Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(26)

“Just wait for it. Everyone is looking for you. Good guys, bad guys. Every woman in the country has seen your fresh young face on the evening news and wants you to come home safe and sound. We have to stay off main highways, where there’ll be search stops.”

“Doesn’t it make more sense to go to the police—they can’t all be bad,” she emphasizes.

“They’re not. But it only takes one dirty cop to make a two second call and you’re dead, even in police custody.”

Farrington watches longingly as we pass the sign showing Houston to the west.

“Honestly, Farrington, it’s better for everyone if we stay under the radar. A small rural town isn’t going to have the resources to search every car. And that’s good, because I’ve done enough killing today.”

“You’re confusing, you know that?”

I’m about to answer with, I’ve heard that, when the local newscaster begins a spiel about federal law enforcement still on the hunt for the fugitive Eduardo Miguel and the search for missing Tulane University student, twenty-two-year-old Rachel Farrington.

“If you visit our website at WKTX, you’ll be able to see photos of the missing woman and numbers you can call anonymously if you have any information leading to her recovery.”

“Everyone,” I reiterate.

A Palm Tree Motel is on our right. It’s a perfect hole in the wall. I pull in.

“What are you doing?” she asks anxiously.

“Getting a room.”

“Why.”

“Because we need to reorganize, and I don’t want to bleed out.” I park the car towards the back so it won’t be noticed by an observant cop. “Lock the doors and stay in the car. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jesus, I look like hell, but so does this dive, by-the-hour motel. I figure I should fit right in.

I saunter up confidently to the clerk. “I need a room.”

He looks me up and down and decides he doesn’t want to mess with me. “Thirty bucks until noon, another ten every hour after, unless you stay all night, then it’s an even one hundred.”

I pull the wallet from my inner vest pocket and toss a fifty on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Cool.” His eyes light up and he gives me a key card. “Room fifteen. It’s around back.”

Once we get inside, I tell Farrington, “Lock the door behind me and wedge the chair under the knob. Keep the curtains drawn and stay away from the windows.”

“Where are you going?” Her voice sounds panicked.

“The gas station across the street for supplies. Don’t open that door for anyone but me, and don’t use the phone to call anyone, even your mother. Got it?”

She nods yes, but her eyes convey a different story. She’s acting brave, but she’s terrified; she’s still not one hundred percent convinced I’m not wrapped up in this somehow and planning to hurt her.

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” I ask, taking my secondary Glock from the holster.

“No.” She looks like she wishes she’d had some lessons before now.

“It’s simple enough.” I inch in as close behind her as a shadow.

I’d only been wanting to show her how to handle the pistol, but the soft skin of her arm matted with dried mud distracts me. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be going through this. She should be back at school, going to class and going on dates. My fingers forget rational behavior as they glide down her forearm to her hand.

I swallow my emotions hard.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“Okay, this is the safety. Keep it on until you’re sure you need to use it,” I say, placing the pistol in her right palm and arranging her slender fingers into the correct position. I lift it so she can peer down the gun’s barrel, as my other arm wraps around her to adjust her balance arm.

Christ, her shoulder blades press against my chest and my dick grows fast. I make sure to keep that pistol pulled away from her. “Use your left arm and hand to steady your right. When the gun goes off there will be kickback, so keep a strong grip on it. All you do is point and shoot. Just don’t shoot me.”

She’s trembling.

My dick is an * with a mind of its own.

Asshole, I scold it inwardly.

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. You won’t need to use it. When I come back I’ll announce myself.”





“Buddy, you look like hell,” the old man with an unlit cigar between his teeth says from behind the store counter.

“Hunting trip gone wrong,” I say evenly and circle around the inside of the aisles.

Dental floss, food and drinks, some tourist’s garb, a map and a couple of burner phones should do it. I load up his counter.

“I’ll take a bottle of your Everclear,” I say, scanning the alcohol in the locked case behind him.

“Gonna have a party?” The way he sounds, talking through his teeth and around his cigar, is comical.

“Something like that.” I smile.

“Shitfaced in the woods—I miss them days.” He bags my items. “There’s a great spring-fed swimming hole about twenty miles up the road.”

“Gators?” I ask, keeping it nonchalant.