“If you were in his position—”
“I wouldn’t hurt innocent people—not on purpose, Grier.” He stood and said, “We’re leaving. I’ll pack up. Put on some shoes.”
“Who’s coming to get us?”
“No one. We’re still on our own.”
His voice was cold but his eyes weren’t. There was still hope. There was always hope and she kept that thought close as she tried to bend down and tie her sneakers.
She hadn’t meant to groan out loud with pain. But Reid was next to her in seconds, helping her straighten up, telling her to breathe.
Tying her sneakers for her. When he finished, he looked up at her, asked, “After you retired, would you have called?”
She nodded. “Those were the only circumstances I’d allow myself to. I know it sounds stupid.”
“Having a hard line in the sand is never stupid if you believe it.”
“How did you get all these vehicles?”
“Kell. Even though he’s pissed at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I don’t like getting in the way of you and your friends.”
“He’ll come around.”
“Would he have told you to come?”
“He probably would’ve come instead of me.”
“Why were you home?”
“I had some broken ribs to heal.”
“Ah, Reid.”
“Come on.” He helped her up and out and down the hallway into their escape vehicle.
“At least you get to lie down,” Reid called to her from the driver’s seat as she lay on the stretcher in the back and tried not to get carsick from his driving.
“I can’t believe how many illegal things I’ve done in the past couple of days.”
“And it’s not even noon on day three,” he reminded her, and she groaned. “Have another happy pill.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You need one. Or else I do,” he muttered, and they drove in silence for a while. She was pretty sure they passed roadblocks but the ambulance was waved through unsearched.
They were lucky. The police had every right to pull them over and search.
She felt hunted. Now she knew what criminals and her witnesses felt like, and it was far worse than she’d ever imagined.
* * *
No one was coming to help him. Jack supposed it was better this way. His past had been carefully constructed, flawlessly so, and if he had to do some jail time to keep it that way, he had little choice.
He looked at his cellmate, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. The reality was that Jack had to knock him unconscious after escaping the main room and a near beating by a mob of inmates. God knew what the corrections officers told the inmates Jack had done—and he didn’t want to know.
He should’ve never been put into the general population. But he’d survived twenty-four hours, and if he had to, he’d make another day. He leaned against the bunk, refusing to lie down and was glad he didn’t when he saw two guards coming down the hall. He braced himself for another fight, to be dragged away, but when they got to his cell, one of them said, “You’re being released. And you must be goddamned special, because we never do this in the middle of the goddamned night.”
Jack bit back a retort and let them lead him to the processing room, where he got his clothes and wallet back.
“We were told to keep your badge and gun. We turned them over to the marshal’s office. You can call them about getting them back,” the guard told him with a sneer. “You got really lucky.”
Jack clenched his jaw and stared him down. Finally, they had no choice but to release him, but not without a few vicious shoves for emphasis on just how unhappy they were. The last one caught him against the door and gashed his forehead open. He ripped off the bottom of his shirt and pressed it against it as he walked through the heavy gates.
There was a dark-haired man waiting for him, leaning against a black truck. He was watching Jack as if he knew him and Jack supposed this was Dylan. The man was as good as his word, since he’d gotten Jack sprung. Legal or not.
Jack walked up to him and the guy said, “I’m Dylan. Get in.”
He pushed off and went to the driver’s side. Jack got in and the truck took off into the late afternoon traffic.
“You look like hell. Didn’t they put you in solitary?”
“There was a mix-up.” A purposeful one, but Jack didn’t give his cover up for anyone.
“We fixed your bank accounts, but you’re still going to be under suspicion until we fix a few other things.”
“How’s Grier?”
“She’s fine—with Reid.” He pointed to the backseat. “There’s the first-aid kit. If it needs stitches, I’ll do it.”
“I can do it myself,” Jack said, and the words came out more sharply than intended. But Dylan wasn’t offended, just asked, “Can you do it in a moving vehicle?”
“Yeah.”
“When this is over, you and I have a lot to talk about,” Dylan said, and Jack couldn’t do anything but agree.
Chapter Eleven
Hours later, in the dark, Reid parked the ambulance and then helped Grier out through the front. He had his bag over his shoulder as they walked through the lot until they stopped at an SUV. He helped her into the passenger’s side and he drove away, stopping after another half an hour at a McDonald’s.
It was just before sunrise. When he came back with bags of food, she lowered the seat back halfway. He drove and she curled on her side, facing him, propped her head on her arm and bit into the McMuffin. She liked crappy road food. A lot. And this grease somehow made everything a little better.
“Are you going to share where we’re going?”
“I’d rather keep your knowledge of my illegal acts as small as possible.”
“Sure, now you want that.” She rifled the bag. “Are you going to eat your hash brown?”
As she spoke the last word, she was already biting into it.
“I was
