Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(63)

“Promise,” she said, even though her throat deliberately closed up at the lie. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Your heart is too big, Grace Reeves. You need to find someplace where you want to be. Where your light can shine. Go to that observatory. I want to think of you there, watching your comet on New Year’s eve.”

“I will,” she promised, this time not choking on the lie because she intended to do that. If this experience had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t go back to the way she was before. She wouldn’t be going back to DC. Her old life was gone, and good riddance. Things would be different now.

She looked down at the ground and then back at him, wondering why she felt so awkward after everything she had shared with this man. Moistening her lips, she knew she had to try to reach him one more time. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

“I have to finish it.”

She squashed that part of her that cried out: But what about us? What about finishing what we have started? Disappointment lanced through her. She turned her face away, unable to look at him in that moment.

“There was never any doubt of that, Gracie,” he added. “I have to do this.”

She snorted, crossing her arms. Because this was what mattered to him. More than anything else. He could turn himself in and try to prove his innocence with her help. Or he could even flee. Run to Mexico where he could maybe have a life. No. The stubborn jerk wanted revenge more than either of those options.

“I need justice—”

Her gaze wrenched back to him. “Oh, let’s just call it what it is. You want revenge.”

He stared at her stonily, so much like the stranger she first met that her heart ached. “Fine. Call it that if you want. It doesn’t change anything.” He took a step closer, the great wall of him encroaching on her space, giving her no way out around him. “I don’t want to say good-bye like this.”

Her eyes started to sting. This was it, then.

She didn’t know what was going to happen . . . if he was going to walk out of this confrontation with Sullivan or not. She was going to try to make sure that he did, but she didn’t know. Anything could go wrong with her plan.

She uncrossed her arms and flung them around him. He caught her up in his arms and lifted her off the ground, his mouth claiming hers until she was dizzy and breathless. He pulled back, still holding her, and she resisted the impulse to chase that mouth with her own.

“Good-bye, Gracie.”

Her chest heaved. It was on the tip of her tongue to insist that it didn’t have to be good-bye. She could visit him in prison. She could promise him that. But staring at his resolute expression, she knew he would tell her not to come. He wouldn’t want her to see him like that—as an inmate. A caged man. True, it would be hard. A bitter thing, but the idea that this could be the last time she saw him was even worse.

He set her down and walked away, his strides swift as he straddled his bike. It took two tries but he got the great beast of gleaming chrome started. He didn’t look at her again as he pulled out onto the road.

Grace waited anxiously, her heart in her throat as she watched his bike fade in the distance. Satisfied that he was well and truly out of sight, she turned and raced inside, grabbing the keys and the stash of money he’d left her (in case she needed it) off the table.

Ten seconds later she was sitting in the van, turning the ignition and heading after him, careful to keep a good distance, well out of sight behind him.

She knew he was headed for Sullivan’s house in Sweet Hill. She bumped along the unpaved road, determined to be there, too. When all hell broke loose, she was going to be there. She only knew she had to be.

This time when the police showed up, Reid wouldn’t be alone. It wouldn’t be like the last time, when he was a kid. She would be there to speak on his behalf. Even if he went through with it and actually killed Sullivan—and she was hoping he wouldn’t . . . that he would discover he wasn’t capable of murder—the world would know the truth. The world would know what kind of man Sullivan was and why Reid broke out of prison and went after him.

Whatever happened, she would be there. He wouldn’t face this alone. Not this time.



Otis Sullivan lived on the outskirts of Sweet Hill in a well-appointed community riddled with miniature lakes, bike paths, and golf courses. The houses sat on large lots, positioned well back from the road.

Reid turned down the street and then down a parallel side street, parking behind a landscaping truck.

From his vantage, he scanned the perimeter. A Lexus and two SUVs sat parked in the circular driveway. Two men stood beneath the shaded portico, on either side of the front door. Another two stood near the garage. One smoked a cigarette while the other paced a short line.

An attractive middle-aged woman in a pink tennis skirt emerged out of a door near the garage, a gangly boy in khaki pants and a crisp button-down shirt followed, his head buried in his phone. She said something to one of the men and then moved toward the Lexus. He opened the door for her.

Reid had followed Sullivan’s career as much as he could from prison and knew that he was married and had a son. The picture-perfect family. A hard curse escaped him. While he’d been rotting in prison, this man was out here, killing, stealing, running drugs, and basically enjoying his charmed life.

Sullivan’s wife and son climbed into the Lexus, backed out of the driveway and drove off. Reid dug his burner phone out of his pocket and punched in Sullivan. He answered on the third ring.