my fingertips. I’m pretty sure it’s real hair, and if it’s real, that means these wigs are expensive.

Suitable for high-end disguises.

And high-end crimes.

The curly brown one makes a thumping sound as I whip it at the wall in anger. How did I not have a clue? I’ve been sleeping with, working with, falling for this woman!

It has to be drugs. No wonder she’s been so secretive. Fuck! Given who Dan is, my past . . . it’s all adding up. I remember how she froze when she realized I had spoken to this Sam guy. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that whoever he is, he’s controlling her—and she’s terrified of him. Maybe he is her real father. That would mean she has assumed someone else’s identity, because the one she gave me is real.

Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide who she really is.

Quickly searching the rest of the place, I find nothing of interest. And no gun. She must have it on her.

There’s really not much left to do except sit on her couch—inhaling the faint scent of her floral perfume that it still holds. I slide my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. And wait. But . . . what the f*ck am I going to say? Accuse her of dealing drugs over the phone? Shit. I should have given this some more thought.

With a heavy sigh, my thumb shifts to the “end” button when Charlie’s sweet voice comes on to ask me to leave a message. But I find I can’t hit it. I can’t break this connection to her. What if it’s the only one I have left? What if this is my only chance to get everything off my chest?

“Hi, Charlie.” My voice cracks with her name. It might not be her real name, but it’s the only one I know. To me, she’s Charlie. She’s the woman who stole my heart right out from me before I even realized she had her hands on it. I chuckle into the phone, the irony not lost to me. I did hire a thief, after all.